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The announcer continued to state the champion's names, fighting styles and statistics. Basher, The Slayer, and Warmonger. Colorful names.

"AND THEIR OPPONENT.. A FRESH CAPTURE! LORD KALSANI BELIEVES HIM TO BE A VARROCKIAN AGENT.. LET'S SEE WHAT HE CAN DO AGAINST OUR THREE REIGNING CHAMPIONS!"

The crowd roared now, more enthused. Church looked behind him and saw the gate had closed. He took a deep breath and shook his now-baggy fatigues into place. He squatted momentarily, and dug his hand into the sand of the edge of the pit, before the grid.

The first contender came forward, Basher. A large hulk of a man with a mace as big as his head.

"FIGHT!"

The hulking beast flung himself forward, screaming. He lifted the heavy mace above his head, and brought it down powerfully into the metal floor. He had missed, and Jon Church was right there, hold his arms in place after a sidestep. He wheeled about, plating his booted heel into the massive man's jaw. He crumpled in place, seizing. It was clear that he had never before missed.

Jon Church followed him to the ground, entering full mount. He looked to the Vyrelord in the stands who nodded. These fights were to the death. Church raised his arm up, and dropped his elbow onto the soft parts of the man's skull until he stopped resisting. Then five times more, for assurance. The Crowd was silent, save for a few gasps.


To Church's surprise, there was little time for respite between the fights. The second contender was in place, before the workers waiting in the wings had even bothered to move the corpse. This one was an armored approximation of a knight. He wore a helmet with an open gorget and thick steel plate from his chest down to his feet. A slow, slightly harder to hit target.

"FIGHT!"

(Cont -&gt

01-Mar-2016 04:37:34 - Last edited on 01-Mar-2016 06:02:48 by Ben Aristad

The second contender charged forward, trying to defend himself with his shield while closing with his blade. Church paced about, waiting for him to attack. To make a mistake. The swordsman feinted, blocking with his shield while stabbing with his blade. Church shot for the double-leg, but instead of grabbing them man's thighs, came up through the guard and into clinch range. He grabbed the man's sword arm, pivoted his weight on his hip, and tossed the heavy, clanking pile of metal and flesh onto the bare grid with a loud clank, sending his helmet flying.

Before he could assume a mount, the man was back up again, if a bit worse for wear. Church rolled from the path of a shield charge, and toward the man's helmet. He grabbed it, and sidestepped another charge, this time grabbing the man's exposed throat and squeezing hard to cruch the larynx. It worked, and the man, clotheslined, fell onto the grid once more. Church straddled the man's chest, and raised the helmet into the air. The warrior struggled, but his armor was far too bulky to plunge the sword into his attacker. Church bashed the man's skull into a deformed, bleeding oval with the steel helmet. The crowd screamed in glee when he delivered the killing blow.

Panting, and covered in blood spatter, Church rose and wiped his mouth. His adrenaline was flowing heavily, and his heart raced with the beating drum rhythm of life-and-death battle. Two out of three. One more.

The third opponent was a beast-form werewolf with a spear. Church walked back over to the corpse, grabbed his sword with his right hand, and dipped his left hand into the red, spattered ruin of the man's head. He stood once more, and smeared the fresh, red blood onto his face in a long streak before assuming a fighting stance and screaming a guttural roar at the beast.

It had been so long since he had fought with a long blade. He needed fear.

(Cont -&gt

01-Mar-2016 04:52:23

The feral-looking werewolf charged forward, roaring as well. Church kept his eye on the speartip, and knocked it out of the way with the blade of his dead man's sword. The Werewolf had too much momentum to stop in time, before Church placed the blade against his bare, furry chest and slashed, spinning out of the potential grab. Bright red blood spilled from the fresh wound, and Church backed off, waiting.

The werewolf howled, and wheeled to Church, throwing his spear into the grid and baring his claws. The fight was on. He charged once more, grabbing an unprepared Church and running with him for several meters before slamming him into the grid. Church had to get out of the coming mount, and immediately. A werewolf in full mount would devastate him in seconds.

He was successful, and went to the defense, now without his sword. Battle had a way of taking things from you. The werewolf charged once more, surer now that his prey was unarmed. Church met the werewolf in the charge, plunging his forehead into the beast's snout, eliciting a howl of pain. Church wasted no time, and laced his hands around the back of the werewolf's neck, forcing the muscular frame down as the clawed arms wailed in futile, primal attempts at survival. He lifted his right foot off the ground, and pistoned his knee into the creature's exposed face. After four consecutive knees, Church felt the creatures' stance weaken, and shoved it down, unconscious. The several hundred pound man-animal lay defenseless, unaware. Church plunged onto him like a wild beast, separating the snout from his hairy chest, and plunging his open mouth onto the creature's throat.

He felt warm blood and raw meat, the predator made into hasty prey. The werewolf screamed, it's voice flooded with fear and blood. The screams turned to gurgles as Jon ripped flesh from the beast, letting it fall out of his maw and run down his face. He rose, and the crowd was silent as the grave.

(Cont -&gt

01-Mar-2016 05:03:43

01-Mar-2016 05:13:02 - Last edited on 01-Mar-2016 05:23:17 by Ben Aristad

01-Mar-2016 09:13:04 - Last edited on 01-Mar-2016 09:20:52 by eye of s

01-Mar-2016 23:05:42

02-Mar-2016 07:30:13