The gathered crowd waits impatiently outside of the burning forest, watching for any sign of Kieto. Thick, black smoke trails high into the air, obstructing the view of both the moon and the stars. The only source of light left comes from the raging fire, but that is more than enough to be able to see the expressions on everyone's face: terror, fear, panic; everyone is worried about both Kieto's safety and about the condition of the terrain. This blaze is going to alter everything that will happen later on in the tournament, and it is all because Garath faltered with his judgment. He intended for the fire to be a minor inconvenience for Kieto, but now it has become an all-consuming inferno. Garath sees the judges standing amongst the crowd and quickly turns the other way, not wanting to meet their looks of disapproval. This "accident" could very well cost Garath his first match.

Suddenly a group of onlookers cry out in excitement as they spot Kieto sprinting out of the forest, sword in hand. Garath stands frozen in place, watching Kieto grow closer with each step. He sees the look of frustration in his opponent's eyes, along with a glare of murderous intent. Garath moves to draw Breath of Fire once more, but a strong voice calls out over the chatter of the crowd.

"Wait!!!"

Garath pauses immediately, dropping his hands back to his sides. He quickly notices that Kieto is still charging forward and appears to show no signs of slowing down. Garath once more reaches for his weapon, but the strong voice calls out again, this time even more insistent.

"Wait!!! The battle is over. You may return to your dormitories."

The voice belongs to a man whom everyone can easily identify, since he is one of the two men that advanced to the final round of the previous Tournament of Arms. Lex didn't really stand out while within the group of people, since he is wearing a large green tunic beneath a thick layer of polished leather armor, but now that he is moving toward Garath and Kieto, everyone notices him. His trademark sword is no longer with him because he has banished his sin and purged himself of its unholy influence. Freed from its evil power, he has begun to look normal once again. He is slightly taller than most men and has thin, blond hair and deep blue elvish eyes. Freed from his curse, he has regained some weight and color, although he is still lean and his skin is still slightly pale. Both his voice and his presence carries tremendous weight, but his eyes betray signs of his troubled past. Engraved upon the left shoulder of his armor is a picture of two clashing swords over a shield, the emblem of the judges.

This time Kieto stops, finally realizing that the voice belongs to one of the three judges. Kieto sheaths his sword and walks over to Garath, a smile on his face, and extends his hand. Garath looks at the man for a few seconds before extending his own hand. The two men exchange a few pleasantries before going their separate ways. As Garath moves to head back to the coliseum a group of armed guards surround him, blocking his way. A look of surprise and confusion spreads on his face as he halts, demanding to know the meaning of this. One rather large, buff guard steps forward and responds to his bickering.

"You, sir, are hereby under the custody of the Tournament of Arms Elite Armed Guard Escort Service. We have been assigned to control and monitor all of your movements between your matches until the tournament is officially over. You will also be restricted from entering the coliseum expect to participate in your battles. You shall have a tent set up outside, and all of your belongings shall be kept inside of that tent. As an extra precaution, we must confiscate your weapons. You shall be provided a different weapon from the Tournament of Arms Weaponry to use in your remaining battles. Should you attempt to resist or escape, you will hereby forfeit your remaining matches in the tournament. Do you understand?"

Garath's face goes blank as he stares at the man in front of him. He blinks several times, trying to sort through everything this man just said. He frowns before inclining his head slightly, responding to the man.

"I understand completely, master guardsman, and shall comply with all that is requested of me. One of my swords, Wind Dancer, is still within the depths of the burning forest, but I shall hand over Breath of Fire immediately. Will I be able to select my replacement weapon?"

"Nay, sir. We shall provide you with whatever weapon happens to be available at the time and it may or may not be the same weapon for each of your battles."

Oh, great. Just what I needed, another obstacle on the road to victory. Garath thinks as he unfastens Breath of Fire's scabbard and hands the blade to the guard. The entourage of armed men then proceed to escort Garath to a campsite set up nearly a mile outside of the coliseum. A dozen gray tents are erected, encircling a single blue tent. The large guard motions for Garath to enter the blue tent, and inside Garath finds that all his belongings that survived the fire in his dorm are now within the tent. A small cot is on the far side of the tent, along with a pillow and a thin sheet, which must be his sleeping accomodations. Suddenly Garath wishes he hadn't acted so irrationally when he had gotten that letter earlier. He sighs, secretly smiling to himself because he has several weapons concealed within his garments, there in case of emergencies like this one. Before he can rummage through anything, the guard speaks to him once more.

"One more thing, and then I shall leave you for the night. We have already searched through all of your belongings and have removed your daggers and other spare weaponry. They will all be returned to you upon the cessation of the tournament. You will receive the results of your battle within the hour."

