Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~

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Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~

By: Zuxian CompletedFantasy

Language: English

Chapters: 106 views: 12.6K

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His mother placed him under shrubs because she was a Nymph and had no idea about nursing a baby. His father had ran away upon the news of pregnancy, because he felt incapable of taking responsibility for the baby, not knowing that the mother of his child was a Nymph. The baby was found by a lady who nursed and sold him to being a gladiator. Ja Lia, his father was washed to the shore of the dark sea by pious Poseidon after he'd stolen the great helmet of Jin and was taken care of by Vulcan, the Roman Emperor who made him a master of gladiators and gave him the life he craved for. The gladiator was sent to serve under Ja Lia, who unknown to him was his father. Ja Lia feels insecure with the Cod around, and the Cod loathes the callous master and finds all means to kill to kill him. The Nymph fights her way to unite her family, but the only means is making a mistake and setting a battle between the father and the son...Read the supplementary chapters!!!!!!!!!!!!


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106 chapters
     "Arghhhh"     The greaves clanged as he reached for the javelin across his shoulders. But the opponent was faster.     His eyes were like the prime of the hay; basked in anger and fixed demeanor. His lips cloven, chewing inaudible spells as a warthog bruises the earth with haughty hoofs as it skipped.      The expectation of all those who were present was to see the  Cod fall by the sword of that worn warthog; his opponent.     The call of the winds seemed to have a message for him       The charge met a shield, and worn warthog would try again.    The Cod at that moment was ready for all twould take him. The  only echo he could hear at the depth of his consciousness was Fight or die!!! <
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        "Urnngghhh"       Gaunt grunt. He had no idea how long he would bank on the sassy sword. The purpled eyes of heaven was rehearsing her intensity on the altar of his temple, but the leopard contending with him spared him no moment to nurse such pain. He was bent on killing it. It was also bent on killing him. What do? A cliche! Killing wasn't a new or hideous act to him. It was matter-of-factly his oxygen. And tell, who can survive without oxygen. He only was having fun with it, but the gore its pestering paw had left on his arm would never made him spare it.       He wasn't with his god-damned spear. It could have been easier. Just an aim who'd brought the passionate panther down. What annoyed him mostly, was the fact that the leopard felt proud. His retina canvassed that as they swelled per sumptuous snarls. He could decode the rhythm of the jaws. It
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       "Huuhoohuh..."       Yearning yawn! He was tired of being in the cave. He was tired of staring at those cold walls  that felt no iota of the trauma that'd enveloped his spree. He was becoming impatient. Many reasons were owed to the reason he decided to remain in the cave. He hadn't stepped out since he'd returned from the hampered hunt for lighter he went for the previous evening. Seeking for a lighter had led him to obtaining sundry other things. Things that'd helped him survived the malady nocturnal nature leased the jungle. He'd made the fire in the cave to keep the walls warm for that previous night. After eating he'd traced his fingers through the hollows cut by the chisel of time like a foiled furrow in the bosom of an isle. Then he'd succumbed to the clone of death that'd restored his wandering spectre.       He had no idea whose footsteps t
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      "Bìxîa, our plight, Bìxîa"       Ja Lia pushed the bowl sideways as he paged the gladiator in a grey robe. The summoned fastened to him and he brushed his robe with his damp hand. His right hand had been damp with soup and bleeds of the steaks and venisons. The culprit succumbed. What choice did he have? None! Like absolutely none! He was a pawn to nature and the hideous master. His fate was an offshoot of moaning misery. He couldn't have done anything about it. He wouldn't even if he would. Life hitherto had been betraying to him. He'd lost his wife, babies and cursed his parents! What was their to be happy about? Nothing!        The master then turned to the owner of the glottis that had puked the prior statement. He couldn't fathom what they'd said. Probably, he had made meaning of it but kept pruning lies for his sanity. How coul
