u/Thebeanmanboi

Chapter 16

The Karls life was nothing special. He went on raids with his companions, served his community, even had a family. He lived a long, happy life. What made his death special?

It wasn't. He died peacefully in his sleep. He was only chosen because he showed promise.

In his final days, he laid as his wife, an elderly woman by the name of Snaefrid, prayed to the Norse gods before his death.

She knew he wasn't long for this world, and quietly muttered as she knew he passed.

Snaefrid: Rest well…Asbrand…

Asbrand. We have our Karl.

---

The Hoplite trudged deeper as he impaled Asbrand's waist with his gladius.

Asbrand gripped the Hoplites arm tightly to prevent any push deeper, the blue flare in his eyes bursting brightly as he managed to pull it out of him, stumbling back.

He suddenly threw his seax at the Hoplite, the Hoplite holding his arm up to deflect the knife. At the same time, Asbrand leaped in the air, readying an overhead strike.

The Hoplite held his gladius up to block the strike as Asbrand brought down his skeggøx, the ends of the weapons clashing.

Asbrand fell back as he failed an attack, watching as the Hoplite ran right back at him.

In usual fashion, Asbrand grinned, as he dug in his pockets and suddenly shot a flurry of dirt into the Hoplites eyes!

The Hoplites eyes clenched shut as he tripped forward, Asbrand gaining his chance to strike as he went for a horizontal slash.

He collides with the Hoplites arm, the blue flame in his eyes bursting brightly with a cackle!

Asbrand: Yggradsil-Cutting Axe! Lárétt Högg!

The axe cuts near cleanly through the Hoplite’s arm, causing it to fall to the ground, then into his side.

The Hoplite’s eyes shot open and immediately stabbed into Asbrand's waist, stabbing deeply. The Hoplites golden flame flickered in and out as he felt himself being split in two…

Chapter 16

The Karls life was nothing special. He went on raids with his companions, served his community, even had a family. He lived a long, happy life. What made his death special?

It wasn't. He died peacefully in his sleep. He was only chosen because he showed promise.

In his final days, he laid as his wife, an elderly woman by the name of Snaefrid, prayed to the Norse gods before his death.

She knew he wasn't long for this world, and quietly muttered as she knew he passed.

Snaefrid: Rest well…Asbrand…

Asbrand. We have our Karl.

---

The Hoplite trudged deeper as he impaled Asbrand's waist with his gladius.

Asbrand gripped the Hoplites arm tightly to prevent any push deeper, the blue flare in his eyes bursting brightly as he managed to pull it out of him, stumbling back.

He suddenly threw his seax at the Hoplite, the Hoplite holding his arm up to deflect the knife. At the same time, Asbrand leaped in the air, readying an overhead strike.

The Hoplite held his gladius up to block the strike as Asbrand brought down his skeggøx, the ends of the weapons clashing.

Asbrand fell back as he failed an attack, watching as the Hoplite ran right back at him.

In usual fashion, Asbrand grinned, as he dug in his pockets and suddenly shot a flurry of dirt into the Hoplites eyes!

The Hoplites eyes clenched shut as he tripped forward, Asbrand gaining his chance to strike as he went for a horizontal slash.

He collides with the Hoplites arm, the blue flame in his eyes bursting brightly with a cackle!

Asbrand: Yggradsil-Cutting Axe! Lárétt Högg!

The axe cuts near cleanly through the Hoplite’s arm, causing it to fall to the ground, then into his side.

The Hoplite’s eyes shot open and immediately stabbed into Asbrand's waist, stabbing deeply. The Hoplites golden flame flickered in and out as he felt himself being split in two…

Chapter 15

Back within the waiting rooms sat alone a man, simply sitting in his boxers and using a utility knife to carve out pieces of an apple as he watches the fight play out. This was the US WW2 soldier.

Soldier: Damn, Rome guys gettin’ smoked out there…

As he ate a piece of his apple, the door to his room suddenly opened, a cloaked man stepping in. The soldier turned his head, cocking an eyebrow.

Soldier: Hell're you doin’ here?

The man didn't answer as he slowly revealed a greatsword beneath his cloak.

Soldier: Ay…AY! BACK OFF!

He stood up, his utility knife held up in a pathetic attempt to counter the greatsword. The cloaked man gripped his greatsword with both hands before running at the soldier, easily evading his knife and cleaving his torso in two, the body falling in pieces.

The man lowered his hood. This was a Foot Soldier of the Chinese Green Standard Infantry. He will replace the American soldier.

Foot Soldier: Pitiful. That man wouldn't have lasted against his opponent.

The Foot Soldier picked up the dropped apple and sat, taking bites as he watched the duel play out, uncaring of whether somebody discovered or not…

---

The Karl gritted his teeth as frustration began to bubble within him. The Hoplite refused to go down, no matter his injury.

Before the Hoplite could get off an attack, the Karl jumped at him, the Hoplite swaying to the side as the Karl’s seax knife barely grazed his cheek.

The Hoplite immediately countered as he hooked his arm around the Karl's neck and slammed forward, clotheslining the Karl into the ground. The Karl gasped as air quickly escaped his lungs from the impact.

He watched as the Hoplite drew his hasta once again, already going at the Karl, aiming for his throat.

The Karl tilted his head to the side, the spearhead just barely cutting into his neck. The Karl, thinking quickly, took his seax and chopped into the spear shaft, his other arm hooking around the spear to prevent it from moving.

With a hard chop, the spear was cut in two, the Hoplite stumbling back as he realises his hasta is reduced to a long stick. He threw it aside, going back to his gladius.

The Karl suddenly took off his spangenhelm and threw the iron helmet directly into the Hoplites face, shocking him for a moment before the Karl rushed in, plunging his seax into the Hoplites chest wounds and plunging his skeggøx into the Hoplites side.

The Hoplite stood stunned for a moment before headbutting the Karl in similar fashion to Nochehuatl against Gunya. The Karl's head jutted back at the sudden force before grinning widely, the blunt force causing his forehead to bleed over his Ægishjalmur rune.

Hoplite: you grin far too much! I'm supposed to be a good omen!

He gasped as the Karl punctured a lung with his seax. The Karl twisted his seax before pulling back with a powerful tug.

He felt the Hoplite slump against him for a moment. Then, the golden flame in the Hoplites eyes burned brilliantly!

Hoplite: STOP GRINNING AT ME!

He shoved the Karl before lunging at him with a speed he wasn't showing before, and the Karl gasped as the Hoplite successfully plunged into his waist.

Chapter 15

Back within the waiting rooms sat alone a man, simply sitting in his boxers and using a utility knife to carve out pieces of an apple as he watches the fight play out. This was the US WW2 soldier.

Soldier: Damn, Rome guys gettin’ smoked out there…

As he ate a piece of his apple, the door to his room suddenly opened, a cloaked man stepping in. The soldier turned his head, cocking an eyebrow.