As the guard walks out of the tent, Garath allows his anger and frustration to explode. He is glad they took Breath of Fire, otherwise he would no longer have a tent to sleep in, but he does manage to vent his rage by hurling several various items around. He is about to kick the cot when a young boy enters his tent, holding a small scroll of parchment in his hand. Garath stops his fit of anger long enough to realize that this must be the results of his battle, as well as notification of his next battle. Garath walks toward the boy, taking note of his tan tunic, which has a small emblem sewed into the center. The image is of a pair of winged sandals, which denotes his rank as a messenger. Garath guesses the boy to be no more than fourteen, and gives the child a small copper piece as he takes the message from his hand. He opens the message and lets out a cry of triumph as he reads the words.

Master Swordsman, Garath,

On behalf of the judges of the Tournament of Arms I would like to congratulate you upon your recent victory over Kieto. You will now have the next day free from battle, and shall face Kurt the day after tomorrow. Due to your recent actions; however, I regret to inform you that you will not be allowed to join us tonight at the opening banquet. This messenger is assigned to your care and shall retrieve or deliver anything you wish, you have but to ask him. His name is Eriond. Good luck with your next match.

~The coliseum staff and judges

This good news for Garath, and suddenly he no longer feels compelled to destroy everything in his sight. He now has a full day to rest and scout his competition, and he knows exactly what he wants Eriond to do first. He kneels in front of the boy, lowering himself so that he can look directly into the boy�s bright blue eyes as he tells the kid what he would like done.

�Eriond, I have three tasks for you to do for me right now, and once they are done I shall give you a silver piece for your compliance. The first thing is I would like for you to fetch a member of the medical staff who can tend to these burns for me. Second, I would appreciate a fine dinner from the banquet that they are holding tonight, along with a flask of High Elven Wine to drink. And third I would like a list of the results of all of tonight�s battles, along with a list of the battles that are to take place tomorrow and the day after. Can you do all of that for me, boy?�

Eriond nods mutely, his short blond hair falling in front of his eyes as he nods. He sweeps the strands of hair aside and turns to set about his new tasks for Garath. Half an hour later Eriond returns with the supper and with the results of the matches, and informs Garath that the nurse will be out first thing in the morning to see to his burns, since she is busy tending to wounds that are more serious. Garath sighs as he sits down on his cot, reading through the list of results from the first day.

�Shadow defeats Rick Valentine; Shadow will face Shinobi in round three and Rick Valentine will face Shinobi in round two. Garath defeats Kieto; Garath will face Kurt in round three and Kieto will face Kurt in round two. Kara defeats Koja; Kara will face Damaru in round three and Koja will face Damaru in round two. Ouri defeats Kein; Ouri will face Exodus Kimado in round two and Kein will face Exodus Kimado in round three. Lenith defeats Valmont; Lenith will face Taere in round three and Valmont will face Taere in round two. Thomas defeats Selm; Thomas will face Rei in round three and Selm will face Rei in round two. Chloe Norman defeats Skai; Chloe Norman will face One in round two and Skai will face One in round three. Glaive Guisarme defeats Kylista; Glaive Guisarme will face Zet in round three and Kylista will face Zet in round two. Interesting, it seems that most of today�s victors get the day off tomorrow. I�m sure we shall all be scouting out competition tomorrow. Perhaps I may even get to see a future opponent.�

Garath finishes his meal of roast duck and takes a final swig of his High Elven Wine before tossing a silver piece to Eriond and dismissing the boy for the night. He lays down on the cot, trying to get comfortable with all of his burns. His night is one filled with dreams of an old lover, who died in front of his eyes. Although the dreams are of their happier moments together, his sleep is fitful. He awakens the next morning to find Eriond sitting inside his tent, watching him with innocent eyes. Although he was asleep for many hours, Garath feels as though he has gotten no rest for the night. His eyes are bloodshot and reflect the agony he feels inside his soul. He is only half-aware of his surroundings as he rubs his eyes, trying to become alert. He inquires about the nurse, but Eriond simply responds by pointing at his chest. Garath looks down and notices that his chest is heavily bandaged, although he has no recollection of anyone ever doing this last night or this morning. He shrugs and gets to his feet, stretching his muscles before throwing a loose-fitting tunic over his head.

As soon as Garath walks outside of his tent, a group of soldiers from the Tournament of Arms Elite Armed Guard Escort Service surrounds him, forming a tight circle of steel. Garath beckons to the one in front of him, telling him that he intends to attend today�s battles. The soldier nods and motions to two of his companions. The two of them quickly search Garath for any form of weapon, and finding nothing, they nod back to the first soldier. The remaining soldiers disperse, leaving Garath with an escort of three fully-armed guards. They head to the coliseum and begin to walk through the crowded halls. Suddenly someone cries out, �Run for your lives! The evil Garath walks among us! Escape before he unleashes his vengeful wrath upon you!�

Garath misses a step, stumbling into one of his escorts. Immediately all three guards have their swords in hand and pointed at Garath, ready to strike if he makes another move. He can hardly believe what he is seeing. People everywhere scramble away, trying to get as far from Garath as they can. Even the guards, who had been courteous and polite before, have now become hostile. It is almost as if they think that he is a villain, but Garath knows better. He knows he is not a vile being who finds joy in the torment of others. He suffers enough himself. These people must have him confused with somebody else. He begins to speak, trying to figure out why this is happening to him.

