• “And our Gladiators step into the ring! On the right!” A commentator's voice boomed above the crowd, his vocals smooth and practiced. “The Desert Sun! Raaaaascoooo!” The crowd rose, hundreds of bodies mimicked a loud sort of whir, trying to get the gladiator to fire up his weapons. The two gigantic gauntlets that forced him to walk with an almost ape-like gait. Rivets dug into the ground, drawing two deep trenches behind him while he wandered into the mid-center of the ring. “Our most brutal and beloved of Gladiators! Defending his right to the arena! Oh my fair Ladies and Gentleman, we are in for quite the fight tonight!” With a single swing of his arms, the man in the ring rose one of his arms, no easy task, though practice had made his movements fluid, deadly and deceitfully agile. The crowd emitted that loud roar again, and as a devious, wicked grin laced with little more than primal evil crossed the first fighter's lips, it was dwarfed. A deafening cry of metal against metal shrieked, like a giant turbine had been activated, but it was short-lived. “Ahh! Fired up to please his fans! Such a crowd pleaser!” A thud, and the drill smashed back into the arena's sandy floor. “And look folks! Our challenger!” The crowd silenced themselves, as all eyes fell onto the opening gates. From behind those steely bars, strode a giant of a man. His clothing was quite rustic, lots of layers, and quite heavy looking, though his size was enough to let people feel like heavy was of little concern. He couldn't have been much shorter than seven feet tall, if indeed he was shorter, (which he was not). “A newcomer from the north, Montgomery the Kodiak! I've heard splendid tales of his prowess with that weapon of his!”
    “Ey, y'sure that sword comes outta it's scabbard?” Came a raspy voice from one of the combatants, the shorter, more average looking man, at least in height. From behind filed teeth his words came, evil and taunting, proud and quite lustful for the battle to come. The taller man said nothing, however, only moving a large hand up to grip his five foot long, two foot wide sword's handle.
    “Looks like they're sizing each other up people! Keep your eyes peeled! This is sure to be quite the explosive match!”
    Surely enough, after a gigantic gong sounded, an explosion of movement and dust flooded the arena floor. It was echoed by the boom of the crowd as they all shouted and cheered for the gladiators. Rasco had spent little time moving to the offensive of this little meeting. The curl of his leather shoes gripping the sand easily as he shot forward with impressive speed. “Rasco makes the first move!” Came that commentator's voice, letting the crowd hear what they could see. The drills came to bear on the seven foot behemoth, but he was just as swift, kicking a heel into the sand so he could get some distance between the obvious brawl-style fighter.
    “An impressive display of footwork!”
    Yanking on the gigantic sword he hanging from his shoulder, he held the scabbard against the blade carefully. This little technique gave him a sort of ranged attack, though it was a one shot deal.
    “Could it be? A signature quick-draw!” A quartet of snaps erupted, the buttons that held his sword sealed to his back opening quite easily in the rising heat of battle. In an instant the scabbard was released, flying with it's metal studded end towards Rasco's torso. The roar of the crowd drowned the sounds of metal clanging against metal when a drill deflected the scabbard, sending it sailing through the air like a rag-doll. Each of his red eyes shot open to spy Montgomery advancing – fast, upon his position. That gigantic sword had been revealed, as had a new spirit of chanting from the crowd. The Kodiak had admirers, it seemed, and his giant sword threatened to end what was sure to be an epic fight. It's cleaver-style edge shooting out with a powerful forward thrust. Rasco had to be careful with his moves while he rolled to the left, spiraling into the sand with a rather hard and sudden landing.
    “Look! Rasco's been knocked to the ground! Ladies and Gentleman! This match is really heating up!”
    Precision comes to mind when people watch the careful adjustment of that enormous blade. A twist of his wrists, and the sword's sharp edge was pointing towards Rasco yet again, this time sweeping in a horizontal arch. However, the drill wielding gladiator would not be taken for a ride twice in a row, that would be too foolish. A blur of movement was seen by the crowd as he lifted one of those heavy gauntlets into the path of Monty's sword, a powerful clang sounded as sparks shot from the two dangerous weapons. Acting quick, Rasco pushed forward with his right foot, his unused drill roaring from the sand, as it came in a jab. “What a quick defense by Rasco! We all know those drills aren't just for offense people! Let's see how Monty does on the defense.”