Soldier: Hell're you doin’ here?

The man didn't answer as he slowly revealed a greatsword beneath his cloak.

Soldier: Ay…AY! BACK OFF!

He stood up, his utility knife held up in a pathetic attempt to counter the greatsword. The cloaked man gripped his greatsword with both hands before running at the soldier, easily evading his knife and cleaving his torso in two, the body falling in pieces.

The man lowered his hood. This was a Foot Soldier of the Chinese Green Standard Infantry. He will replace the American soldier.

Foot Soldier: Pitiful. That man wouldn't have lasted against his opponent.

The Foot Soldier picked up the dropped apple and sat, taking bites as he watched the duel play out, uncaring of whether somebody discovered or not…

---

The Karl gritted his teeth as frustration began to bubble within him. The Hoplite refused to go down, no matter his injury.

Before the Hoplite could get off an attack, the Karl jumped at him, the Hoplite swaying to the side as the Karl’s seax knife barely grazed his cheek.

The Hoplite immediately countered as he hooked his arm around the Karl's neck and slammed forward, clotheslining the Karl into the ground. The Karl gasped as air quickly escaped his lungs from the impact.

He watched as the Hoplite drew his hasta once again, already going at the Karl, aiming for his throat.

The Karl tilted his head to the side, the spearhead just barely cutting into his neck. The Karl, thinking quickly, took his seax and chopped into the spear shaft, his other arm hooking around the spear to prevent it from moving.

With a hard chop, the spear was cut in two, the Hoplite stumbling back as he realises his hasta is reduced to a long stick. He threw it aside, going back to his gladius.

The Karl suddenly took off his spangenhelm and threw the iron helmet directly into the Hoplites face, shocking him for a moment before the Karl rushed in, plunging his seax into the Hoplites chest wounds and plunging his skeggøx into the Hoplites side.

The Hoplite stood stunned for a moment before headbutting the Karl in similar fashion to Nochehuatl against Gunya. The Karl's head jutted back at the sudden force before grinning widely, the blunt force causing his forehead to bleed over his Ægishjalmur rune.

Hoplite: you grin far too much! I'm supposed to be a good omen!

He gasped as the Karl punctured a lung with his seax. The Karl twisted his seax before pulling back with a powerful tug.

He felt the Hoplite slump against him for a moment. Then, the golden flame in the Hoplites eyes burned brilliantly!

Hoplite: STOP GRINNING AT ME!

He shoved the Karl before lunging at him with a speed he wasn't showing before, and the Karl gasped as the Hoplite successfully plunged into his waist.

Chapter 14

The moment the match is called, a blue spark flickers behind the Karls eyes before suddenly, the Hoplite feels an axe slice cleanly through his bronze armor and collapses, blood already pooling on the floor.

Karl: Ah, I would've expected a bigger fight…

The Karl waits a moment.

Karl: Why aren't you fading?

The Hoplite laid on the floor. Nobody can see, but he has the biggest grin cutting across his once terrified face. Goat sacrifices weren't the answer.

The Hoplite stood, almost as if nothing had happened.

The Hoplite saw his own blood pool in the dirt. It read as a good omen to him.

He looked up at the Karl with a wide grin before suddenly jumping at him, his hasta deeply plunging right into the Karls shoulder, stabbing even through thick padding.

Hoplite: I AM A GOOD OMEN!

His words made little sense to the Karl, his hand gripping the hasta as he forced it out of him, stepping back.

That blue spark glistened again in the Karl's eye as he jumped forward in readiness for an overhead strike, but the Hoplite hooked the shaft of his hasta beneath the beard of the skeggøx, throwing off the strike.

The Hoplite huddled low before rushing at the Karl, twisting his body so that his back collided with the Karls front, sending him further off his balance until he was stumbling to the floor.

The Hoplite plunged the hasta at the Karl, but the Karl used the wooden handle of his skeggøx to stop the strike.

Karl: Where did such power come from! I'm near impressed!

The Karl pulled his arms up to tug along the Hoplite by his spear before kicking his legs up, colliding right into the Hoplites chest. The Hoplite is shoved back but almost as quickly regains himself.

Without giving the Karl time to get up, the Hoplite rushed in and kicked into the Karl's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The Karl laid there for a moment, catching his breath.

That blue spark flicked, before hardening as the Karl suddenly spins along the ground and sweeps the Hoplites leg before donning his skeggøx again and slamming it down in the Hoplite, carving into his chest once more.

The Hoplite laid there, bloody, but not fading away. The Karl wonders if he's somehow not cutting deep enough, watching as the Hoplite gets up again.

The Karls eyes widened in disbelief as the Hoplite suddenly impaled his shoulder again, deeper this time from the previous wound.

Before he can grab the hasta, the Hoplite pulls back with a downward tug, spilling the Karls blood along the ground.

The Hoplite read it as a bad omen and grinned, believing fully that the Karl is down.

The Karl dropped to a knee on the floor for a moment. He knew for sure he was winning, but if this would keeps deepening, he wouldn't have access to both arms through the battle.

Slowly, he dabbed a drop of his own blood onto his thumb and began to mark his forehead between his brows. When it was finished, he looked up.

Many of the norse gods and people among the crowd recognized these markings. It was a rune. The Ægishjalmur. An occult rune meant for protection, but can also be used to scare enemies. This was what he was forgetting. He was marking his weapons with no regard for himself.

A wide, almost toothy grin shown through his beard as he suddenly jumped up at the Hoplite, the blue flame in his eyes bursting forth as he feigned a strike from his skeggøx before swiftly pulling out his seax knife, jamming into the open bottom of his helmet and jutting it off his head.

The Hoplite quickly stumbled back as his helmet was forced off, quickly pulling out his gladius as the two clashed blades. The Karl pulled his blade back and swung his skeggøx diagonally from the bottom into the gladius, deflecting it upward.

The Hoplite, in a frenzy of wanting to keep the battle in his favor, sent an inopportune thrust from his hasta, only for the Karl to hook the spear under the beard of his skeggøx and jam his seax into the gap of the Hoplites chest plate, cutting into an already deep wound.

The stab must've hit something, as the Hoplite slumped for a moment, falling to the ground. But he didn't fade. He just didn't fade.

And the Hoplite rose again, a golden spark starting to flare in his gaze…

Chapter 14

The moment the match is called, a blue spark flickers behind the Karls eyes before suddenly, the Hoplite feels an axe slice cleanly through his bronze armor and collapses, blood already pooling on the floor.

Karl: Ah, I would've expected a bigger fight…

The Karl waits a moment.

Karl: Why aren't you fading?

The Hoplite laid on the floor. Nobody can see, but he has the biggest grin cutting across his once terrified face. Goat sacrifices weren't the answer.

