Bloody Duel

The First Sword was always someone considered ahead of his time, not so in the way he was or thought but merely when it came to the state of his body. He had begun growing long before the other slaves of his generation did. As a result there was never any question in which role he would be assigned to. And so before he realized it he was within the first stage of the soldier role.

It was a boring period, a time where all were taught everything which was needed to understand the many forms of combat but with no actual practicing of it. Had it been then that he first made a mistake? 

Despite the lack of any actual battles, many were not ignorant of what the following stage promised. As such, each sprouting talent had already pinpointed any potential threats. Yet none were able to recognize the sleeping dragon which lingered among them. 

Back then, Arren had yet to grow into his age, lagging behind slightly from the rest of his peers. All which others took note of was his crimson eyes, a trait rarely seen on humans. However a sharp look was infinitely duller than any blade so none cared to bother him. 

The First Sword was no different. Yet when the time for the second stage arrived, all received a harrowing awakening. That lean brat had grown a bit, and despite his physique which suggested otherwise, the youth possessed monstrous strength. 

It was almost comical how easily he dominated those who dared to challenge him. The First Sword being among them. Back then, he felt rage and indignation for being inferior, promising to himself to slay the bastard with his two hands. However, over time, and after each bitter defeat, The First Sword came to respect his rival. 

He learned to fear him as well. 

That was why the monumental shift which occurred upon entering the third stage became such a sour point for him. When he challenged his bitter rival then, it was the first time he saw that bastard's skin be adorned by his own blood. 

It was pathetic really, just how easily he fell. 

The First Sword could not accept that victory then, rejecting it so vigorously that one could have thought it had been his own defeat which he was protesting. However, regardless of how unsatisfied he was, that was the reality of it all. The giant which he feared so deeply, one which he dared to challenge time and time again, had truly crumbled from atop his throne. 

The First Sword then sat upon that throne as the stage's unquestionable king. He should have been elated by that, after all standing upon his generation's peak was what he wished for. As a slave destined to turn into another nameless soldier which his king would command at a whim, this period of his life was perhaps the only chance he would have to carve out a legacy, however small and insignificant it may be. 

And yet he was not satisfied with such a result, what he wanted all along was to siege the throne, not inherit it. 

That was why this battle mattered to him. If the old-king could not adapt to the changes and meet him upon the peak once more, then he would travel down that mountain, down to its very chasm, so that the two can enter a familiar dream, one where the old rules still stood. 

Even now his heart burned with an fervent desire to know.

Was he still not this person's equal? Could he truly dare to call himself their better? 

*****

Bang!

Arren gritted his teeth as his hands vibrated from the blow which The First Sword's descending war hammer brought. The blow was enough to dissolve his stance somewhat, an opening which The First Sword would not hesitate to exploit. 

The second war hammer shot forth with explosive might towards Arren's knee. 

However the weapon did not reach its target, the polish steel of Arren's sword instead doubled its speed as it was arced down to intercept the incoming attack. The move was performed with a single arm, its cut through the air elegant.

This of course came at the cost of the remaining force of the first war hammer to impact Arren's chest-plate, knocking him back a few steps. In the end however, one weapon's might was significantly dampened, while the other was elegantly redirected to harmlessly strike the sand below. 

The First Sword snorted slightly, both in veneration to the sheer skill of his opponent and in annoyance of failing to bypass that skill. 

He did not halt his offense though, exploding forth without hesitation. 

Naturally Arren did not shy away either. The two were like stubborn bears relentlessly biting at each other, yet their skin seemed to always be just thick enough to make every wound a shallow one.

Blood trickled down upon different areas of their bodies. Both paid these injuries no focus, their sharp gazes instead locked upon the other's every action. 

Arren was especially calm, even as a deadly threat was slowly emerging. For a moment he allowed his eyes to wander, landing upon his steel blade's body. Its polish surface had suffered considerable strain. Its sharp edges were now becoming chipped, and a thin, almost imperceptible line was appearing half way through its thin body. 

In the end, regardless of Arren's own personal strength, the sword was not a hammer. Its purpose was not to trade devastating blows with a block of steel, but to cut. Now it was near its end, ready to shatter. 

Arren returned his gaze upon The First Sword. He had managed to cut upon a few weak points of The First Sword's heavy armor, yet that would not give him this fight. He sighed in his heart before readying to strike once more. 

This is going to be ugly.

He thought to himself. 

Whoosh! 

His lean body sprang forward, his speed turning almost terrifying. The First Sword remained calm, his body tensing to receive the inevitable strike. He did not have to wait long, Arren reached him within seconds, then with perfect footing and with all of his core, he grasped his sword with both hands and swung down with deadly fury. 

The First Sword growled as he poured all his might into the retaliatory strike of his two war hammers. 

Bang!