�Good people, why do you flee? I am not evil, nor do I know why you think I intend to cause you harm. I am here to watch today�s matches, nothing more.�

Silence is the only thing that greets his ears. Nobody responds to his words because they fear he will strike them down if they displease him. His mind is still filled with confusion as he continues on his way to watch the next match. He reaches the entrance to the arena and goes to walk inside, but the guardsmen at the door lower their pikes to prevent him from going any further. Once again he is befuddled by this misunderstanding, and tries once more to get a reason for this odd behavior.

�What is the meaning of this?� Garath demands.

�We are under strict orders to prevent you from entering this arena unless you are to be fighting in a match.� the first pikeman responds casually.

�What harm is there in wanting to watch a few battles today?� Garath asks the man.

�We must provide a safe and secure environment for our guests, therefore all villains are prohibited from watching matches. We do not wish to upset our customers by allowing murderous scum to sit among them.� the pikeman answers smugly.

�I have done nothing to cause anyone harm!� pleads Garath.

�Oh, but you have. Gawain, do you happen to have the tally of how many innocents Master Garath killed last night?� the first one says.

�Ah, yes. The evil warlock Garath slew three men, raped seventeen young women, slaughtered half a dozen children and caused damage adding up to over thirty seven thousand gold last night, not counting the thirty unidentifiable bodies we found this morning in the forest.� the second pikeman, Gawain, replies.

�But I never...� Garath begs, but is cut off abruptly by a sharp blow to the back of the head. He awakens hours later and finds himself chained to the cot in his tent. The metal links rub into the sore burns on his flesh, causing him much discomfort as he tries to sort out everything that just occurred. His head throbs violently where he was hit, and Garath is almost certain he has a large bump there. Hunger gnaws at him, his stomach growling constantly, demanding that he eat something soon. Garath tries to call out, but his throat is dry and his voice comes out as no more than a whisper. He struggles to free himself from the chains, but every time he moves his pain increases. Tears flow down his cheek as he remembers the day his true love died...

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

Garath walks into a clearing in the forest, wondering where Racheal went to and why she has not returned yet. She said she would only be a few minutes, but almost half an hour has gone by and so Garath decides to follow her and see where she disappeared to. As he steps out from the cover of the trees, he hears a familiar voice calling his name.

"Garaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaath!"

Fear overwhelms his mind as he races toward her voice, not paying attention to anything else. That is his final mistake because he is hit over the head with a large cudgel and slumps to the ground, unconcious. When he wakes up he finds himself bound to a tree and staring into the face of his rival, Zakath, who speaks to him.

"Well Garath, it would seem that once again I am just one step ahead of you, only this time I have something you value, as well."

Zakath moves to the side, allowing Garath to see Racheal chained to a tree, unconsious. One of her eyes is swollen shut and she has bruises covering her face. She has several small cuts which are still bleeding, the crimson liquid dripping down her chin. Intense hatred swells inside of Garath's mind as he fights to free himself, but to no avail. Zakath steps in front of him once more, demanding to know where the stone is and threatening to kill Racheal if he does not tell. Given no other alternative, Garath reveals the location of the stone while pleading for Racheal's life to be spared. Zakath, having heard everything he needs to hear, walks over to where Racheal is and stands behind her, slowly slitting her throat.

Tears fall from Garath's eyes as Zakath walks back over to him, holding the bloody dagger in front of his face, saying, "This, Garath, is the price of resistance. You sentenced her to death by refusing to aid the royal crown; and by letting her go into the woods alone, you killed her. Her death is on your conscience, because it was your ignorance that allowed her to be captured. You, Garath, have just murdered your loved one and betrayed your little rebellion, both in the same day. And now it is time for you to die."

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

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! RACHEAL!" cries Garath as he awakens from his nightmare. Five guards burst into the tent, swords in hand, wanting to know what all the commotion is about. Garath notices that the moon is in the sky now. He has been in and out of sleep for the entire day, yet he still feels groggy and light-headed. Garath asks for some food, but the guards ignore him, demanding to know what his outburst was all about.

�I...I was having a nightmare. Someone I cared about was murdered in front of my eyes six years ago, and I had a dream about that.� Garath tells them.

�Liar! You have no emotions, and no woman could ever love a fiend such as yourself. You are a murderer of the innocent and a defiler of women! Just looking at you makes me sick! Now go back to sleep and quit your bitching. One more outburst from you tonight and we�ll make sure you won�t wake up until morning!� The other four guards smirk at the man�s rude comments and they all spit at Garath before leaving the tent.

