He was ready for everything except mollusks.
Years of training and preparation against every foe he could be expected to face. Even foes he couldn't expect to face. Foes so unexpected that his trainers assured him that he was wasting his time. That no one would ever need to know combat techniques against vampiric headgear or weremarmots. The Arena was tricky, certainly, but there were limits.
And yet he prepared for them all, with the single-minded intensity that drove away all his friends, his lovers, even eventually his teachers. He had been forced to leave his Master behind to be devoured by the very radioactive beet creatures that said Master had scoffed at. Because that Master wasn't prepared. Not like he was.
It had taken its toll on him, physically and mentally. He couldn't sleep until he sought out a new method of dispatching a wildebeest with fire breath. He lay awake listening for the telltale sounds of a piano coming to life and bearing down on him wielding twin katanas. He had forgotten everything in life but his preparations for the Arena.
And when he entered that dark gate and stepped into the blazing sun, the chanting of the crowd hitting him like a bear wrapped in infected bandages, he saw his mistake, for there, sitting before him, was a clam.
As he panicked and searched his memory, realizing that he had left out one vital section of the animal kingdom from his calculations, his former Master, who had not in fact been eaten alive by radioactive beet creatures, sneaked up behind him.
"You're a giant jerk," said the Master, and efficiently removed his head from his shoulders by slicing a large sword through his neck.
And as he fell, his last thought was, "Well damn, I should have been ready for that."
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