The Hoplite stood, almost as if nothing had happened.

The Hoplite saw his own blood pool in the dirt. It read as a good omen to him.

He looked up at the Karl with a wide grin before suddenly jumping at him, his hasta deeply plunging right into the Karls shoulder, stabbing even through thick padding.

Hoplite: I AM A GOOD OMEN!

His words made little sense to the Karl, his hand gripping the hasta as he forced it out of him, stepping back.

That blue spark glistened again in the Karl's eye as he jumped forward in readiness for an overhead strike, but the Hoplite hooked the shaft of his hasta beneath the beard of the skeggøx, throwing off the strike.

The Hoplite huddled low before rushing at the Karl, twisting his body so that his back collided with the Karls front, sending him further off his balance until he was stumbling to the floor.

The Hoplite plunged the hasta at the Karl, but the Karl used the wooden handle of his skeggøx to stop the strike.

Karl: Where did such power come from! I'm near impressed!

The Karl pulled his arms up to tug along the Hoplite by his spear before kicking his legs up, colliding right into the Hoplites chest. The Hoplite is shoved back but almost as quickly regains himself.

Without giving the Karl time to get up, the Hoplite rushed in and kicked into the Karl's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The Karl laid there for a moment, catching his breath.

That blue spark flicked, before hardening as the Karl suddenly spins along the ground and sweeps the Hoplites leg before donning his skeggøx again and slamming it down in the Hoplite, carving into his chest once more.

The Hoplite laid there, bloody, but not fading away. The Karl wonders if he's somehow not cutting deep enough, watching as the Hoplite gets up again.

The Karls eyes widened in disbelief as the Hoplite suddenly impaled his shoulder again, deeper this time from the previous wound.

Before he can grab the hasta, the Hoplite pulls back with a downward tug, spilling the Karls blood along the ground.

The Hoplite read it as a bad omen and grinned, believing fully that the Karl is down.

The Karl dropped to a knee on the floor for a moment. He knew for sure he was winning, but if this would keeps deepening, he wouldn't have access to both arms through the battle.

Slowly, he dabbed a drop of his own blood onto his thumb and began to mark his forehead between his brows. When it was finished, he looked up.

Many of the norse gods and people among the crowd recognized these markings. It was a rune. The Ægishjalmur. An occult rune meant for protection, but can also be used to scare enemies. This was what he was forgetting. He was marking his weapons with no regard for himself.

A wide, almost toothy grin shown through his beard as he suddenly jumped up at the Hoplite, the blue flame in his eyes bursting forth as he feigned a strike from his skeggøx before swiftly pulling out his seax knife, jamming into the open bottom of his helmet and jutting it off his head.

The Hoplite quickly stumbled back as his helmet was forced off, quickly pulling out his gladius as the two clashed blades. The Karl pulled his blade back and swung his skeggøx diagonally from the bottom into the gladius, deflecting it upward.

The Hoplite, in a frenzy of wanting to keep the battle in his favor, sent an inopportune thrust from his hasta, only for the Karl to hook the spear under the beard of his skeggøx and jam his seax into the gap of the Hoplites chest plate, cutting into an already deep wound.

The stab must've hit something, as the Hoplite slumped for a moment, falling to the ground. But he didn't fade. He just didn't fade.

And the Hoplite rose again, a golden spark starting to flare in his gaze…

Chapter 13

The crowd was as restless as usual, anticipating the next match. The nameless god heads to the center of the arena to begin the match before letting the excitement drag too long.

Nameless god: EVERYONE! THE NEXT MATCH IS UNDERWAY!

The crowd grew loud as the nameless god announced the next match.

Nameless god: ON THE LEFT, WE HAVE A MAN CLAD IN A BRILLIANT BRONZE! FROM THE SOUTH OF EUROPE IN THE GREAT ROMAN EMPIRE, THE HOPLIIIITE!

The gate opens as the Hoplite steps out, his hands gripping his hasta spear until his knuckles turn white out of nervousness. He was sure he'd lose just by how many bad omens he received.

He felt as if the gods were furious at him, feeling the eyes of the countless gods glaring down upon him.

In reality, they couldn't care less about such omens, the gods and goddesses simply awaiting who his opponent would be.

Nameless god: ON THE OTHER SIDE, FROM THE FAR NORTH WE HAVE…THE KAAAAAAARL!

The gate opened as a man walked in with no other expression but a carefree smile settled on his beard.

Karl: Ah, what lovely faces!

As he walked in, he started filling his pockets with dirt. Who wouldn't love the dirt of the heavens?

Parts of the crowd murmured at the man's strange activities, but he couldn't care less. He seems to also be eating some of the dirt. A strange man, he was.

Karl: Mm! You have to try this!

He holds out a hand to the nameless god and drops in a small mound of dirt in his palm. The nameless god grimaced a little and handed the dirt back.

Nameless god: Why not save some for later, pal…

The Karl was a little disappointed in the rejection, but didn't fight it as he looked at the nervous wreck before him. He cocked an eyebrow at the man who looked as if he'd pass out the moment the match began.

Karl: The coward believes he will love forever if he holds back in battle, but in old age-

A stray rock flies out into the arena as a more impatient god yells out.

Impatient god: SHUT UP N'FIGHT!

The nameless god huffed at the impatience and stepped back.

Nameless god: Alright…FIIIIIIGHT!

Fun fact: the little phrase the Karl was saying before being interrupted was a real, Norse phrase that goes in regards to cowardice. Stanza 16 of the Hávamál

Chapter 12

A medical team carried away Gunya in a stretcher as he remained passed out from his hard duel. He knew deep down that he won't be able to win his next match if he doesn't push himself harder, but he has plenty of time to prepare.

As the clean-up crew took care of the arena, the nameless god giggled in excitement as he practically skipped down the waiting rooms.

His giggling fit is suddenly stopped as he bumps into somebody, a cloaked man turning his head in confusion.

Nameless god: P-pardon me!

The nameless god ran past him. The cloaked many simply shook his head as he kept walking.

Later on, the nameless god barged into the room of one of the next fighters. He had the biggest grin on his face when he entered.

Nameless god: Oh fighters, your match is soon!

His eyes widened in horror as he realized the floor of the room was just covered in nothing but blood. Nothing but a man in the center of the room slitting the throat of a goat as he hummed a hymn to himself. The Paean, an ancient war hymn dedicated to Ares or Apollo.

Faint mutterings of frustration mixed with the hymn as he tossed the deceased goat aside, frustrated. The nameless god, still absolutely mortified, turned his head to see a pile of goats. This guy just killed a pile of goats.

The Hoplite, ancient warriors that filled the space of Roman armies. As a way to predict victory, they would sacrifice an animal right before battle, and depending on how the blood pooled in the dirt, they would stand completely still until they had a good omen.