The hours creep by slowly as Garath tosses and turns as best as he can, unable to sleep because of his tremendous hunger. His vision becomes blurry and everything begins to fade from consciousness. He falls into another fitful nightmare, this one about his second love, Lenith, whose resemblance to Racheal is nearly flawless. Three months ago she left Garath to try and change her stars, promising to return to him as soon as her dreams came true. She told him that he needed some time alone, to figure out whether he loves her because she looks like Racheal, or if he truly loves her as Lenith. So far he has been unable to figure that answer out. He loves her for both.

The morning sun creeps into the sky, banishing the moon and the stars for yet another day. Golden rays of light shine upon the coliseum and the surrounding plains. The nearby forest is back to normal once more, being reconstructed by the Tournament of Arms druids. Of course, none of this brings pleasure to Garath, who is still chained to his cot. His skin is pale and his hands are shaking uncontrollably, showing signs of weakness from a lack of food. His throat is dry and scratchy and his hair disorderly. Another hour passes by before three guards enter his tent and unchain him from his cot. Garath tries to rise to his feet, but his strength gives out on him and he slumps to the floor, breathing laboriously. Several sharp kicks to his taped ribs drives Garath back to his feet, but he leans heavily on a small table. One of the guards steps outside momentarily, but then he comes back inside the tent carrying an unusual garment. He sets the clothing on the floor next to Garath�s feet and then hastily retreats behind his friends. They motion for Garath to put on the clothing but Garath sees nothing wrong with what he is already wearing. Realizing that he isn�t going to change his clothes, one of the guards draws his sword and points the tip of it at Garath�s throat, threatening to kill him now if he did not comply.

Sighing heavily at the hopelessness of his situation, Garath changes into the new uniform. It is a pale white color and made from some odd sort of animal skin. Once he finishes getting dressed, the guards shackle his hands behind his back and place an iron collar around his neck, looping a chain through a small buckle and fastening the other end of the chain to the belt of the larger guard. And so he is led across the open grassland, shackled and collared like a wild animal, with hundreds of people stopping to stare at the sight. Laughter echoes in the Garath�s mind as follows the guards into the coliseum and to the arena. Everywhere he turns, humiliation is waiting there for him.

This time the pikemen don't try to stop him as he walks through the doorway and steps into the open battlefield. Hundreds of thousands of people are seated all around, waiting for the next battle to begin. An announcer calls out to the crowd, introducing Garath to the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our next competitor is the man who defeated Kieto in the first round when he unleashed his vile sorcery, burning down an entire forest. He has slaughtered hundreds of men, women and children during his travels to the tournament, stopping in every village he passed through to rape the women and fill them with his cursed seed. The very mention of his name gives children nightmares. May I introduce you all to the corrupt, evil sorcerer, Garath."

A deafening chorus of boos follows the introduction and a flurry of rotten fruit assaults Garath as he stands there in the center of the arena, still shackled and collared, unable to even attempt to dodge the onslaught. Tears roll down his cheeks as he listens to the crowd's reaction. His ears can hardly believe what they are hearing, and he has a harder time accepting the fact that the people actually believe those lies. Not a word of that introduction is true, yet everyone is treating him as if he is the lowliest scum on the earth. After several minutes the noise dies down and the announcer begins to speak once more.

"As all of you have heard, the evil sorcerer's vile power was derived mainly from his own weapons, which we have removed from his possession." The crowd cheers wildly at this statement, and the announcer gives them time to let the cheering out of their system before continuing. "Now then, since it would be unfair to his opponents to allow him to regain control of those cursed items, we are going to hereby prohibit their use in this tournament. But, in return we must supply him with our own untainted weapons. And to decide what those weapons are, we are going to rely upon all of you who are here today. But before I get to the choices, I was wondering how many of you have noticed his unusual attire. Do you know what that is?"

The crowd responds with a loud 'No!', and then the announcer once again continues with his speech. "Well then, allow me to enlighten all of you. That tunic he is wearing is made from the scalps of every child he has killed in his life. I would say he probably has about a thousand scalps there to make that tunic, wouldn't you?"

The crowd lets out another chorus of boos, throwing an assortment of objects at Garath as he stands there, unable to do anything or say anything. Shards of broken glass scratch his arms and large stones bounce off of his back and chest, sending sharp fits of pain coursing throughout his body. He lowers his eyes to the ground, unable to force himself to look up at any of these people. They think he is a monster.

"Now then, we must provide him with adequate supplies, which would be two weapons and a source of armor. Now, should we give him this suit of full plate armor to protect his body from attacks, or should we give him this shield made of glass?"

The crowd responds to the glass shield, and someone throws the shield into the arena and it breaks upon hitting the ground.

"Oh, too bad Garath didn't catch that shield. Looks like he will have to be defenseless now. Well then, for weapons should we give him this elegantly crafted Katana, infused with the power of the elements, or should we give him this wonderful wooden sword?"