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    "Now, see who professes to care. Hypocrite!"      He stood abruptly. He had been sleeping. After the futile search for the eerie but callous creature, he'd returned with what now he'd called either his partner or pet. He'd eaten and had consoled the cold floor of the cave. He had no idea who consoled who. Whether he consoled the land or the land did him, he couldn't be sure and never cared. All he cared about was the fact that he was still breathing and had a hide. He had wanted to be alone till death would catch up with him, but felon fate would also have his worn way. He'd fed the cub with the remains of the leopard he'd killed. But the cub growled heavily and in keen detest and would not eat it. Then did it occur to him that a leopard would never eat another leopard. He wasn't sure if that was the only the reason the leopard had growled at him in such manner. He knew there was more to it. He wished he could
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      "Yo, mate, you're positive about today?"       The cub was gay. His feeble limbs flexed rhythmically to some jive he could not hear. He was sure that having the cub edge before him was an approval. He was beginning to make meaning of the language of the cub. He couldn't suitingly speak, but the signs and growls were beginning to make sense to him. Twas the first week of being with it. How wouldn't he be acquainted with its ways of life? Then he'd been the dumbest person that'd ever existed. Most times would the cub leave the cave to hunt down prey himself and when it'd returned, he'd remonstrated to it:        "What have you done, mate? Death calls at you? You wanna be inna haste to meet mamma? Why would go hunting all by yourself? Mehn! Damn! You're impossibly ridiculous."        The cub would had fa
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       "Get them all to the Agora."       That was Ja Lia. The phrase was addressed to one of those gladiators who was given to undaunted reverence to the professed master. He wasn't as broad and hefty as Cyclops, but had his own pluses. He was quite the hefty also, only that his laps were shifted sideways, such that when he walked, it seemed as though he was going to collapse. Heavens knew how he'd been able to survive sundry battles with such odd two legs. In such a form. Probably he wasn't inflected with ill-luck as compared to the callous Cyclops. He left to prune the biddings of the marred master.      After the marred massacre of both the hefty gladiators and the defected, leopards that survived the malady were sent back to their hoods while the dead were boiled to commemorate the defeat of the cowards and incompetents. It was usually a rite to celebrate the
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     "Hurrrghhhh"       That'd be the fourth time that the cub had made that sound. He had no idea what it that was for. It seemed to him as though he was getting along with it. But whenever he made himself to believe that lie, some strays in actions would be supplanted and he'd be left in the middle of the ocean - of guesses crazed in torrents. His heart was quite faster than his thoughts. He could feel some unusual pounding on his inky instinct. He knew the subsequent growls of the cub was in complement to the odd feelings nosy nature had been leasing to him.         He sat up. The inner part of the cave was yet dark. He could see some rusty rays fighting their worn ways into the cubicle, probably to scare away the gaunt gloom loitering. He was not in for some guesses. Whether or not rain would fall, he didn't care. He had nowhere he was going to. The previous da
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      "How many of you went?"       "A score and a half, Bìxîa."      "How many returned?"     " Five of us, Bìxîa"     "In what state respectively?"      "Three badly hurt, two Hale, Bìxîa."       Ja Lia beckoned to the black gladiator he had been observing closely recently and girded him in the following biddings, his eyes basked in ire and rage:      "Feed those three to the recently caught Leopards, they'd be famished. The three are of no use anymore. They'd be liabilities to this fort and I won't suffer that. Never! What resources is there to waste?"       T
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       "Get going. I can't help you."        The owner of the voice had his heart in his mouth or probably his hand. It's pretty hard to discern. What was quite obvious was the fact that he was conscious of his advances. Not merely conscious, but super conscious. He needed to guide his steps, else death probably would be generous to guide him through the pored paths  of gloom. And of course his life was in his hand, he'd do whatever seemed best to him. His sanity must not be infected by some stereotype. Of course he was afraid. He admitted his fear. Who wouldn't be afraid? A man with loose leopard, though small, walking about the gaunt street. He needed to do something quickly. Probably take the matter to their monarch. For how how would someone whose brain had not been relegated walk about the street with a loose leopard? What was he expecting? Like he was going to be embraced by whoever came to his
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