Clearly, this Hoplite has gotten only bad omens. He thrust his hands to the air in anger and kicked his legs.

Hoplite: Curse the world! My fight is surely a failure!

He fell backwards into the pool of blood around him, finally noticing the nameless god.

The two just looked at each other for a moment. The nameless god eventually spoke, his tone flat.

Nameless god: …Your match is soon.

The Hoplite’s heart practically sank as he quickly scrambled up.

Hoplite: Don't make me go out! I will die as soon as I step out!

The nameless god stepped back as the Hoplite scrambled to his feet, quaking in his boots.

Nameless god: Too late! The roster is already decided! Now get out there and fight!

Something clicked in the Hoplite’s head as he immediately straightened up and began to put on his equipment.

Hoplite: Sir, yes, sir!

The Hoplite equipped his bronze armor, the brown, shining material sittingly light and breathable, yet sturdy. Then, with a huff, lifted his hasta, an 8 ft long thrusting spear, and finished by fastening his gladius to his waist.

With a salute, he ran out the room, not quite caring that he was ankle-deep in goat blood moments ago.

The nameless god would later have this room lit on fire.

Once the Hoplite was gone, the nameless god ran to the next room to find a man sitting calmly against a wall, a screen on the wall opposite of him replaying the last 2 fights as the man whittled away on a small piece of wood.

The nameless god was very relieved that this man wasn't actively going for a blood sacrifice like the past 2 fighters have.

The man looked up, a small smile playing on his bearded face.

This was the Viking Karl, the backbone of Viking society. Typically, they do make sacrifices, Sigrblót, and carve runes into their weapons to ensure protection and victory. This Karl seems to have forgotten to commit a sacrifice

The nameless god watched as the Karl finished up his carving, which appeared to be a little horse. Quite cute.

The Karl set it aside and stood up.

Karl: My match is due, yes? If you don't mind, allow me to finish my carving.

The nameless god watched as the Karl got up and took hold of a bearded axe, the skeggøx, lightly carving the Tiwaz rune into the handle. The Tiwaz rune represented the goddess Tyr, and was carved to ensure a true strike from the wielder.

The nameless god gave him a nod.

Nameless god: Be quick, your match is due to start!

As the nameless god left, the Karl began preparations. Besides the skeggøx, the Karl also fastened a thrusting spear to his back and, to his hip, his seax utility knife. He fastened his spangenhelm to his head as he left the room, though he felt he was forgetting a few things. That didn't matter now, he was sure he was strong enough to win his match.

Perhaps luck may be on his side, his runes have not once failed him in battle.

Chapter 12

A medical team carried away Gunya in a stretcher as he remained passed out from his hard duel. He knew deep down that he won't be able to win his next match if he doesn't push himself harder, but he has plenty of time to prepare.

As the clean-up crew took care of the arena, the nameless god giggled in excitement as he practically skipped down the waiting rooms.

His giggling fit is suddenly stopped as he bumps into somebody, a cloaked man turning his head in confusion.

Nameless god: P-pardon me!

The nameless god ran past him. The cloaked many simply shook his head as he kept walking.

Later on, the nameless god barged into the room of one of the next fighters. He had the biggest grin on his face when he entered.

Nameless god: Oh fighters, your match is soon!

His eyes widened in horror as he realized the floor of the room was just covered in nothing but blood. Nothing but a man in the center of the room slitting the throat of a goat as he hummed a hymn to himself. The Paean, an ancient war hymn dedicated to Ares or Apollo.

Faint mutterings of frustration mixed with the hymn as he tossed the deceased goat aside, frustrated. The nameless god, still absolutely mortified, turned his head to see a pile of goats. This guy just killed a pile of goats.

The Hoplite, ancient warriors that filled the space of Roman armies. As a way to predict victory, they would sacrifice an animal right before battle, and depending on how the blood pooled in the dirt, they would stand completely still until they had a good omen.

Clearly, this Hoplite has gotten only bad omens. He thrust his hands to the air in anger and kicked his legs.

Hoplite: Curse the world! My fight is surely a failure!

He fell backwards into the pool of blood around him, finally noticing the nameless god.

The two just looked at each other for a moment. The nameless god eventually spoke, his tone flat.

Nameless god: …Your match is soon.

The Hoplite’s heart practically sank as he quickly scrambled up.

Hoplite: Don't make me go out! I will die as soon as I step out!

The nameless god stepped back as the Hoplite scrambled to his feet, quaking in his boots.

Nameless god: Too late! The roster is already decided! Now get out there and fight!

Something clicked in the Hoplite’s head as he immediately straightened up and began to put on his equipment.

Hoplite: Sir, yes, sir!

The Hoplite equipped his bronze armor, the brown, shining material sittingly light and breathable, yet sturdy. Then, with a huff, lifted his hasta, an 8 ft long thrusting spear, and finished by fastening his gladius to his waist.

With a salute, he ran out the room, not quite caring that he was ankle-deep in goat blood moments ago.

The nameless god would later have this room lit on fire.

Once the Hoplite was gone, the nameless god ran to the next room to find a man sitting calmly against a wall, a screen on the wall opposite of him replaying the last 2 fights as the man whittled away on a small piece of wood.

The nameless god was very relieved that this man wasn't actively going for a blood sacrifice like the past 2 fighters have.

The man looked up, a small smile playing on his bearded face.

This was the Viking Karl, the backbone of Viking society. Typically, they do make sacrifices, Sigrblót, and carve runes into their weapons to ensure protection and victory. This Karl seems to have forgotten to commit a sacrifice

The nameless god watched as the Karl finished up his carving, which appeared to be a little horse. Quite cute.

The Karl set it aside and stood up.

Karl: My match is due, yes? If you don't mind, allow me to finish my carving.

The nameless god watched as the Karl got up and took hold of a bearded axe, the skeggøx, lightly carving the Tiwaz rune into the handle. The Tiwaz rune represented the goddess Tyr, and was carved to ensure a true strike from the wielder.

The nameless god gave him a nod.

Nameless god: Be quick, your match is due to start!

As the nameless god left, the Karl began preparations. Besides the skeggøx, the Karl also fastened a thrusting spear to his back and, to his hip, his seax utility knife. He fastened his spangenhelm to his head as he left the room, though he felt he was forgetting a few things. That didn't matter now, he was sure he was strong enough to win his match.

Perhaps luck may be on his side, his runes have not once failed him in battle.

