Round 1 – Bash vs Gorgor
Two men stood facing each other in the center of the arena.
One of them stood over four meters tall, his reddish-brown skin gleaming under the sunlight.
His abnormally developed shoulders were akin to small moons, and his immense chin was like a sturdy clay brick.
He was an Ogre.
He was covered from head to toe in thick, still armor, and in his hand, he held a sword as long as himself and as wide as an average Dwarf was tall.
As a participant, he was one of the favorites to win the whole tournament – at least according to the bookmakers.
Gorgor the Ogre.
During the war, he was known as the “Iron Giant”, a warrior that made both the ground and the Alliance troops tremble with every single one of his thundering steps.
The reason behind his presence at Do Banga’s Pit was a Dwarf he had met during the war.
Although said Dwarf was a prisoner of war and the two were on opposing sides of the conflict, they managed to kindle a friendship that outlasted the bloodshed.
Having first hit it off over small talk, they kept deepening their relationship, and now participate in the Armament Festival together every year.
In terms of raw skill, he was one of the best in the tournament.
His opponent stood over two meters tall.
A nondescript Orc, his skin a nondescript green.
However, despite his unremarkable appearance, he was even more well-known than Gorgor.
Hero of the Orcs, Bash.
The mightiest of all Orcs.
Though not all might know of his appearance, none were ignorant of his name and reputation, his countless nicknames each relating a tale of disaster and destruction.
“Oh, hey, looks like we’re starting off with a pretty interesting matchup.”
“Gorgor is one of the best out there. His strength is the real deal. Even an Orc wouldn’t have a change against him head-on.”
“Let’s see if Bash manages to get pass Gorgor’s range. That’s the deciding factor here.”
The crowd was excited to see a good card kicking off the main event.
But among the spectators, some were trembling.
“Man…this…really…?”
“Oh man, I do not envy Gorgor… he must have been cursed with bad luck, to meet him so soon…”
“Good lord, this isn’t a fight. This is a one-sided execution! An execution I tell you!”
“I’ll pray for you, Gorgor. You’re a good man. Please come home alive…”
While the normies and armchair analysts who were unaware of who Bash truly was were trying to predict how the fight might proceed, the true veteran warriors in the crowd looked towards the battle-hardened Ogre with pity and sadness in their eyes.
Because they knew.
They knew that against The Destroyer, Gorgor was nothing more than an oversized punching bag.
A hapless sheep, sent to the slaughter.
They knew, because that same fate had befallen their now dead comrades.
Amor? Irrelevant.
Size? Don’t make me laugh.
No matter how big the fighter. No matter how thick the armor. No matter the smith’s skill. No matter how sharp the sword.
Nothing mattered in the face of overwhelming strength.
Bash’s moniker of The Destroyer didn’t only apply to city infrastructure. It applied to everything.
“Bash, it’s been a while.”
“Well, if it isn’t Gorgor.”
Whether he knew of the audience’s fear or not, Gorgor smiled, and called out to Bash.
The Hero returned his greeting, though with not as much enthusiasm.
They were but acquaintances, after all. Not close friends.
“I haven’t heard of you since we last fought together at the Battle of the Remium Highlands… Have you been well?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing all the way out here? Did the Orc King let you out of the country?”
“Mhm. He is magnanimous, compassionate, and benevolent. In his generosity, he has given me the permission to leave.”
“Fuu…”
Gorgor snickered at Bash’s description of the Orc King.
The only being in the world that could possibly say that the Orc King, said to be the incarnation of violence itself, was benevolent, with a straight face, was the Orc right in front of him.
“Well then…”
Following their short exchange, Gorgor raised his weapon.
The sword’s tip pointed straight towards the open sky, casting an immense shadow on Bash.
The Ogre’s contorted expression was filled with both anticipation and fear.
His teeth were tightly clenched.
The immense warrior, though twice the size of his opponent, wore the face of a man ready to die. The face of a man gathering all his courage to challenge an opponent he knows he cannot beat.
“Let’s do it.”
“Umu.”
The air cooled instantly the moment Bash held up his sword.
It was a simple, rudimentary stance.
Something a beginner would learn when they first picked up a blade.
But there were no gaps. No openings.
It was then that everyone, from the most ignorant child to the most veteran of warriors, understood that the match had been decided.
Every single member of the audience collectively gulped.
Bash’s stance oozed absolute strength.
Gorgor, who was facing him, looked pathetic in comparison.
“Mrrrhn!”
Gorgor made the first move.
He swung his giant sword straight down.
A smooth, clean blow with no flourish.