    The giant sword flicked in a strange direction no thanks to the rivets that spiraled down that man's drill, and a tiny twitch of Montgomery's lip showed frustration. Letting the momentum of his deflected sword not go unused, it'd soar over his head and pierce the ground directly behind him. Sliding into the soft sand only about a foot at first. Only a blink of an eye later, the giant was preforming quite the tucked back flip. Each of his hands sliding onto the handle of his sword while he reached the peak of his flip, he'd land with a pair of thuds behind the new barrier. It served as a decent shield with that two foot width, and as the first drill impacted, the craftsmanship of a Damascus blade was shown.
    A horrible screech of steel point against the smoother side of a shield pounded the ears of all who watched the fight, and most of them cupped angry ears when they realized what was happening. Sitting, ducking or just contorting their expression in response to such a wretched sound. “Ooo! Very flashy, that move! Aaahhhooouuch!” Even the commentator's voice displayed disdain for the sound, as it pounded his ears.
    The right drill glanced to the side, moving down and towards the sand while the defense was completed. Rasco would have been impressed, if he had time to be, but this fight certainly wasn't leisurely. He had left himself relatively open, something foolish and not without a price, he would soon find out. Like a giant shovel, the cleaver of a sword yanked sand from the ground. It'd been wedged against Monty's knee, and he had pried down with a grunt as the sand shot into the air, veiling his form for the moment. The handle of his weapon bruised his thigh when it landed, he was sure of it, but that wasn't his concern. His concern, was putting this blade into the side of his opponent, and with a sliding forward heave, it was threatening to do just that.
    The crowd fell even more silent when they saw this impressive display of swordsmanship. Not exactly elegant, but it certainly was awe inspiring. The both of them would be left open after these two moves, however, Rasco wouldn't escape unscathed. Instead, the large blade cut into his side, just below the ribs, not too deep, but enough to let blood trickle out eagerly. Wincing as he tumbled to the ground, catching himself on drill and knees while his head whirled to see where Montgomery had vanished to. No where he might have have had trouble guessing. The large man had simply dove off in the opposite direction, tumbling as well while he was carried by the hefty weight of his weapon. The two combatants locked eyes, Rasco's displaying a faint sign of, was it fear? While Montgomery held his steady gaze with a sort of humble pride.
    “Could this be Rasco's last battle as champion?!” That tiring commentator remarked, as Monty stepped from his kneel, regaining each of his daunting seven feet. A heave and his sword rested upon his shoulder, dull side pointing towards his neck. Unerring was his stare, as he watched Rasco's eyes flick about the ground, obviously unwilling to have the fight end so early, but quite eager to find his path to victory. With a single arm the gigantic sword was hefted straight up, it's blade glinting with the light of a setting sun. Rasco's eyes frowned, just as his lips did, realizing an opening that would certainly prove to be costly, if taken. Was death not the price to pay for a loss though? He stowed his pain for a final vengeful strike, gripping the arena's sand with each foot as he forced himself forward. Pushing powerfully with every muscle in his legs, he'd shoot from the ground, blood pouring out of his side at a quickened pace as it was intercepted by the wound. “Rraaah!” Came a battle cry as his drill shot forward, eager to sink into the taller man's lower torso.
    He was, however, cut off by the weight of his opponent's blade. It had come down quicker than he might have thought possible. A thud of steel into sand, sounded after Rasco crumbled to the ground, face-down in the arena dirt. The enormous weight of Montgomery's sword had literally tackled him, leaving his body torn from shoulder to mid-back, and his leg pinned to the sand by the blade's end.
    “A winner! Montgomery the Kodiak has bested our Champion!” A powerful roar of the crowd boomed above the commentator when it was decided.
    Two brown eyes stared down at the defeated corpse, his body so unrighteously tattered, pouring blood onto the golden sands. A rather sorrow inspiring sight for the gladiator, as he heard cries of victory not his own. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the same fate would be his, reaped of honor, and worthless in death.