Surrounded by deafening cheers, the mute escort pushed Ray into the ring. He cleared his head of all unnecessary thoughts, fully concentrating on his opponents impending doom. With an evil smile and raised sword, Ray strode further in until he was a few steps from the midpoint. Courtesy commanded that both combatants meet in the middle and exchanged pleasantries before the fight. Ray took it the same as the interview before UFC or boxing fights and intended to trash talk Thomason; of course in a polite and refined manner.

Much like himself the two Lords moved into the arena but didn't walk up to Ray. The people cranked an eyebrow or two, as Thomason limbed into the ring, borrowing Richard's shoulder, but didn't stop clapping. They two stood on the edge and waited for the cheers to die down. As Richard raised his hand, silence commenced. After a quick look at his friend, who nodded in return, he said with a sigh,

"Dear Lords and Ladies. It warms my heart to see how many of you have come to show your support for my close friend, Thomas. But as humbled as we are, we have to inform you that, in a heroic act of sacrifice, Thomason's leg was broken, as he rescued my sister whilst hunting.

Still, a fight was promised, and a fight must happen. Therefore, while being aware of the shame it brings, Thomason has decided to have a champion fight in his name!"

At this declaration, the audience broke into a thousand different conversations. Some seemed quite amused, other frustrated, but no one spoke out against the act.

Unsurprisingly, Ray, the most affected, was outraged. He didn't believe, Thomason just conveniently broke his leg, shortly before their fight, but reason told him they wouldn't lie about something so easily proven right or false.

'They broke his leg...They broke his leg just to f*ck me over...'

The only explanation was Richard --or more likely his henchmen-- broke the leg intentionally. Whether it was solely to mess with Ray or actually to protect Thomason didn't even matter; it wouldn't change anything. But in an environment where access and methods of healing were highly limited, it was an insane maneuver. A wrong move and Thomason would possibly lose his leg.

Admittedly Ray had underestimated them. Never would he have thought they would go to such extremes.

Shaking his head he thought to himself, 'Doesn't matter. It'd be the same whether I fight him or this champion.'

Though the gap in skill might widen, since Ray didn't have any, to begin with, he didn't see the point in fretting over it.

Taking a huge breath, Ray steeled his resolve once more and looked over to the two youngsters. As he met Richard's eyes, the latter started to smile from ear to ear.

And eerie as it was, Ray smiled back; he didn't want to lose momentum or give them the satisfaction of seeing him nervous.

Helping Thomason to the side of the ring, Richard gestured with a full swing of his free arm to the entrance. From behind the stands, a large shadow gradually approached. At first, all were calm, even Ray standing leisurely with a slight grin still on his face.

But as the shadow grew in length far beyond what anyone expected it to, a commotion broke out within the audience.

Forth came a giant of a man. His height easily towering over two meters fifty, with a width just as impressive. Thick hair sprouted of every spot on his body, giving the impression of fur, and only his- though hideous- human face marked him as a member of the same species.

No weapon was in his hands, nor strapped to his back or hip, but his boulder-like fists made more than up for that fact.

One of his eyes was missing; a black hole in almond shape was all that was left to indicate there ever was one. The other one was always roaming the audience, making everyone who met it shrink back. After a while, it finally settled on Ray, who was still watching this beast of a man with disbelief and showed the glint of a predator finding its prey. For a moment it looked like the beast would pounce on Ray without a moments notice, but a light touch on his shoulder from Richard made him back off.

Handing his sidekick Thomason to a steward, Richard took position in front of the hulk and addressed the audience.

"Lords and Ladies, may I introduce to you the champion of House Petland, Olæif Thin-Hair!"

After a moment's hesitation, the masses began to cheer once again. Not one of the assembled Highborn didn't clap or scream; not one, except Ray.

He was too busy accumulating sweat on his face and panicking about the sheer difference in weight -class. Much like Olæif, he began searching the crowd for someone willing to speak up. After all, this couldn't be allowed. If you put a mere mortal up against the terminator in the flesh, it was clear who would win, for anyone to see. There was no point in even competing if he had to fight under these circumstances.

…

But be it as it may, no came to Ray's help. However desperately he looked, most didn't even meet him eye to eye, much less tried to do something that wasn't mocking in nature. His last resort, Count Selwin, was also not to be found. Not left nor right, he either didn't come to see the fight or, which as more probable, watched from a private booth, somewhere with the Duke.

Time past fast and the judge made his way to the arena. He raised his hand, a tissue within, and spoke in grandeur,

"By the power given to me by the Duke and the two combatants, I shall witness the glory of victor and defeated; and hereby announce this duel's beginning."

