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'I've seen rhombuses with more power than you.' Wow. That sounded a lot better in his head.

He was aching as he stood, shuddering at the amount of brute strength his opponent had and feeling his jaw for breaks. Zerrick definitely wasn't an over-excited wannabe warrior. Even if he didn't fight for a living, the man had amazing muscle strength, and Seto, he knew he was in for it. His eyes still dripped and his body yearned for a big soft bed. He didn't want to be in this arena. And now, he realized he had a bigger problem. He couldn't summon his golems.

Too late had the red-head realized what he had signed up for. This wasn't some discrete, off-town tournament like he was accustomed to attend. This was the tournament of all tournaments, the decider of the four heroes. People obviously came from all four regions of Escantha to watch this. That meant from Ulrien, that meant possibly from Aristole, the village haunted by his tower and presence. What would those people think if the horrible metal monsters in their stories suddenly appeared and started dominating the battlefield in Seto's favor? The thought could only send chills down his spine. Curse that old man and preachy speech of heroism!

Zerrick turned to face him again, ready and rearing for another go, and for a split second, Seto's heart froze in place at his impending doom. However, as he stared into the man's strong eyes, he narrowed his own. No, he could do this. He had more than just fancy battle toys, he had wit.

Be creative. Anything can become a weapon if used correctly.

"Hmph. Alright," Seto huffed, "Actually, I do admit you are pretty tough. However, let's see if you can dodge THIS!"

It happened fast. With wavering precision, a skinny metal object was spun through the air, right at Zerrick's head.

TINK!

And like that the small wrench crashed to the dirt to Zerrick's upturned sword. Once again, that worked out a lot better in Seto's clouded sleep-deprived mind.

Seto wavered uncomfortably as he looked over unscathed opponent. Now, it was Zerrick's turn. The built man charged, turning up the battle field like enraged dragon. Seto could only see one option at this point. Run.

"$#%@!" He cursed, dashing across the arena, and the blacksmith pursued. Seto's agility was something to be reckoned with, even when drowsy, but despite his efforts, it wasn't long though before Zerrick caught up and found the golden ticket, Seto's long flowing maroon shawl.

"GACK!" The shawl turned into a noose, and Seto was wrenched backwards, right into Zerrick's foot. BAM! The teen wound up on the ground, holding his shattered back in pain. Creaking his eyes open, Seto stared up at his assailant, the same one who was now patiently waiting for the white flag to be thrown in with hopeful eyes. The guy knew Seto wasn't going to be able to win this one, and he didn't want to further pursue such one-sided violence. To some degree, Seto knew this too. However, as he stood back up with a locked gaze on Zerrick, he could only prepare his hand. He didn't want to be in this fight, but he would rather die than lose as a coward instead of fighter.

With no particular plan in mind, he lunged forth. Of course, Zerrick was prepared. He swung his sword, attempting to smash Seto's face again with the hilt. This time, the sleepy red-head managed. The sword went over, barely cutting a strand of hair, then he focused for a blow for the blacksmith's face. It never got there. Although a brilliant attempt, it was still a rash unskillful one. His fist was grabbed in an instant by a powerful gloved hand and forced in place. Before he even realized it, the blows were dealt.

The audience cheered in blood-thirsty delight as Seto got battered, one hit after another. The poor blacksmith didn't take pride in this and the cheering was horrible, but this was what he had been expecting in the tournament. The young man had asked for it so he had to deliver.

Blow after blow he dealt, and then, the cornered snake bit. Zerrick let out a yell, dropping the teen and stumbling backwards. Blood dripped from a newly sliced cut into his left arm, and Seto was standing back, broken but proud. A crooked dagger smeared with blood was clenched in his right hand.<

"Heh, I'm weak, huh? Then do tell me that was?" Seto asked. Zerrick looked up and smirked half-heartedly.

"That wasn't bad," he said, glad that the match wasn't so one-sided, but then again, it wasn't good either. The sword came back out. SHNK! For something that seemed like the savior of a hopeless situation, how quickly and easily it was overtaken. There was not a hint of difficulty in the dagger being liberated from his hands. It landed far across the arena, and Seto was left aghast, open for attack once again. The blacksmith slammed the lightweight fighter across the stadium like rag doll and watched as he bounced and tumbled. Samu rolled into a spread eagle in the center of the stadium. Zerrick squinted his eyes, hoping that had done the trick. Not quite.

Seto was starting to get up again, but weak and slowly. He was aching more than ever, and his eyes could barely stay open now. The sun was glaring down on him, frying him. Everything was turning against him. Everything was starting to blur. Only one more strike now, and Zerrick had to take it.