Once again the crowd responds to the mock weapon and somebody throws a wooden sword into the arena.

"And finally, should we give him this rapid-firing crossbow, or this tiny blowgun, complete with three totally ineffective darts?"

The crowd erupts in laughter as they chant for the blowgun and a thin reed is thrown into the arena, followed by a small black case that holds three untipped darts. The announcer then begins to introduce Garath's opponent, Kurt, and the guards unchain Garath, freeing his hands from bondage. They quickly leave the arena as Garath falls onto his knees, weeping uncontrollably. This humiliation is too much for him to bear, and the crowd cheers even louder when they see him showing weakness.

But something deep within Garath tells him that it does not matter what these people think. It does not matter if they choose to cheer him, or if they choose to think he is a monster. Garath knows the truth, and that is all that really matters. He slowly gets to his feet, still weak from hunger, and takes the wooden sword in hand as Kurt walks into the arena, ready to fight and prove himself worthy of their cheers.

Kurt allowed a slight groan to escape his lips as the healer tended to his leg, quickly and efficiently sealing the wound he had suffered from Kietos' blade. Apparently his foe was faster than he had accounted for and managed to swipe at Kurts lower leg after his kick sent him stumbling backwards. The cut would heal thanks to the staff of mages' working there and they could even restore the fibers of his pants should he request it, but the real pain for Kurt came from the fact that Kieto had managed to slice through one of his pockets, rendering the items stored in there useless for any of his remaining bouts.

It was the same young woman tending to his leg as had help revive him after his trip there, leading him to believe that a the lower healers had all been assigned to one or two specific fighters for all their light wounds. He watched her face as she worked on his cut, a look of placid focus as her green eyes stared at his leg, white energy surrounding her hands that fell like confused snow, moving on an angle as if drawn to the blood that remained visible, every particle dissolving into his flesh to slowly close the wound. Some of her red hair had fallen in back from behind her ears, partially obscuring her profile from Kurts view but she was too busy to move it back. She looked to be just about the same age as Kurt if not a year younger, and her build suggested she did more than just sit around in the infirmary all day waiting for the injured to show up. If it wasn't for the surroundings, she'd look a lot like...

"Hello?"

With a start Kurt realized she had caught him staring, having finished his leg while he was lost in thought.

"Oh, sorry. I must have been daydreaming." He stammered as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the low bed he had been laying on. "Thanks a lot for all you've done for me since I've got here."

"Don't mention it." She said with a smile as she walked with him to the door to the infirmary, "I knew what I was getting into when I joined the mages here. I always enjoy helping people get better."

"That's good to hear." Kurt paused for a second at the door, pondering whether he really wanted to ask the question that was nagging him or not. "But I still feel bad having taken so much your time and not even knowing your name yet."

"It's Serra, nice to meet you." Her hand extended as a wide smile lit her face, looking up expectantly at Kurt.

"I see, nice to meet you too Serra." He responded as calmly as he could, wondering if she could feel his hand tremble as he shook hers but if she did she didn't show it. A cold sweat broke out against the back of his neck as he said goodbye to her and it continued down his back as he made his way to his assigned room.

He hadn't thought about it until just then, but he figured it made a strange sort of sense. Even in different dimensions, there are only so many outcomes to every event, sometimes there had to be repeats, even if it was just the template of one person. But why did it have to be her? Now that he thought back on it, her voice had even sounded the same, he just hadn't noticed since it's been nearly three years since he last heard Serra talk.

Arriving at his room he closed the door behind him and cast his coat and t-shirt onto the bed they had provided him, letting the warm sunlight from the window wash over his body, trying to rid himself of the shivers that were starting to cover his body. Walking into the ajoining room he found a large tub on the floor, filled with water that was surprisingly warm when he stuck his hand in it, considering no one had been probably been in the room in the last hour at least.

'Probably some sort of enchantment on the tub' Figured Kurt as he stripped down and climbed in, his body instantly calming as it was embraced by the even heat. 'It may not be indoor plumbing, but it's better than nothing.'

As the rest of his body unwound from its' workout earlier, his mind was drawn to the ring that remained on his finger. There was no way the transfer to this plane from his native one had to be such a painful one. It was clear they didn't want him to go anywhere until they were completely finished with him and had rigged the ring to put his body through so much stress. It was clear from the healer being right on hand for his arrival and the organizers lack of concern once he had come around that they were fully aware of what he was going to be put through.

"Fine. They want to play games?" Kurt stated as he stood up and reached for a towel to dry himself off, "We can play, for a little while at least."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A frantic pounding and yelling outside the wooden door to Kurts' room roused him from his sleep a few hours before what he estimated would have been a full nights rest. Somewhat reluctantly he pushed himself out from underneath the sheet, sleepily making his way to the door as the noises continued. Opening the door he found a boy in his early teens, quite red-faced from banging and yelling standing there regaining his breath.