With haste and hurry, the judge let go of the cloth and skittered from the stage, clearly afraid of the larger of the two fighters. And yet before it hit the ground, Olæif charged ahead, with the strength and vigor one would expect from someone of his statue. It wouldn't take more than a few seconds for the giant to reach Ray, but it was enough time for his entire life to flash before Ray's eyes.

From his early years of childhood to his short but eventful college experience and lastly the wonderful adventure in this new world. It seemed like he had lived a happy and fulfilled life.

'No! F*uck that! I don't wanna die yet!'

In the possibly last moment available, Ray gathered all his strength and leaped to the side, rolling out of the way of the attack.

His own sword seemed to impale him for a moment, but missed a hairs-breath, thrusting into the air.

Olæif, who couldn't stop in time, smashed his fists into the ground, throwing not only dust up, but also a good amount of dirt and stone. Spider-web like cracks, ranging from the point of impact, telling of his might.

'You've got to be kidding me?! Is that even human anymore?!'

Crawling to his feet, Ray quickly got into position once more. Now only about two meters separated, even with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins at that moment he knew: He couldn't dodge another one of those attacks.

Olæif got up, all the same, a feral grin on his face. With all those sharp fangs showing he, indeed, looked more beast than man.

With slow steps, Ray started circling his opponent; alert and ready to act at any moment. But reacting to Olæif's attacks alone wouldn't bring him victory. As he reached the left side of the giant, where he believed to be a blind spot, Ray jumped into action. He broke into a short sprint and thrust his weapon, aiming for the rips. All he wanted was to pierce into Olæif's flesh; even if the wound were shallow, the poison would do the rest.

Unfortunately for him, Olæif was as alert as him, if not even more so. The instant Ray pushed his weapon forward, Olæif spun around to face him and grabbed the blade. As if he had picked up a branch without edge he flung the rapier, with Ray still attached to it, to the other side of the arena.

After bouncing a few times on the way, Ray finally came to a stop. His eyes were blurry, his whole body hurting and he could barely make out the feeling of liquid flowing from his head. He just wanted to stop. To lie down on this comfortable ground and accept whatever was to come. Nothing seemed more attractive at that moment; yet when he – far more by coincidence than intention – saw Richard, with his smug smile, not standing far from him, he couldn't hold back his anger and, while struggling, stood up.

He knew it was stupid. That there was no guarantee he would win, even with the poison-coated sword. A silent voice in his head told him he had done enough. He could rest. But still, his rage demanded him to stand and fight. To struggle against Richard, the Nobles, the Spirit, society and the whole f*cking world if he had to.

He had experienced too much, seen too much, DONE too much to give up now, just because some brat had him cornered.

Through his bloodshot eyes, Ray could barely see the beast in front of him. Olæif hadn't moved from his spot since he threw Ray through the air. And although it seemed honorable not to kick someone who was already down; his mocking grimace told Ray that wasn't the reason why he was spared.

'He is enjoying this. He is...playing?'

Like a wild dog hunting for sport, Olæif, too, was toying with his prey. He didn't see Ray as a worthy opponent, to begin with, so what was the point in fighting in earnest?

'You wanna play? Fine as*hole, let's play!'

Moving his eyes a bit down, Ray noticed the blood coming down from Olæif's left hand. Although the cut wasn't too wide or deep, the poison should still have entered his bloodstream; now it was a war of attrition.

Aiming his sword at his opponent, Ray shouted loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear,

"Oi, C*nt! is that all you got! Didn't even f*cking hurt! But what was I expecting of a dick-less man-whore? Guess I'll just have to wrap this up a go wrestle your mother in bed again!"

With immediate effect, Olæif turned red and shouted in rage. Similarly fast Ray turned tail and made a mad dash for the audience.

Not quite what a man belittling his opponent's strength should do, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

In his mind, he would have reached the nearest section of the stands long before Olæif was anywhere near him, but the powerful footsteps shaking the ground, right behind him, told him otherwise.

Abandoning all pretense, Ray ran with everything he had. At this point there would be no more talking or taking breaks; once he was caught, he'd be dead. Fortunately, by some miracle, his dwindling stamina managed to hold out until he was just a short distance away from his goal.

Taking a huge leap, he jumped the highest he could. And despite – or maybe because – Ray's confidence in his physical prowess, he knew the moment he did, that he wouldn't make it all the way up to the railing of the stands. In a split-second decision, he drove the dagger in his hand into the wooden construct, until only the guard and handle was visible.