Description

'I've seen rhombuses with more power than you.' Wow. That sounded a lot better in his head.

He was aching as he stood, shuddering at the amount of brute strength his opponent had and feeling his jaw for breaks. Zerrick definitely wasn't an over-excited wannabe warrior. Even if he didn't fight for a living, the man had amazing muscle strength, and Seto, he knew he was in for it. His eyes still dripped and his body yearned for a big soft bed. He didn't want to be in this arena. And now, he realized he had a bigger problem. He couldn't summon his golems.

Too late had the red-head realized what he had signed up for. This wasn't some discrete, off-town tournament like he was accustomed to attend. This was the tournament of all tournaments, the decider of the four heroes. People obviously came from all four regions of Escantha to watch this. That meant from Ulrien, that meant possibly from Aristole, the village haunted by his tower and presence. What would those people think if the horrible metal monsters in their stories suddenly appeared and started dominating the battlefield in Seto's favor? The thought could only send chills down his spine. Curse that old man and preachy speech of heroism!

Zerrick turned to face him again, ready and rearing for another go, and for a split second, Seto's heart froze in place at his impending doom. However, as he stared into the man's strong eyes, he narrowed his own. No, he could do this. He had more than just fancy battle toys, he had wit.

Be creative. Anything can become a weapon if used correctly.

"Hmph. Alright," Seto huffed, "Actually, I do admit you are pretty tough. However, let's see if you can dodge THIS!"

It happened fast. With wavering precision, a skinny metal object was spun through the air, right at Zerrick's head.

TINK!

And like that the small wrench crashed to the dirt to Zerrick's upturned sword. Once again, that worked out a lot better in Seto's clouded sleep-deprived mind.

Seto wavered uncomfortably as he looked over unscathed opponent. Now, it was Zerrick's turn. The built man charged, turning up the battle field like enraged dragon. Seto could only see one option at this point. Run.

"$#%@!" He cursed, dashing across the arena, and the blacksmith pursued. Seto's agility was something to be reckoned with, even when drowsy, but despite his efforts, it wasn't long though before Zerrick caught up and found the golden ticket, Seto's long flowing maroon shawl.

"GACK!" The shawl turned into a noose, and Seto was wrenched backwards, right into Zerrick's foot. BAM! The teen wound up on the ground, holding his shattered back in pain. Creaking his eyes open, Seto stared up at his assailant, the same one who was now patiently waiting for the white flag to be thrown in with hopeful eyes. The guy knew Seto wasn't going to be able to win this one, and he didn't want to further pursue such one-sided violence. To some degree, Seto knew this too. However, as he stood back up with a locked gaze on Zerrick, he could only prepare his hand. He didn't want to be in this fight, but he would rather die than lose as a coward instead of fighter.

With no particular plan in mind, he lunged forth. Of course, Zerrick was prepared. He swung his sword, attempting to smash Seto's face again with the hilt. This time, the sleepy red-head managed. The sword went over, barely cutting a strand of hair, then he focused for a blow for the blacksmith's face. It never got there. Although a brilliant attempt, it was still a rash unskillful one. His fist was grabbed in an instant by a powerful gloved hand and forced in place. Before he even realized it, the blows were dealt.

The audience cheered in blood-thirsty delight as Seto got battered, one hit after another. The poor blacksmith didn't take pride in this and the cheering was horrible, but this was what he had been expecting in the tournament. The young man had asked for it so he had to deliver.

Blow after blow he dealt, and then, the cornered snake bit. Zerrick let out a yell, dropping the teen and stumbling backwards. Blood dripped from a newly sliced cut into his left arm, and Seto was standing back, broken but proud. A crooked dagger smeared with blood was clenched in his right hand.<

"Heh, I'm weak, huh? Then do tell me that was?" Seto asked. Zerrick looked up and smirked half-heartedly.

"That wasn't bad," he said, glad that the match wasn't so one-sided, but then again, it wasn't good either. The sword came back out. SHNK! For something that seemed like the savior of a hopeless situation, how quickly and easily it was overtaken. There was not a hint of difficulty in the dagger being liberated from his hands. It landed far across the arena, and Seto was left aghast, open for attack once again. The blacksmith slammed the lightweight fighter across the stadium like rag doll and watched as he bounced and tumbled. Samu rolled into a spread eagle in the center of the stadium. Zerrick squinted his eyes, hoping that had done the trick. Not quite.

Seto was starting to get up again, but weak and slowly. He was aching more than ever, and his eyes could barely stay open now. The sun was glaring down on him, frying him. Everything was turning against him. Everything was starting to blur. Only one more strike now, and Zerrick had to take it.