"Your match starts in ten minutes in the same ring you were in yesterday."

"...Wonderful." He muttered as he watched the boy take off down the hall as soon as his message had been delivered. He had probably said the message exactly as it had been told to him, meaning any time wasted traveling or trying to rouse Kurt wasn't accounted for, meaning he probably had quite a bit less than ten minutes left before the match was scheduled. Walking back into the other room, Kurt dunked his whole head under the surface of the water in the tub, only slightly surprised to find it still warm. After a few seconds of silence he abruptly stood back upright, water flying everywhere as a look of slight revelation crossed his face. "...I have a match to get to..."

Filled with a new sense of urgency he rushed into his main room, quickly pulling the rest of his clothes back on and scooping the half finished components from his dresser back into his pocket. He had spent most of the night working on it but he didn't know if it would work as well as he planned, but there was no time left to work now. Besides, he didn't have to necessarily use it against Garath in this next match unless the situation called for it, which all depended on how things turned out. Now fully clothed he dashed from the room, not even bothering to close the door, having everything he brought with him to this world on his person.

It only took him a few minutes to backtrack to the arena he had competed in the day before, the person manning the door opening it as soon as they saw him round the last corner. Bursting out into the sunlight Kurt was temporarily blinded, having forgotten to put his sunglasses on before he stepped outside. As his eyes adjusted to the increased light he became aware of the cheer that had gone up when he stepped into the light, the sound seeming odd to him as no one there knew anything about him. They could be cheering for a mass murderer and not even know it, yet still they yelled. Placing his sunglasses over his eyes to speed the process, Kurt found himself staring at the man he would be fighting, the reason for the cheers suddenly painfully obvious.

The ground was littered with plant matter and other objects just about the right size for throwing, the greatest concentration around the feet of Garath. Kurt had to believe that Garaths' current state had to be staged, dressed in thin white garment that looked to be made of an animals pelt he carried only a childs' wooden sword for a weapon. The crowd wasn't cheering for Kurt, they were cheering against Garath. Anyone could have walked into the ring to battle Garath right now and the crowd would have cheered just the same, the classic scenario of the heel vs the pretty boy, Garath for some reason singled out to be the heel.

Kurt was almost ready to turn and leave the ring when he caught a good look at Garaths' expression, a mix of determination and anger forcing itself through a haze of frustration. He was ready to fight, whether it be Kurt here and now, or the next guard that pushed him just a little to far.

"Lesser of two evils I guess." Kurt mumbled to himself as he sunk into a defensive fighting stance, majority of his weight on his right leg as he let his left leg reached out and slightly to the side, only the ball and toes of that foot touching the ground. His knees bent as he sunk his center of gravity, arms held lightly in front of his body, only somewhat outstretched, silver cylinder held loosely in his right hand. Feeling ready to be the focus for Garaths' release of anger, Kurt nods to his opponent, wishing silently the situation didn't have to be quite like this.

The crowd's cheers grow louder as Kurt walks into the arena. Garath is still in the center of the battlefield, crouching while clutching the wooden sword in his right hand. His eyes quickly take in his opponent's odd appearance, noting the strange metal cylinder in Kurt's hand. The gathered people begin to toss roses and gold at their hero, and a few select women even throw some personal belongings to him. Not a person within the crowd is still sitting down. Everyone is on their feet, warmly welcoming the man who shall do battle with Garath.

Garath remains where he is, intently watching his opponent. Although his imagination might be playing tricks on him, Garath thinks he sees Kurt nod his head in a sign of respect, but Garath knows this man couldn't possibly be sincere. This man isn't here to fight a fair battle against a fellow warrior. This man is here to kill the vile, cruel sorcerer who rapes innocent women. Garath knows he will receive no mercy from Kurt.

After what seems to be an eternity, Garath decides to make the first move since Kurt seems to be too busy enjoying his recent fame. Garath charges forward, lunging at his foe. Kurt sees the oncoming attack and steps aside and Garath finds himself face-down in the dirt, a cloud of dust rising into the air. Garath coughs several times and his vision becomes blurred by the dirt getting into his eyes. His entire body becomes tense as he awaits the blow which shall end his life, but it never comes.

He slowly gets to his feet and looks toward Kurt to find the man standing patiently, still holding the metalic cylinder. Once again Kurt nods his head at Garath, and this causes Garath's mind to become even more confused than it already had been. Nothing makes sense to him anymore. He isn't even sure if he knows who he is anymore.

Kurt motions for Garath to resume the offensive, so Garath charges forward, bringing the wooden sword around in a tight arc toward Kurt's head. At first it seems Kurt isn't even going to try to avoid the blow, but within the blink of an eye the metal cylinder takes shape and extends into a long, metal staff, a sharp blade fastened to each end. The staff quickly cuts through the air, deflecting Garath's sword. Kurt continues to use the staff's momentum, twirling it several times before bringing it down in a powerful overhead smash. Garath notices the oncoming attack just in time and barely leaps back to avoid the blow.