A gasp escaped the Noble sitting on the other end of the plank, as a blade ripped a small part of his pants, in the crotch area, apart.

But clearly not concerned with the man's plight, Ray summoned all his remaining strength and pulled himself the last few dozen centimeters up. Now standing on what was supposed to protect the spectators from the fight, he took a quick look at the bewildered faces of the crowd and proceeded to kneel in order to free his secondary weapon. A quick pluck at the sword-breaker though, revealed it to a lot harder to remove than to ram in.

Seeing the giant already closing in and preparing to follow Ray up the gallery, he had no choice but to abandon the dagger temporarily; it wasn't the important one anyway.

Another leap later, Ray was in-midst the already outraged audience and forced his way even further up. Climbing over all sorts of affluent men and women -- who cussed and struggled at his disgraceful behavior --, he dared a glimpse back. Unsurprisingly Olæif had already caught up, and, with a massive crash, made the jump Ray had so struggled with, with ease. At his landing only a few spectators had raised their brows; offended, but not bothered enough to actually stand up or leave. But now? Now it was hard to find someone who wasn't trying to flee the premises. Their composure and usual carefree manner completely destroyed, these Lords and Ladies scrambled to get away first. In droves, the front rows cleared and soon the upper ones, where Ray was, also started vacating their seats.

Of course, while this happened, Ray didn't stand around idle either. As soon as he noticed his plan to flee into the crowd and wait for the poison to kick in fail, he started running into the direction of the guards. Some had already made their way to the stands when Ray first jumped on them. Since the situation had deteriorated severely since then, he had no doubt they would come and try to bring order into this duel once more.

With a mad berserker behind him and angry guardsmen in front, one would think there was no chance for Ray to continue this game of cat and mouse, but humans proved to be weirdly capable when faced with death. Slipping in between spears and armor Ray made it behind enemy lines, without getting impaled. The fact that most of the guards were focused on the walking tank also made this task a lot easier. In a quick flash of insight, Ray halted for a second and turned around to face the backs of the soldiers. Beyond them, Olæif was rapidly advancing in his direction, and the veins bulging all over his face answered whether he would halt in front of the many weapons raised against him.

'Sorry mate; but this is for a greater good.'

A quick prayer later, Ray raised his foot and planted it in the bottom of the soldier nearest to him. He couldn't send people flying like Olæif, but a small stumble was already enough. The giant's attention immediately shifted to the unlucky man, sending a fist his way. Since direct interference into the duel was forbidden, all the guards stepped up with the intention of quick restoration of order without violence, but an attack on one of their own was a different matter altogether. Resolute and determined, the soldiers raised their spears and advanced on Olæif. Some pointed to Ray as the perpetrator of the incident but were ignored in favor of the greater foe.

Since now no one was focused on him, Ray quietly made his exit. Hopping down the rows, he occasionally sneaked a peek back, gauging the situation. The longer Olæif was occupied with the guards and the more stamina he used during it, the easier everything after would be. It also provided Ray with much-needed rest. His lungs were already on fire, and the adrenaline couldn't keep him standing forever; he had to end this fight soon.

Taking a few breaths, Ray positioned himself near the center of the arena. Here he got a much better view of the giant's fighting capabilities than before. And like Ray had thought, the man seemed almost superhuman. His fists like stone, he dented the armor of the soldiers where he hit. The spears that managed to pierce his thick hide and hair barely drew blood resulting in superficial scratches.

But behind all those flashy moves, Olæif's growing exhaustion was becoming evident. And as his sweat and rough breath became more and more apparent, Ray's confidence increased with it.

It had been a while since he wounded his opponent and slowly his suspicions about the poison on his blade had been rising. After all, Ray wasn't a specialist or even slightly knowledgeable about drugs and deadly substances. How long it would take to show effect, how big the wound had to be or what the symptoms would look like, wasn't something he could fathom. Only his trust in the old man and desperation to survive drove him on for as long as it would take.

As Ray recovered and contemplated, his eyes met with Richards once again. The young Noble had a stiff face befitting the state of the duel; his friend Thomason already thrown to the side, sitting on a nearby bench. And although the mess Ray had made caused no small amount of distress among the audience, Richard was, without a doubt, the one most affected; after all, he was the who brought the giant, however he framed it.

With vile intent that practically dripped from his eyes, Richard spat on the ground and shouted,

"Guards, stand down! Olæif, get back down here and fight the one you're supposed to fight!"