A straightforward strike that even though easily seen through, would obliterate any that would dare defend against it.
The roar of steel rang out through the arena, blowing dust and clods of earth through the air, obscuring the audience’s view of the proceedings.
Just as the crowd was about to wonder what went on, something few out of the dust clouds.
Some believed it was a piece of Gorgor’s flesh.
Especially the veteran warriors who had had the privilege of witnessing Bash in battle.
Because that was what had happened to any and all that had faced the Orc in the past.
The storm of bloodshed that the Hero left in his wake was forever engraved in their minds.
But no.
It was neither a lump of flesh, nor a spray of blood.
That something flew, whistling through the air before landing with a loud thud, digging itself into the arena’s soft ground.
Soon, the true nature of that something became clear.
It was a chunk of iron.
Sharp and pointy, all the Dwarves in the audience realized what it was – the tip of a sword.
As the dust cleared, all could see Gorgor still standing having followed through with his strike till the end, yet the weapon he held was missing its upper half – the upper half that would have cut into Bash’s flesh.
As soon as the referee saw this scene, he announced:
“Winner, Bash!”
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Did Bash smash Gorgor’s blade apart? Or did the Ogre slip up, shattering his own sword after slamming it into the ground?
Both explanations were ludicrous – but there was no way that a weapon that had made it all the way to the main event would break just from hitting dirt.
That meant…
There were no cheers.
No one really understood what had happened.
What had The Destroyer done in those fractions of a second?
Bash quietly sheathed his sword, and walked back towards the waiting room, leaving Gorgor to watch his shrinking back in dismay.
But after a moment, the Ogre closed his eyes, got on his knees, and put his fists on the ground.
An Ogre’s traditional bow of defeat.
Though humiliated, he was expressing both his respect and gratitude towards an overwhelmingly stronger opponent.
Nobody understood the events that had transpired.
But they could see that Gorgor had admitted defeat.
In last year’s tournament, the same Gorgor had refused to acknowledge his loss after his weapon broke, continuing to rampage.
The same Gorgor that, covered in blood and held down by a dozen warriors, he had kept on shouting that he had not yet lost.
That same Gorgor, today, had lost his will to fight after just a single blow, despite not having even a scratch on his body.
This fact gradually permeated the audience… and one-by-one, they rose in roaring applause.
Round 1 – Bash vs Gorgor
Two men stood facing each other in the center of the arena.
One of them stood over four meters tall, his reddish-brown skin gleaming under the sunlight.
His abnormally developed shoulders were akin to small moons, and his immense chin was like a sturdy clay brick.
He was an Ogre.
He was covered from head to toe in thick, still armor, and in his hand, he held a sword as long as himself and as wide as an average Dwarf was tall.
As a participant, he was one of the favorites to win the whole tournament – at least according to the bookmakers.
Gorgor the Ogre.
During the war, he was known as the “Iron Giant”, a warrior that made both the ground and the Alliance troops tremble with every single one of his thundering steps.
The reason behind his presence at Do Banga’s Pit was a Dwarf he had met during the war.
Although said Dwarf was a prisoner of war and the two were on opposing sides of the conflict, they managed to kindle a friendship that outlasted the bloodshed.
Having first hit it off over small talk, they kept deepening their relationship, and now participate in the Armament Festival together every year.
In terms of raw skill, he was one of the best in the tournament.
His opponent stood over two meters tall.
A nondescript Orc, his skin a nondescript green.
However, despite his unremarkable appearance, he was even more well-known than Gorgor.
Hero of the Orcs, Bash.
The mightiest of all Orcs.
Though not all might know of his appearance, none were ignorant of his name and reputation, his countless nicknames each relating a tale of disaster and destruction.
“Oh, hey, looks like we’re starting off with a pretty interesting matchup.”
“Gorgor is one of the best out there. His strength is the real deal. Even an Orc wouldn’t have a change against him head-on.”
“Let’s see if Bash manages to get pass Gorgor’s range. That’s the deciding factor here.”
The crowd was excited to see a good card kicking off the main event.
But among the spectators, some were trembling.
“Man…this…really…?”
“Oh man, I do not envy Gorgor… he must have been cursed with bad luck, to meet him so soon…”
“Good lord, this isn’t a fight. This is a one-sided execution! An execution I tell you!”
“I’ll pray for you, Gorgor. You’re a good man. Please come home alive…”
While the normies and armchair analysts who were unaware of who Bash truly was were trying to predict how the fight might proceed, the true veteran warriors in the crowd looked towards the battle-hardened Ogre with pity and sadness in their eyes.