Roster

0. prologue

prep finalization

1. Round 1 Preparations

match 1

2. Enter Samurai, Enter Knight!

3. Match 1 Begins!

4. Fight on, Samurai!

5. His Name Means Victory

intermission

6. Match 2, All Prep

match 2

7. Begin, Men From Across the World!

8. The Sharp vs The Blunt!

9. A Weapon is as Sharp as its Wielder

10. He's a Fighter.

11. A Fine Name

intermission

12. Match 3 Intermission, Opposing Ends of Europe

match 3

13. This Guy Eats Dirt!

14. An Uneven Match, Forced Even

Chapter 11

There was a long silence as the Tlamani felt the spear tug out of his side. Gunya took staggering steps backward, knowing he pierced something vital.

Then a laugh. A loud cackle as the Tlamani turned his head, the emerald flare in his eyes only burning brighter.

He jumped backward, bumping Gunya, before turning around and plunging his right hand into Gunya's already well-beyond battered stomach.

Gunya coughed blood, but gripped the Tlamani's fist. He pulled a spear from his satchel and stabbed it into the Tlamani's arm, pulling the Tlamani forward and delivering a headbutt.

That flame in the Tlamani's eyes flickered out for a moment as his forehead pulsed in pain, yet he quickly recollected himself and slammed his head right back, Gunya's own gray flame flickering out for a solid second.

The two went into an exchange of sluggish blows, the crowd watching as these two low-rank warriors threw out senseless attacks like it's nothing.

The flame in their eyes flickered duller and duller with each strike, a particular strike to the Tlamani absolutely shattering his nose and he finally stumbled back.

He huffed for air for a single moment, his eyes stirring around to find something to use.

His eyes finally landed on it. The macuahuitl that was thrown to the side far earlier in the battle. He dashed for it, near animalistic as he stayed low to the ground before managing to grab it.

He scurried back, still low to the ground, before suddenly his vision obscured.

Gunya kicked up dust into his eyes, and watched as he tripped to the ground. From his back, Gunya pulled out his spare shield, raising it above the Tlamanis head…

---

The Tlamani's life didn't matter. Not at all.

He fought and killed with aggression like any other. Then the Spanish came, fought and killed any warrior they found.

He was one of them, of course. One of the many who died to Spanish forces.

In his final moments, he called out his name to his people. Called out his name to his gods. Called out his name to all of the heavens to even hear. He will do this again if he ever needs to make himself known.

---

Just before Gunya could collide his shield to the Tlamani's head, the Tlamani yelled out.

Tlamani: ALL GODS, YOU WILL LISTEN!

the shield collides with his head, his ears ringing as the edge of the wooden shield already cuts into him.

Tlamani: YOU WILL CALL ME BY MY NAME!

The shield collides again.

Tlamani: MY NAME…my name…

His voice dulls as the shield continues to crash into his head.

Tlamani: Noche…huatl…

His spark was completely gone now. Gunya stood up, looking down at his deceased opponent.

Gunya: Nochehuatl. A fine name.

Nochehuatl's body faded into dust and Gunya simply collapsed.

Aboriginal Gunya vs Tlamani Nochehuatl

Winner: Gunya

Deciding move: shield to the head

Match length: 10 minutes, 5 seconds

Chapter 11

There was a long silence as the Tlamani felt the spear tug out of his side. Gunya took staggering steps backward, knowing he pierced something vital.

Then a laugh. A loud cackle as the Tlamani turned his head, the emerald flare in his eyes only burning brighter.

He jumped backward, bumping Gunya, before turning around and plunging his right hand into Gunya's already well-beyond battered stomach.

Gunya coughed blood, but gripped the Tlamani's fist. He pulled a spear from his satchel and stabbed it into the Tlamani's arm, pulling the Tlamani forward and delivering a headbutt.

That flame in the Tlamani's eyes flickered out for a moment as his forehead pulsed in pain, yet he quickly recollected himself and slammed his head right back, Gunya's own gray flame flickering out for a solid second.

The two went into an exchange of sluggish blows, the crowd watching as these two low-rank warriors threw out senseless attacks like it's nothing.

The flame in their eyes flickered duller and duller with each strike, a particular strike to the Tlamani absolutely shattering his nose and he finally stumbled back.

He huffed for air for a single moment, his eyes stirring around to find something to use.

His eyes finally landed on it. The macuahuitl that was thrown to the side far earlier in the battle. He dashed for it, near animalistic as he stayed low to the ground before managing to grab it.

He scurried back, still low to the ground, before suddenly his vision obscured.

Gunya kicked up dust into his eyes, and watched as he tripped to the ground. From his back, Gunya pulled out his spare shield, raising it above the Tlamanis head…

---

The Tlamani's life didn't matter. Not at all.

He fought and killed with aggression like any other. Then the Spanish came, fought and killed any warrior they found.

He was one of them, of course. One of the many who died to Spanish forces.

In his final moments, he called out his name to his people. Called out his name to his gods. Called out his name to all of the heavens to even hear. He will do this again if he ever needs to make himself known.

---

Just before Gunya could collide his shield to the Tlamani's head, the Tlamani yelled out.

Tlamani: ALL GODS, YOU WILL LISTEN!

the shield collides with his head, his ears ringing as the edge of the wooden shield already cuts into him.

Tlamani: YOU WILL CALL ME BY MY NAME!

The shield collides again.

Tlamani: MY NAME…my name…

His voice dulls as the shield continues to crash into his head.

Tlamani: Noche…huatl…

His spark was completely gone now. Gunya stood up, looking down at his deceased opponent.

Gunya: Nochehuatl. A fine name.

Nochehuatl's body faded into dust and Gunya simply collapsed.

Aboriginal Gunya vs Tlamani Nochehuatl

Winner: Gunya

Deciding move: shield to the head

Match length: 10 minutes, 5 seconds

Chapter 10

Long ago, during the era of British colonization of Australia, the Aboriginal people fought back as hard as they could, protecting their land.

It was a valiant effort for the people, but the British were simply stronger. Countless died just to have their land taken, many fights have been brought.

One in particular, however, stood as the bloodiest. 300 Aboriginal Australian people, dead.

The Waterloo Creek Massacre, also known as the Slaughterhouse Creek Massacre…

Moree, New South Wales, Australia.

There once was a simple man, who hunted what he could eat, scavenged what he could find, and supported his community.

He wandered the land with nothing more than a satchel of spears and a woomera to throw them. He had a handful of people with him, other men in his community who would join him on the hunt.

One man, part of the group whose name was Coen, approached closer, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man who led them.

Coen: Gunya, prepare your spears. I hear the approach of Wanda. We must go back.

Gunya. The name of our Aboriginal within the tournament, a name meaning fighter.

Gunya simply nodded as the group started to head back to their community, moving through the brush before they saw it.

British men on cavalry, open firing on anybody they saw, warrior or civilian, with muskets and whatnot.

Gunya's eyes widened and, with a yell, charged at one of the cavalrymen, uncaring of what happened to him as long as he could do something…

He was shot on sight. Men, no matter the strength, are nothing to the gun, I suppose.

Back to the present, that spark in Gunya's eyes only flared as his club sword swung down at the Tlamani.