Then the impact occurred, and the sound of steel shattering echoed throughout. The First Sword's eyes bulged slightly upon seeing Arren's sword shatter, however shock quickly shifted to dread as he felt a chill travel down his back. His instincts were screaming at him to fall back. He soon understood why. Whilst his sword shattered, Arren had leaned in low, using the commotion as cover for the set up of a deadly strike.

A fist was being pulled back. A sight which made The First Sword's skin prickle.

Had it been anyone else, The First Sword would laugh at the idea of seeing someone dare to send forth a punch to protest against his thick armor, however this was The Crimson Demon, someone with unexplainable strength which far surpassed what his lean muscular body entailed. 

And like a domineering harpoon, Arren unleashed his right fist forward with perfect form. 

Bang!

The First Sword's eyes popped as Arren's fist punched deep into his stomach, ignoring the thick leather armor which shielded him. Pain assaulted him, along with a sudden loss of breath. However Arren's assault was not done. 

He entered The First Sword's space yet again and readied another strike, sending it forth with deadly precision. The First Sword gritted his teeth then swung one of his war hammers with all his strength. He would take Arren's second blow, however the bastard would pay dearly for it. 

However, he was left without words when Arren's incoming fist shifted to meet his war hammer head-on. The sound of the impact was ear wrenching. One could hear the breaking of countless bones along with the snapping of wood. 

To every spectator's surprise, Arren had traded the evisceration of his left hand in order to snap off the head of the war hammer from its body. The heavy steel flew a few meters away before falling beyond the designated area. 

Arren's hand was now smashed in, each of its bones were shattered. Yet he did not care, without any delay, and before The First Sword could utilize his second hammer, Arren unleashed a second strike, this one aimed at his head. 

That was the only area which remained unguarded. By the time The First Sword saw this second strike approaching all he could do was harden his face. With a deadly force, the impact arrived and The First Sword's jaw immediately caved in. 

Blood splat forth as his mouth now seemed to hang. The First Sword swung his second hammer to force Arren to retreat, however Arren chose to endure the blow with his body. His face contorted yet his attacks did not relent. Even with his bloodied, mangled stump, Arren kept unleashing blow after blow.

Until at last The First Sword fell. 

With a thump his body crumbled. The First Sword felt dazed, however this duel had not ended yet. He abandoned his second hammer, seeking to equip the two swords strapped to his back. 

"You think I would just let you?" 

Arren's sinister voice rang out as he jumped on top of the bloody First Sword. It was then that a feral second stage of their fight commenced, with the two unleashing their fists to mangle the other's face until both appeared unrecognizable. 

Blood flowed in all directions, their wounds became covered by hot orange sand, their teeth were knocked clean out, their lips were bust open, their noses were shattered, and yet, neither was willing to yield, to give a single inch. 

Arren's hand was mangled, but his almost inhuman strength allowed him to not falter behind The First Sword despite such a disadvantage. Furthermore, the further the bloody onslaught continued, the wider his grin became. 

It was a bloody toothless grin. 

He smiled because he was winning, because The First Sword's eyes already showed a glint of fear even as he desperately fought back with ferocious vigor. Sure The First Sword was landing more hits, however Arren's blows possessed more tyrannical strength to them. 

There was a secret to why Arren was so ferocious upon each of his battles, it was because he treated each as if he would die if he failed. Therefore, he could not allow himself to lose. Of course, even this had grown ineffective upon this third stage. But today, a day of magicless battle, it was the perfect dosage of motivative vigor. 

After all, when it came to combat prowess, none were his equals. Of that truth he had long since been certain of. 

As the bloody exchange continued, The First Sword was slowly being overwhelmed. Within the depths of The First Sword's heart, one which was ruthless and vicious, a spark of dread was slowly awakening. It was something which had never left him, merely dimming over time. 

It was his fear of this person, of the brat which seemed unstoppable even when one possessed all the advantages. 

Sure, The First Sword may have been favored by the brutal mistress which was violence, however, his foe was not just favored, he was her blessed, her beloved. After all, as if commanding an elemental nature, whenever he called forth her assistance, none ever seemed to escape his tyrannical fury. 

That said, The First Sword had already given a good fight. However, there was no point in continuing further. He could feel his limit approaching. 

Alas he had received his answer… No. He would never dare call himself this person's equal. When he accepted such a reality, fear rushed forth unopposed, overflowing his heart in an instant before beginning to crush it beneath its immense weight. 

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Eventually The First Sword's resistance grew so miniscule that Arren's blows quickly outnumbered The First Sword's own. Then when his face grew so bloody that Arren himself could no longer recognize the man before him, he felt a hand grasp his descending arm. The Record Keeper had finally intervened after the two tigers had struggled in the ground for half a dozen minutes. 

Arren smiled eerily when he realized what had happened. Naturally, this meant he was the victor of this bloody duel.