Because they knew.
They knew that against The Destroyer, Gorgor was nothing more than an oversized punching bag.
A hapless sheep, sent to the slaughter.
They knew, because that same fate had befallen their now dead comrades.
Amor? Irrelevant.
Size? Don’t make me laugh.
No matter how big the fighter. No matter how thick the armor. No matter the smith’s skill. No matter how sharp the sword.
Nothing mattered in the face of overwhelming strength.
Bash’s moniker of The Destroyer didn’t only apply to city infrastructure. It applied to everything.
“Bash, it’s been a while.”
“Well, if it isn’t Gorgor.”
Whether he knew of the audience’s fear or not, Gorgor smiled, and called out to Bash.
The Hero returned his greeting, though with not as much enthusiasm.
They were but acquaintances, after all. Not close friends.
“I haven’t heard of you since we last fought together at the Battle of the Remium Highlands… Have you been well?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing all the way out here? Did the Orc King let you out of the country?”
“Mhm. He is magnanimous, compassionate, and benevolent. In his generosity, he has given me the permission to leave.”
“Fuu…”
Gorgor snickered at Bash’s description of the Orc King.
The only being in the world that could possibly say that the Orc King, said to be the incarnation of violence itself, was benevolent, with a straight face, was the Orc right in front of him.
“Well then…”
Following their short exchange, Gorgor raised his weapon.
The sword’s tip pointed straight towards the open sky, casting an immense shadow on Bash.
The Ogre’s contorted expression was filled with both anticipation and fear.
His teeth were tightly clenched.
The immense warrior, though twice the size of his opponent, wore the face of a man ready to die. The face of a man gathering all his courage to challenge an opponent he knows he cannot beat.
“Let’s do it.”
“Umu.”
The air cooled instantly the moment Bash held up his sword.
It was a simple, rudimentary stance.
Something a beginner would learn when they first picked up a blade.
But there were no gaps. No openings.
It was then that everyone, from the most ignorant child to the most veteran of warriors, understood that the match had been decided.
Every single member of the audience collectively gulped.
Bash’s stance oozed absolute strength.
Gorgor, who was facing him, looked pathetic in comparison.
“Mrrrhn!”
Gorgor made the first move.
He swung his giant sword straight down.
A smooth, clean blow with no flourish.
A straightforward strike that even though easily seen through, would obliterate any that would dare defend against it.
The roar of steel rang out through the arena, blowing dust and clods of earth through the air, obscuring the audience’s view of the proceedings.
Just as the crowd was about to wonder what went on, something few out of the dust clouds.
Some believed it was a piece of Gorgor’s flesh.
Especially the veteran warriors who had had the privilege of witnessing Bash in battle.
Because that was what had happened to any and all that had faced the Orc in the past.
The storm of bloodshed that the Hero left in his wake was forever engraved in their minds.
But no.
It was neither a lump of flesh, nor a spray of blood.
That something flew, whistling through the air before landing with a loud thud, digging itself into the arena’s soft ground.
Soon, the true nature of that something became clear.
It was a chunk of iron.
Sharp and pointy, all the Dwarves in the audience realized what it was – the tip of a sword.
As the dust cleared, all could see Gorgor still standing having followed through with his strike till the end, yet the weapon he held was missing its upper half – the upper half that would have cut into Bash’s flesh.
As soon as the referee saw this scene, he announced:
“Winner, Bash!”
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Did Bash smash Gorgor’s blade apart? Or did the Ogre slip up, shattering his own sword after slamming it into the ground?
Both explanations were ludicrous – but there was no way that a weapon that had made it all the way to the main event would break just from hitting dirt.
That meant…
There were no cheers.
No one really understood what had happened.
What had The Destroyer done in those fractions of a second?
Bash quietly sheathed his sword, and walked back towards the waiting room, leaving Gorgor to watch his shrinking back in dismay.
But after a moment, the Ogre closed his eyes, got on his knees, and put his fists on the ground.
An Ogre’s traditional bow of defeat.
Though humiliated, he was expressing both his respect and gratitude towards an overwhelmingly stronger opponent.
Nobody understood the events that had transpired.
But they could see that Gorgor had admitted defeat.
In last year’s tournament, the same Gorgor had refused to acknowledge his loss after his weapon broke, continuing to rampage.
The same Gorgor that, covered in blood and held down by a dozen warriors, he had kept on shouting that he had not yet lost.
That same Gorgor, today, had lost his will to fight after just a single blow, despite not having even a scratch on his body.
This fact gradually permeated the audience… and one-by-one, they rose in roaring applause.