With a hard crack, dust stirred for a long moment. When it cleared, Gunya's eyes glared as he saw that the Tlamani managed to block it, at the sake of practically losing the use of his left arm, his radius and ulna, as well as his shield, snapping to two pieces.

The Tlamani rolled out of the way, his arm simply swinging limp as he stood to his feet. He was struggling, and everybody could tell.

Loss of his left arm, shattered ribs on his left side, and the only weapon in his hand was that obsidian shard.

A spark fluttered in the eyes of the Tlamani. A green spark, a brilliantly jade green spark.

He tipped forward before dashing at Gunya, shoving his shielded arm out of the way before slicing across his chest.

Gunya winced and dropped his club sword again as he jumped back to try and gain range. Just as he took out his woomera, the Tlamani already covered the distance between them, slicing at the arm that held the woomera.

Gunya tightened his grip on his woomera, his other arm going down to bash the head of the Tlamani with his shield. The Tlamani grinned before jamming the obsidian piece into the shield, turning his arm to disrupt the flow of the strike.

The Tlamani's one good arm was busy. Without thinking he shot a knee into Gunya's stomach, blood splattering out as the jab dug into his stomach wounds.

Gunya coughed at the sudden force. He was being overwhelmed despite his opponent not having use in his left side.

Tlamani: Ya ajsic tonali!

The words were foreign, but they could only mean one thing; the Tlamani will be the one to end this fight!

He drew his knee back and rammed into Gunya's stomach again, and again, and again!

Tlamani: Moeso toyaui kej se tlakajkaualistli!

He let go of his obsidian shard that still sat in the shield, socking Gunya in the face.

Tlamani: To dios kiueyichiua moeso!

The battering only continues, the blazing emerald in the Tlamani's eyes burned as if the rage of the Aztec gods themselves were taking hold.

His brutality soon finished as Gunya laid on the ground, bloodied and beaten. He was sure to be dead as the Tlamani turned around to back in his victory.

But then, he gasped. He looked down to see a spear had pierced his waist from behind. He turned around and saw that Gunya managed to get up just to deliver a blow to him…

notes:

"ya ajsic tonali" roughly translates to "your time has come" in Nahuatl

"moeso toyaui kej se tlakajkaualistli" roughly translates to "your blood spills for sacrifice" in Nahuatl

"to dios kiueyichiua moeso" roughly translates to "our gods honor your bloodshed" in Nahuatl

Chapter 9

Blood spilled between the two as the Aboriginal felt something sharp enter his forearm, halting his overhead swing.

The Tlamani grinned as he held something in both of his tightly gripped hands. An obsidian shard. The obsidian shard the Tlamani used moments before his battle to slash his own arm for his pre-fight ritual.

The Tlamani tugged the shard out and, with a large step, plunged the shard into the Aboriginals stomach wound, causing a grunt of pain to escape the Aboriginal.

Tlamani: You thought you had this fight!

He drew back the shard before shoving the Aboriginal back with his body, the Aboriginal staggering before he could make an attempt to counter.

The Tlamani dashed forward, moving incredibly low to the ground as he impaled the Aboriginal's thigh.

Tlamani: You thought you could crush me to pieces!

He drew his shard back and shoved the Aboriginal to the ground, jumping high in the air as he aimed over his head.

The Aboriginal simply laid there, slowly closing his eyes…

When he opened them, a spark formed before his gaze, a small, gray fire within his gaze as he rolled out of the way and managed to regain a grip on his wooden club sword.

Right as the Tlamani lands on the ground, he suddenly feels something crack hard into his side, crumbling his body far to the ground, shattering a few ribs on his left side.

Aboriginal: Rainbow Serpent…

He lets out a sharp puff of air, that spark in his eyes growing brighter as he dashes at the Tlamani, his club sword over his head, gripped with only one hand.

Aboriginal: Yurlunggur!

Chapter 8

The two fights suddenly remained completely still. The high energy came to a stunning halt as the two fighters simply…stood still.

Then, suddenly, the Tlamani feigned a step forward, causing the Aboriginal to flinch. The Tlamani grinned widely, feigning another step forward.

The air was tense as the Tlamani continued to feign, slowly circling the Aboriginal, as if sizing him up and finding weak points. The Aboriginal simply stood there, not moving a single inch.

The Tlamani finally jumps forward, raising his shield and bringing it down at the Aboriginal, the Aboriginal easily blocking the strike.

Unfortunately, he failed to realise that it wasn't the shield that was the problem, but the macuahuitl.

The Tlamani grinned widely as he swung the macuahuitl underhanded to try and gut the Aboriginals exposed skin, the Aboriginal jumping back, knowing the weapon in his hand is too slow to be used as a parrying tool.

The Aboriginal stepped forward, his shoulder shifted forward as, with a grunt, swung his massive sword club down at the Tlamani. He easily evades it, but the crater it left in the ground made the Tlamani aware how physically powerful his opponent really is.

The Aboriginal dragged the sword club across the ground, heavy steps before a grunt and another even heavier swing.

The Tlamani could easily dodge, but there was no way he could counter or block that without shattering a bone.

Tlamani: You can't keep wasting your energy like that!

The Aboriginal didn't respond, only continuing his simple yet effective swings. With a quick rush, the Tlamani decided to run at the Aboriginal as he began preparing another swing.

The Tlamani swung his macuahuitl high in the air, the obsidian blades glistening before the overhead strike came down. The Aboriginal easily blocked with his intricate wooden shield, the obsidian blades cutting deep into the wooden piece.

The Tlamani tugged the macuahuitl back, noticing how his blades were already wearing away. The macuahuitl's obsidian blades were strong, but also sat fragile along the flat club.

Tlamani: One good hit. It'll only take one good hit before I have your head!

He brought his macuahuitl into another strike from the side, the Aboriginal having to step back and drop his wooden club. It was far too heavy to continue using, so he deemed it time for another plan.

From behind his shield, he pulled a boomerang into his free hand.

Traditional Aboriginal boomerangs weren't designed to come back if thrown. They were designed to crush whatever they hit, and they certainly were effective when they worked right.

With an impressively fast dash, the Aboriginal swings his boomerang down, the Tlamani blocking. He felt his arm shutter as the Aboriginal pushed further, managing to cause the Tlamani to buckle before bashing his wooden shield into him.

The Tlamani, still confident he can overpower with whatever he has, crouches after regaining his footing and rams into the Aboriginal, shoving him right back.

As the Aboriginal stumbles back, the Tlamani jumps forward and slashes at the Aboriginal.

The Aboriginal tries to block with his shield but he misunderstood where the Tlamani would swing as the Tlamani changed his swing, his arm winding down and plunging into the Aboriginals stomach.