The staff hits the ground and bounces off the surface, the impact causing Kurt to stagger slightly. Garath darts in and thrusts the sword at Kurt's chest, but the staff knocks his attack to the side and Garath cuts through nothing but air. Kurt begins to twirl the staff once more, directing several quick swipes at Garath's head. Garath ducks under the repetitive swings, but Kurt follows one of his attacks with a spinning roundhouse kick that nearly connects with Garath's skull. Garath goes to counter with a powerful slash at Kurt's torso, but the staff interjects once again, this time one of the blades slices the wooden sword in two, leaving Garath with nothing more than the hilt in his hand.

The crowd laughs at Garath's misfortune and a slight smirk appears on Kurt's face as Garath turns around and dives away from Kurt, using his momentum to roll several times on the ground. Garath finds himself next to the blowgun and case of darts, so he tosses the bladeless hilt aside and grabs his other weapon. He opens the case to find that none of the darts have tips on them, just a rounded end. Frustrated more than ever, Garath loads one of the darts into one end of the bamboo reed and aims at Kurt, firing a quick shot to distract his opponent.

An inopportune glare causes Garath's aim to falter and the dart bounces harmlessly off the arena wall. The crowd begins to laugh once more at Garath, and he notices a young kid in the crowd who is trying to conceal a small mirror. The child meets Garath's gaze and sticks his tongue out, taunting Garath. Garath turns his attention back toward Kurt, but an annoying voice calls out over the laughter.

"Hey, child-molester! What kind of shot was that? Were you aiming at the wall, or do you just suck that much?"

Garath ignores the taunting, preparing himself to fire a second shot at Kurt. Right as he is about to shoot, the glare returns and Garath notices that boy has the mirror out again. He pauses momentarily and the glare disappears, but as soon as he readies himself to shoot the dart the glare returns once more. Annoyed by the childish antics, Garath lowers the blowgun. The voice calls out to him again, this time even louder.

"What's the matter? Too afraid that you'll miss again? You couldn't hit him if he was standing right in front of you! You are worthless without your evil magic!"

This time the kid takes his taunting one step further and proceeds to drop his pants, turning to moon Garath. The crowd cheers him on and they all begin to chant "Garath sucks!" while the kid's bare bottom moves back and forth. Something within Garath's mind gives in and he brings the blowgun back to his mouth, firing the dart at the taunting child.

The tipless dart hits the kid right in the middle of his ass and the boy lets out a high-pitched shriek. Suddenly the only people still laughing are Garath and, surprisingly enough, Kurt. Garath kneels down and grabs the final dart, this time placing a small shard of the broken glass on the end of it, hoping it will remain in place. He stands once more and faces Kurt, nodding his head slightly before motioning for Kurt to resume the offensive. Kurt nods in response and begins to move forward, twirling his staff at a rapid rate. Garath watches his every move, carefully studying the man's pattern in hopes of finding a weakness he can exploit. As Kurt gets close enough to Garath, the crowd begins to chant Kurt's name, giving him their full support. Then Garath makes his move.

He ducks under one swift blow, and then hops to the side to avoid another. He hurtles a low sweeping blow and leaps backward, firing the final dart at Kurt as he falls to the ground.

Garaths' initial charge was crude, full of an anger that blocked all but the most base instincts in a persons mind, preventing him from utilizing the skills he had refined to get him where he was right now. Quickly side-stepping, Kurt watched as his opponent dove into the dirt, coughing as he inadvertently inhaled the airborne dust before tensing up like a child about to be whipped. There was confusion in Garaths' eyes as he got back to his feet and Kurt guessed that he didn't know Kurt hadn't been in on what they were doing to him.

'Let's hope that cleared your head a bit.' Kurt thought as he moved back to a defensive stance, motioning once more for Garath to proceed when ready.

The next attack was much more skillfully prepared, Garath wielding the childs toy with such precision that it would inflict a painful wound despite its' juvenile construction. Kurt became peripherally aware of Garaths' surprise as his staff manifested itself but paid it no heed as he focused on deflecting the wooden sword from its chosen path, continuing the motion into a tight spin over his head before swinging it back down at his nearby opponent.

'Seems like he's back in control of himself now.' Kurt noted as Garath quickly avoided the slash, momentarily throwing Kurt off balance. Instantly Garath was back on the offensive, attempting to take advantage of his temporary faltering to gain the upper hand. By virtue of years of close-combat fighting, Kurt managed to get his weapon up in time, once again redirecting the sword before it could do any real damage. Working on instinct Kurt continued to strike, throwing a few slashes at Garaths head to try and get him to expect them before whipping out his leg in a sudden roundhouse kick, barely missing the connection with his opponents' skull. Recovering from the momentum of the kick he barely caught sight of another attack that he had to quickly respond to, accidentally separating the blade of the sword from the hilt as he did so.

