10. Josie

10

JOSIE

A t first, I didn't want to be here. My arms are crossed tightly over my chest, and I'm scowling so hard my face hurts as I follow Sarod into the arena. The bastard forced me to come, probably to show off or something. I can't believe I let him drag me to this stupid zyrphix match.

"Move your ass," he growls, shoving me forward with his massive green hand.

I stumble, my feet catching on the rough stone steps. I manage to catch myself before I fall flat on my face, thank the gods. "Watch it, you brute!" I snap, whirling around to glare at him.

He just smirks, those stupid tusks gleaming in the light, and keeps walking. Jerk. I swear, if he wasn't so... No. I'm not going there.

I reach my seat, an impressive one which overlooks the whole arena with ease. I hate to admit it, but the view is breathtaking. The entire pitch spreads out below, a sea of sand, dirt, and anticipation.

As Sarod heads down to prepare, I settle in, still grumbling under my breath. This is such a waste of time. I could be back at home, scrubbing floors by myself instead of watching sweaty orcs bash each other's brains out. That honestly sounds better than whatever this is.

But then the match starts, and holy shit. It's intense. My jaw drops as I watch the spectacle unfold before me.

The ball bursts out of the ground like it's alive, a magical explosion of energy that sends sand flying. Bodies clash in a frenzy of muscle and aggression, a tangle of limbs and sweat. It's chaos - beautiful, violent chaos. I can't tear my eyes away. I lean forward, perched on the edge of my seat, eyes wide and breath caught in my throat. My earlier complaints are long forgotten, swept away by the raw energy of the game. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a bad idea after all. I hate to admit it, but there's something... exhilarating about it all.

"First time?"

I jump, startled out of my trance. Turning, I see a grinning dark elf next to me. He's wearing the team colors of the orc team that opposes Sarod's, all decked out in vibrant reds and golds. His eyes sparkle with amusement at my obvious awe.

"Uh, yeah," I mumble, feeling a bit shy. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to regain my composure. "I'm here for the Lightsnatchers. You know... Sarod's team?" I don't know why I feel the need to clarify, but something about this dark elf makes me nervous. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me, like he knows something I don't.

"You're in for a treat. Sarod's a beast out there."

I roll my eyes, but can't help watching as Sarod barrels through opponents. He's... impressive. Powerful. My heart races as he snatches the ball, muscles rippling beneath his green skin. His movements are fluid, almost graceful despite his massive size. I find myself holding my breath as he dodges and weaves through the sea of players.

"Damn," I whisper, the word escaping my lips before I can stop it.

The dark elf laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know, right? Been watching him for years. Never seen anyone like him. The way he moves, it's like he's one with the ball."

I nod, mesmerized by the sight. Sarod's raw strength is evident in every motion, but there's a surprising agility to him too. It's hard to look away, even though I know I should. I've never been much for sports, but watching him play... it's something else entirely.

I find myself chatting with the dark elf and others nearby, soaking up stories about past matches. They tell tales of epic comebacks, brutal injuries, and legendary plays. It's... fun. I'm actually enjoying myself, getting caught up in the excitement and camaraderie of the crowd.

When Sarod scores, the stadium erupts into a deafening roar. I'm on my feet before I know it, cheering and pumping my fist in the air. Our eyes lock for a moment across the field, and my breath catches in my throat. His intense gaze sends a shiver down my spine.

What the hell is wrong with me? I hate him. Don't I? I shouldn't be feeling this... whatever it is. I try to shake it off, but my heart's still racing.

As the match continues, I can't tear my eyes away from the field. Every tackle has me wincing, every near-miss has me holding my breath. I'm invested now, dammit. My nails dig into my palms as I clench my fists, willing his team to win.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to see why everyone's so crazy about Sarod. It's not just his skill on the field – though that's undeniable. There's something magnetic about him, a raw energy that draws you in. I hate to admit it, but I'm starting to understand the appeal.

The match is nearing its end, and I'm on the edge of my seat. Sarod's team is up by one point and one more will seal the game for them. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can't believe how invested I've become in this game, in Sarod's performance.

Suddenly, Sarod gets possession of the ball. He's a green blur across the field, dodging and weaving through the opposition. My heart's in my throat as I watch him charge towards the goal.

Then it happens. An opponent slams into him with bone-crushing force. Sarod goes down hard, and I feel my stomach drop. "No!" I cry out, my hands flying to my mouth. The crowd around me gasps collectively.

For a moment, Sarod doesn't move. I'm frozen, my eyes glued to his still form. Come on, get up. Please get up. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until my lungs start to burn.

Then, like a force of nature, Sarod surges to his feet. The stadium erupts in cheers, and I find myself jumping up and down, screaming with them. My heart's pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. He's not just okay - he looks stronger, more determined than ever, even as there's some blood trailing down his chest. It's a stark crimson against his green skin, and I can't tear my eyes away.

The ball's back in play, and Sarod's teammates fight tooth and nail to get it to him. It's pure chaos on the field, a tangle of bodies and limbs as they grapple for control. When they do finally get the ball to Sarod, it's like watching poetry in motion.

He charges down the field, his muscles rippling under his green skin, dodging and weaving through the opposition with a grace that belies his size. The crowd's roar becomes deafening as he nears the goal. With a mighty roar that I swear I can feel in my bones, he hurls the ball through the goal. I'm on my feet again, cheering so hard my throat burns, caught up in the electric atmosphere of victory.

The crowd goes wild, and so do I. He's won! I'm laughing, cheering, high-fiving complete strangers. In that moment, I forget all about my resentment towards Sarod. All I can think about is how amazing he was out there.

Caught up in the excitement, I make my way down to the player's tunnel. I want to congratulate him, to see that fierce determination up close. As I wait, my heart's pounding, and not just from the excitement of the game.

Sarod emerges, his massive frame filling the tunnel. Our eyes meet, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. His green skin glistens with sweat and blood, and I can see the rise and fall of his muscular chest. The intensity in his amber eyes makes my heart race even faster.

"Let's go," he grunts, reaching for my arm. His touch sends a jolt through me, and I have to remind myself to stay focused.

Before we can leave, another orc blocks our path. He's even bigger than Sarod, with dark green skin and a nasty sneer. His tusks are longer, more menacing, and he towers over both of us like a mountain of muscle.

"Well, well," the orc leers, his eyes roving over me. "If it isn't Sarod and his little human pet." His voice is deep and guttural, dripping with disdain. I feel a chill run down my spine, but I force myself to stand tall, refusing to be intimidated.

Sarod tenses beside me, his muscles coiling like a predator ready to strike. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his anger palpable in the air between us. "Back off, Grokus," he growls.

Grokus, however, doesn't even spare Sarod a glance. His beady eyes are fixed on me, filled with a cruel amusement that makes my skin crawl. "Tell me, sweetheart," he sneers, his breath hot and foul as he leans in closer, "how does it feel to be Sarod's latest piece of trash? You know that's all you are to him, right? Just another notch on his bedpost, another conquest to brag about."

Anger flares in my chest, hot and fierce, burning away any fear I might have felt. How dare he? Who does this brute think he is? I open my mouth to retort, ready to unleash a tirade that would make even the roughest tavern patrons blush, but Sarod beats me to it.

"Fuck off, Grokus," he says, his voice carrying a deadly edge that I've never heard before. Sarod steps slightly in front of me, shielding me with his massive frame. "If you know what's good for you, you'll get the fuck out of our way. Now."