The Tlamani cackled as he finally got a proper hit, but right as he managed to cut in, the Aboriginal swung his boomerangs head down into the elbow with a hard crack.

Tlamani warriors are equipped with a padded cotton armor to protect from hard blows and sharp cuts, but despite that, the Aboriginal still manages to disrupt the joint, causing the Tlamanis arm to go limp for a moment.

The Aboriginal pulls back and manages to tug the macuahuitl out of his stomach, sending it aside.

The Tlamani clutched his arm as he slowly shook off the numbness. He looked up, and his eyes widened as the Aboriginal loomed over him, his boomerang raised to cave the Tlamanis head…

Chapter 8

The two fights suddenly remained completely still. The high energy came to a stunning halt as the two fighters simply…stood still.

Then, suddenly, the Tlamani feigned a step forward, causing the Aboriginal to flinch. The Tlamani grinned widely, feigning another step forward.

The air was tense as the Tlamani continued to feign, slowly circling the Aboriginal, as if sizing him up and finding weak points. The Aboriginal simply stood there, not moving a single inch.

The Tlamani finally jumps forward, raising his shield and bringing it down at the Aboriginal, the Aboriginal easily blocking the strike.

Unfortunately, he failed to realise that it wasn't the shield that was the problem, but the macuahuitl.

The Tlamani grinned widely as he swung the macuahuitl underhanded to try and gut the Aboriginals exposed skin, the Aboriginal jumping back, knowing the weapon in his hand is too slow to be used as a parrying tool.

The Aboriginal stepped forward, his shoulder shifted forward as, with a grunt, swung his massive sword club down at the Tlamani. He easily evades it, but the crater it left in the ground made the Tlamani aware how physically powerful his opponent really is.

The Aboriginal dragged the sword club across the ground, heavy steps before a grunt and another even heavier swing.

The Tlamani could easily dodge, but there was no way he could counter or block that without shattering a bone.

Tlamani: You can't keep wasting your energy like that!

The Aboriginal didn't respond, only continuing his simple yet effective swings. With a quick rush, the Tlamani decided to run at the Aboriginal as he began preparing another swing.

The Tlamani swung his macuahuitl high in the air, the obsidian blades glistening before the overhead strike came down. The Aboriginal easily blocked with his intricate wooden shield, the obsidian blades cutting deep into the wooden piece.

The Tlamani tugged the macuahuitl back, noticing how his blades were already wearing away. The macuahuitl's obsidian blades were strong, but also sat fragile along the flat club.

Tlamani: One good hit. It'll only take one good hit before I have your head!

He brought his macuahuitl into another strike from the side, the Aboriginal having to step back and drop his wooden club. It was far too heavy to continue using, so he deemed it time for another plan.

From behind his shield, he pulled a boomerang into his free hand.

Traditional Aboriginal boomerangs weren't designed to come back if thrown. They were designed to crush whatever they hit, and they certainly were effective when they worked right.

With an impressively fast dash, the Aboriginal swings his boomerang down, the Tlamani blocking. He felt his arm shutter as the Aboriginal pushed further, managing to cause the Tlamani to buckle before bashing his wooden shield into him.

The Tlamani, still confident he can overpower with whatever he has, crouches after regaining his footing and rams into the Aboriginal, shoving him right back.

As the Aboriginal stumbles back, the Tlamani jumps forward and slashes at the Aboriginal.

The Aboriginal tries to block with his shield but he misunderstood where the Tlamani would swing as the Tlamani changed his swing, his arm winding down and plunging into the Aboriginals stomach.

The Tlamani cackled as he finally got a proper hit, but right as he managed to cut in, the Aboriginal swung his boomerangs head down into the elbow with a hard crack.

Tlamani warriors are equipped with a padded cotton armor to protect from hard blows and sharp cuts, but despite that, the Aboriginal still manages to disrupt the joint, causing the Tlamanis arm to go limp for a moment.

The Aboriginal pulls back and manages to tug the macuahuitl out of his stomach, sending it aside.

The Tlamani clutched his arm as he slowly shook off the numbness. He looked up, and his eyes widened as the Aboriginal loomed over him, his boomerang raised to cave the Tlamanis head…

Chapter 7

After the arena was cleaned up, the nameless god stood at the center, the Gjallarhorn, which he refused to give back, raised up to his mouth.

Nameless god: WITH THE KNIGHT WINNING THE FIRST MATCH, THIS MATCH WILL DECIDE HIS OPPONENT!

The crowd roared as he hyped them up, looking around excitedly before speaking again.

Nameless god: FOR MATCH 2, WE KICK IT OFF ALL THE WAY DOWN UNDER! IN THE LAND OF AUSTRALIA STOOD FIGHTERS WHO DIDN'T NEED ARMOR! FIGHTERS WHO FOUGHT WITH NOTHING MORE THAN THE RESOURCES OF THE LAND! I PRESENT YOU…THE ABORIGINAL WARRIOOOOOR!

The left gate opens as the aboriginal steps into the arena, his eyes squinting as sunlight hits his face. He looked around at the crowd within the arena, taking in the sight of the countless faces before him.

He looked forward to it. Getting the chance to represent his people. He looks toward the gate opposite of his, his shield raised as he gets into a position to slam the wooden sword when the time calls.

The nameless god began again.

Nameless god: AND FOR THE OTHER SIDE! STRONG WARRIORS FROM THE ERA OF THE AZTECS! RENOWNED FOR THEIR USE OF OBSIDIAN, THEY CAN REND AND CLEAVE THE FLESH OF ANY! I PRESENT YOU…THE TLAMANIIII!

The gate opened and almost immediately, the Tlamani came running out, expressing his seemingly boundless energy!

The crowd could only become more excited, matching the energy of the Tlamani! He thrusted his macuahuitl into the air, the light is the sun catching on the obsidian blades along the edges.

Nameless god: Alright! Fighters, positions!

The Aboriginal raised his shield, his other hand gripping his wooden sword tightly as if ready to swing immediately.

The Tlamani raised his shield too, his macuahuitl raised similarly, as if copying the Aboriginal.

The nameless god takes a few steps back before rising up into the air, and with a deep breath, he yells out.

Nameless god: FIIIIIGHT!

Chapter 7

After the arena was cleaned up, the nameless god stood at the center, the Gjallarhorn, which he refused to give back, raised up to his mouth.

Nameless god: WITH THE KNIGHT WINNING THE FIRST MATCH, THIS MATCH WILL DECIDE HIS OPPONENT!

The crowd roared as he hyped them up, looking around excitedly before speaking again.

Nameless god: FOR MATCH 2, WE KICK IT OFF ALL THE WAY DOWN UNDER! IN THE LAND OF AUSTRALIA STOOD FIGHTERS WHO DIDN'T NEED ARMOR! FIGHTERS WHO FOUGHT WITH NOTHING MORE THAN THE RESOURCES OF THE LAND! I PRESENT YOU…THE ABORIGINAL WARRIOOOOOR!