At his roaring address, both parties separated without much ado, if not ardor. The guards still had their spears up, ready to re-engage Olæif at the slightest sign of hostility. Their morale didn't seem to have dropped, but anyone looking at them could tell that the engagement hadn't ended in their favor. Apart from the – in best case unconscious – one's lying at the giant's feet, the rest didn't seem to fare much better. Bent armor and chipped weapons were the norm, with bloody faces and strangely angled limbs being none the less. Olæif, on the other hand, was, at first glance, mostly unaffected, the rage clouding his judgment clearing a bit, refocusing on his real enemy: Ray.

Ignoring the piercing glares of the soldiers surrounding him, Olæif made large strides off the stands-turned-battlefield. He made it a point to walk as imposing as possible; stomping and trampling all the way down. If it weren't for his ragged breath and sweat dripping down his face, betraying his real condition, Ray would have just given up on the fight. You can't win against fools and muscleheads, after all.

A heartbeat later the two opponents stood, as in the beginning, opposite of each other. This time around though, Ray wasn't paralyzed with fear. Whether it was because he became numb to it or because both of them were already on their last legs, he didn't know and honestly didn't care. Regardless of reason, he could only fight and hopefully win.

Slowly and steadily, Ray began to approach. Since Olæif was on the verge of exhaustion, he wanted to take advantage and make the first move this time. Still, a reckless lunge in the hope of hitting the giant already proved to be ineffective, even if he was slower now. Olæif, much like earlier, didn't move while he got closer. By all means, he shouldn't have the confidence to toy with Ray, anymore, but whether out of arrogance or necessity, his stance didn't change. As Ray came dangerously close, he stopped just out of range of his opponent. He lowered his center of gravity and took a quick step forward to take a slash at Olæif's abdomen. Unlike his earlier strategy though, he didn't commit fully to the strike and moved out of range immediately after. Backing off a bit in anticipation for a counter, Ray examined the effectiveness of his new tactic. A tiny gnash gradually opened on Olæif lower hip. The wound was so insignificant, the giant probably didn't even notice it was there, but it proved something far more important: He was now able to injure him.

Reaffirming this was the way to go, Ray moved to try again. With agility, he didn't think he'd possess, he jumped into action; closing in while leaving enough room to withdraw at any point. Olæif reacted this time instantly, his fist flying before Ray could even take a swing. The air pressure pushing against his face showed him a future of a smashed in visage, and with more instinct than skill, Ray managed to duck before the punch connected. Quickly recovering he took a stab, pulled back and jumped to the side. As he stood up, a panting and clearly angry Olæif was upon him. With the force of a truck, the giant tried to ram into him. Ray, instead of running from the attack, angled his sword against his chest and pushed forward as well. Although he would undoubtedly end up with a few broken ribs, a skewered Olæif was worth any amount of shattered bones. Seeing that danger the giant sought to stop in his tracks, but couldn't stamp out all the force he had built up and crashed, a few paces next to Ray, into the ground. Not willing to let such an excellent opportunity go, Ray came to a forceful stop after a bit of stumbling, turned around and slashed with all he got into the broad back of his enemy. It didn't take long for this bullying to stop, as Olæif abruptly turned around, while still lying on the ground, and gripped Ray's leg. With a 'thud' that shook his head and dazed him for longer than he could afford, Ray was pulled into the dirt as well. Only after an excruciating crunching noise reached his incapacitated brain and sharp pain traveled up from his shin, did he snap out of his shock.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

Flailing around in agony, Ray barley managed to maintain a state of mind alert enough to pierce Olæif's forearm with his weapon. Surprisingly did he not only hit but penetrate the log like limb and pin it to the ground.

The bliss of such success was, unfortunately, only of short-lived, as Olæif ripped his arm with the rapier off the ground and picked it out of his flesh like a toothpick. At first, Ray thought this would be it for him. He didn't have any more weapons, his leg was squashed, and the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. But even as he waited, the end did not come. With painstaking difficulty, Ray propped himself up once more and couldn't help but let a laugh escape. The un-surmountable gargantuan who had seemed invincible just minutes ago, was barely lifting his body, coughing blood as if his lung was dissolving.

'Haha...f*cking finally...'

Down-beaten as he was, Ray couldn't even properly rejoice and just smiled bitterly. He had expected this fight to be a lot easier and less painful when he had noticed his blade was poisoned, but, as always, life disappoints. Done with everything that wasn't sleeping, Ray made a last-ditch effort to crawl to his rapier make it back to Olæif to stab the giant, who couldn't even move at this point anymore, in the throat.

This was the second time Ray had killed directly, but unlike his first murder, he felt none of the revulsion or guilt. He simply enjoyed the warm hug of their combined blood and the silent lullaby of the empty arena.