Vague, a long-note roar. In the darkness of a chamber, behind a shut gate of thick lumber and iron, a soul in tattered rags awaits proclamation. The breath beneath a cloth-mask is steady. Left wrist is faintly snuggling with a slender black scabbard housing a vicious tool to kill. Posture while remaining aloft on both feet in caligae is impeccable.

    Muffled as it may be, a proud disembodied voice of a fellow is clear in declaring something grand.

“And now, Your Majesty, esteemed guests and dearest audience,
I present to you the challenger of the coming conflict. One who
had overcome the maddening odds that made it seem the gods
themselves favored him as the victor of battles past. Do not let
his horrid visage fool you. Unsightly as a corpse he may be, he
is as fearsome as the finest warriors ever to grace our nation.
Behold, the Man in Gray!”

    The pair of great doors several yards before the quiet soul creak open, slowly and loudly, each with a man pushing them away. The flood of light and noise crashes in. Harken on this moment heavily imbued with cheer. The thrill of the crowd is a galloping thunder, a great choir of excited yells and applause. Drink in the vociferous welcome.

    He, the Man in Gray, marches out of the chamber and into a massive round plain with nary a bump for toes to foolishly stumble upon. There are obstructions, mind one. Dressed corpses skewered with a spear are cooking in the stinging noon sun. Some of them have at least a limb several feet away from them with a trail of blood between what lump of languished life there was and the parted arm, leg, or head. Flies gather around them, buzzing about.

    There is one other blight to flatness, too difficult to ignore. An armored giant towering beyond twice the raggedy man is standing near the center of the plain. The growl behind its iron lion mask is crisp, guttural and sure to bode ill for what helpless whelp dares to cross it. A steel axe is being held in those big hands, taller than the marching man; its twin sharp curves may have been recently wiped out of an oily red stain. The large slabs of lumber and iron behind the man are soon shut.

    Once the man has reached enough distance from the center, he stops. His posture, still impeccable. He and the giant turn to face a side of this grand realm where the high stone walls around them deny an easy climb. Green eyes are upon the row of lordship, one being the highest of them all in authority. The man and the giant provide a hearty bow. Their lord in red raises a hand and offers a humble smile and a nod.

    Upon facing each other, the giant stomps the pommel of its axe down on the sandy floor. The note of the thud was crisp! A crackling comes from its mask, rather cheerful like an amused chuckle. The raggedy challenger raises a brow but only until that merry mumbling ends. His huge foe speaks with the brooding bravado of an ancient demon.

“Blessed is he, my latest prey.
Fight well, not flee, dear Man in Gray.”

    The corpse scoffs softly, drowned by the vigorous cheer of the crowd several thousands strong. But soon, the crowd goes still as the gent who gave that rousing announcement more than a minute prior raises both hands to request silence from them. He issues a command that both man and beast must follow.

“Combatants, ready yourselves!”

    Awaken the strong steel on his left hip, recently resharpened to ensure his prowess with it is properly pronounced. A favored stance of his is taken. Left foot forward, much of his person facing his right side, hilt firmly gripped inches near his wrinkled face, and the swordpoint aiming at the foe ahead. The lion-masked giant raises back his axe to be clutched with both hands again, hunching its upper body and keeping its big feet parted. Spill away a thrilled growl, for prey is about to be pounced. A deep breath from the gray-garbed challenger, springing in the calm to awaken the storm within him.

“B e g i n !”

    The flood of the cheering crowd comes crashing back in, nearly obscuring the roar of the armored giant while it takes wide stomp-like steps forward. The Man in Gray twists his left foot, grinding the sole of his caligae on the sandy floor. Even if little by little, those tiny twists and knots of his limbs are brewing in them the passion of well-flaunted barbarism leading to his prior victories.

    The giant tramples ahead, axe raised past a shoulder. A lung-spent snarl is freed as it stops less than a yard before the man and hammers one of those curved sharp bulks down on his neck! His wrists fling about in tandem. The sword follows the path with the air howling from this feisty flaunt—a powerful upward sweep! The axe-end is swatted back as if the blade itself carries the same vicious punch as it does.

    The ringing note of such ferocious intervention can be heard across the arena drowned in loud excitement from its audience. The steel-clad brute stumbles back, growling either from sudden panic or frustration that this prey is not an easy mark. The corpse in gray takes two steps back to retreat and regain his posture while the armored one struggles to get back theirs. Commit to the same sound sword stance. Chuckle away that lovely rejection of harm his way. Wandering eyes grasp upon what parts of the creature are free of anything that may impede his blade.

“A fine swing. Care to try again?”

    The taunt does not anger the beast. It frees a gleeful growl while finally regaining fair footing, taking a few steps back itself. A portion of the axe handle hops up and down of its big curved left palm to last a few seconds. For what odd coincidence there is to see, both rotate their shoulders and tilt their heads to crack their necks. How bewildering it must be for a boulder to be bullied so soon by a pesky pebble, one as unpleasant to the eyes as this raggedy corpse-fellow.

    The crowd is inconsolable, many with their eyes widened or merely eagles upon the two opponents, their cheeks hurting from open lips as with hundreds having to pump a fist up that strains the shoulder or the palms in repeating unison. The Man in Gray and the steel-plated giant free a thick growling puff. They sprint ahead, weapons well-gripped, close the gap once again and make their steels sing some more.

Let the contest resume until victory
embraces one and loss consumes the other.