The left gate opens as the aboriginal steps into the arena, his eyes squinting as sunlight hits his face. He looked around at the crowd within the arena, taking in the sight of the countless faces before him.

He looked forward to it. Getting the chance to represent his people. He looks toward the gate opposite of his, his shield raised as he gets into a position to slam the wooden sword when the time calls.

The nameless god began again.

Nameless god: AND FOR THE OTHER SIDE! STRONG WARRIORS FROM THE ERA OF THE AZTECS! RENOWNED FOR THEIR USE OF OBSIDIAN, THEY CAN REND AND CLEAVE THE FLESH OF ANY! I PRESENT YOU…THE TLAMANIIII!

The gate opened and almost immediately, the Tlamani came running out, expressing his seemingly boundless energy!

The crowd could only become more excited, matching the energy of the Tlamani! He thrusted his macuahuitl into the air, the light is the sun catching on the obsidian blades along the edges.

Nameless god: Alright! Fighters, positions!

The Aboriginal raised his shield, his other hand gripping his wooden sword tightly as if ready to swing immediately.

The Tlamani raised his shield too, his macuahuitl raised similarly, as if copying the Aboriginal.

The nameless god takes a few steps back before rising up into the air, and with a deep breath, he yells out.

Nameless god: FIIIIIGHT!

Chapter 6

The crowd was roaring and cheering much to the nameless gods delight. The first match went off perfectly and he immediately ran back into the arena to congratulate Bahram's victory.

Nameless god: You did amazing!

Bahram: Aye, aye, o'course I did! Take me back to the holding, I gotta drink with my name on it!

The nameless god gladly took him back to the holding, watching as Kansuke's lifeless body faded into dust, as one does when they die here…

When Bahram was returned to his room, the nameless god continued further down to the next rooms along the hall, searching for his next fighters.

Upon entering a room further down, he was immediately met with a man nearly stark naked!

The loin cloth-bound man turned his head, his naturally dull eyes burrowing into the nameless god.

Nameless god: Y-your match is up soon! You should start preparing!

The man nodded and stood to reach a small bundle, wrapped in an animal-skin cloth. He scooped out various colors of ochre and clay and began to paint his body.

This is the Aboriginal Australian warrior, applying war paint as his form of preparations. The nameless god found him as not much of a talker, but he sure did listen.

Nameless god: Go ahead and wait by the entrance gate, I'll go get your opponent!

The Aboriginal watched as the nameless god left before he began collecting his stuff, looping various necklaces over his neck before pulling up a wooden shield, intricate patterns carved into the sturdy mass.

Then, for the weapons, he strapped a second, larger bundle full of spears to his back, a woomera, a secondary shield, a handful of boomerangs, and most of all…

The wooden sword, a massive yet one-handed, club-like weapon. He quietly coats the weapon in red ochre from his paint bundle before he heads out to wait.

Meanwhile, the nameless god dashed to the next room over to find a man already in full gear dancing about his room before he turned to the god. With a wide grin, he raised his arm up and slashed part of his forearm with a shard of obsidian before holding it over a piece of what seemed to be bark paper, before finishing his display by burning the paper!

The nameless god had no idea what this man was doing, but certainly it must be important if he was doing it before battle.

This was the Tlamani, warriors of the Aztec armies and fierce fighters that worked with power and force. The nameless god already knew he'd be a strong fighter just by how active he was!

Tlamani: What brings you, little man!

Nameless god: the first match just ended, your fight is up soon!

Tlamani: I know! That knight was crazy!

From the corner of the room, the Tlamani picked up a chimalli round shield, and the signature weapon of the Aztecs.

The macuahuitl, a club with razor-sharp obsidian edges that rend and tear through skin and completely destroy the limbs and heads of any opponent to come across.

The Tlamani raises his shield and, with a roar, he runs out of the room, ready to fight like his life depended on it!

Chapter 5

All his life, he's been a pitiful man with no respect for anybody. He was raised in peasantry and lived as a knightly vassal in his latter years.

As a knight vassal, he stood shoulder to shoulder with fellow knights of a multitude of pasts, but he never cared for not one of them. Live by the blade, die by the blade, and never spare a soul.

He fought in battle after battle, left as a bloody mess with each fight that only left his squire more and more terrified of him for surviving such atrocities of war.

The squire cleaned the vassal's blood from his armor as the vassal sat himself on the ground, the knights around the camp milling around or training.

The general approached the vassal, who raised a mug of ale at the powerful man in acknowledgement.

General: Yer a mess, m’boy! How'd ya live so long?

The vassal didn't respond. He wasn't sure how he's lived this long. He's been shot at, sliced, stabbed, striked, every hit under the sun and he somehow couldn't go down. Must just be the force of a knight, as he thought.

General: we're off to a new battle mighty soon, you oughta mark off a good few with your hands alone! Keep up the good work, Bahram!

Bahram…and so, we have our knight vassal.

The battle drew near, Bahram's fellow vassals training day and night in preparation, but he simply sat and indulged in the finest drinks and simple foods he could afford. He was confident he'd keep his gifts of combat, but he knew not of whom he was facing.

The day came when the battle of Towton would make itself known as one of the bloodiest bouts of the many medieval wars. Bahram was none the wiser as he simply had his head caved by a knight passing on a horse.

Funnily enough, it was no enemy, but a comrade who was disoriented and lost proper hold of his horse.

---------------------------------------------------------

And so, the present comes around again. Bahram and Kansuke, standing at their ready.

Bahram's eye glows fiercely as he charges forward. He spotted his trusty blade sitting in the dirt, making a run for it recklessly, but…it was odd…

He held it by the blade rather than the handle, rushing at Kansuke with a frenzy. Kansuke immediately fired the arrow, but with his weak arm, the balance was off. He dropped the bow and drew his sword once more.

He knew this would end their fight, only depending on who could strike first as Kansuke aimed for Bahram's throat.

Bahram swung the sword's end high, the crowd watching in anticipation as the more knowledgeable in sword combat learned what Bahram was doing. The handle of the arming sword makes for a great blunt weapon, of course.

Bahram means victory.

And victory is what he'll get.

Kansuke's sword just barely manages to graze his throat as Bahram's sword handle collides right with the top of Kansuke's dome. Kansuke froze for a long moment, and behind his eyes, the light seemed to fade.

And his body slumped, blood pooling from the top of his head as Bahram tossed his sword aside and thrust a fist into the air.

Bahram: HAAHHAAAA! ANOTHER VICTORY IN MY NAME!

Ashigaru Kansuke vs vassal Bahram

Winner: Bahram

Deciding move: handle to the head

Match length: 12 minutes, 10 seconds

and thus concludes match 1