'Hm, hadn't meant to do that...' He thought to himself, glancing down at what was now a near useless chunk of wood sitting on the ground. He had been hoping to keep the hand to hand combat going for as long as possible, since that was the part he most enjoyed. Looking back up to Garath he noticed he had procured another weapon from the near the pile of objects people had thrown at him earlier, this time a miniature blowgun that didn't look much more effective than the sword. Garath had however turned the sword into a weapon to be taken seriously and Kurt had no doubt he would do the same with this one.

"Projectile display." Muttered Kurt, the keyword causing a transparent array of mulitcoloured lines and blobs to blanket themselves in front of his eyes. When he first started using this program it had made him naseous to even try to walk around while it was up, but after long hours of practice he found himself used to the myriad of information it presented, digesting it subconsciously as he focused on what was really happening. As Garath lifted the blowgun, the colours shifted themselves to compensate, showing Kurt in abstract the probable paths of whatever was fired from it. Once the weapon was actually discharged it would be able to narrow down the path to a single fuzzy line, but for right now the blurry colours were good enough.

His body was primed as he awaited Garaths' first shot. While the display may tell him where the projectile is going, it's up to him to either get out of the way or try and deflect it, two tasks easier said than done. A mere split-second before the shot goes off, the whole display shifts in front of Kurts eyes, swinging a few degrees to the side before it is followed by the dart, shooting wide of Kurt into the arena wall. He wasn't sure, but he thought that at the same time as the change in Garaths' aim, he noticed his face seemed to brighten, as if a light were shone onto it. An angry glance from Garath off to the side of the arena confirms Kurts' suspicion, someone in the audience is trying to throw him off.

"This is why I hate fighting with spectators around." He managed to mutter to himself before they were interrupted once again.

"Hey, child-molester! What kind of shot was that? Were you aiming at the wall, or do you just suck that much?" Both fighters attempt to ignore the taunting as Kurt awaits Garaths' next shot, the light appearing once again just before Garath can shoot, but this time he holds his shot. Lowering the blowgun caused it to disappear but as soon as he tried to fire again it returned, dancing mockingly on his face as his aim wavered.

"What's the matter? Too afraid that you'll miss again? You couldn't hit him if he was standing right in front of you! You are worthless without your evil magic!"

Finally turning to see who was interfering, Kurt found himself staring at the ass of the perpetrator, a young boy who was feeding off the energy of the crowd as he proudly waved his buttox at Garath. This time, without any distraction, Garaths' aim was true, the dart from the blowgun finding a resting place in the center of the boys ass, the crowds cheers quickly replaced by the laughter of the two fighters at the shriek of protest that came from the boys mouth.

Forcing the smile from his face, Kurt turned his attention back to Garath who gave him a nod, already having the blowgun loaded with another dart and ready for Kurt to advance. Returning the gesture he started forwards, keeping his staff moving at a good pace in front of his body to create a crude defense against any projectiles launched at him from that direction, as well as slightly dissuade his opponent. He tries to do slight variations on the pattern as he gets closer, attempting to stay away from any type of pattern Garath could take advantage of.

Suddenly Garath jumped into range, deftly avoiding three strikes from Kurts' staff before jumping backwards. The display in front of his eyes flashed to life as the blowgun was suddenly trained on him and fired in one quick motion. Before his brain could fully interpret the symbols his body was already moving, stepping and leaning back as his left fist swings up, the back of his hand connecting with the dart in mid-air before it could finish its trip to his face.

Taking a few more steps back as Garath rose back to his feet, Kurt checked on the back of his hand, finding the source of the pain coming from it as a shard of glass half buried in his flesh, evidently left there by the dart he had just stopped. Picking out the glass he dropped it back to the ground, smiling slightly in spite of himself. If there was one thing he admired in other fighters, it was their ability to think on their feet, and he had to hand it to Garath, he was doing quite well for the situation they had put him into.

With about fifteen feet separating them now, Kurt stepped back with his left foot, finding a comfortable footing and grinding the balls of his feet into the ground, creating a firm starting position for when he was ready to move. He had gotten muscular augmentation quite a few years ago, making his muscles now able to muster a large amount of force with just a small flex beforehand, so he could close the distance between the two of them with one leap, but that would be much to obvious.

Reaching into his pocket he produced what looked like around ten small rubber balls, about the size of marbles. Squeezing them he counted to three in his head before throwing them at Garath, knowing the pressure would cause them to activate after four seconds, when they were halfway to Garath. Once active they would release an electrical burst on contact, nothing much greater than static electricity and a metal doorknob, but with ten connecting at once they could be quite distracting.

Waiting until the balls had almost reached Garath, Kurt leapt forwards, easily closing the distance between the two so that he would arrive at Garath just a few moments after the balls did. He swung his staff hard at the left side of Garaths' head as he came into range, the blade cleaning cutting through the air. Just before it would have contacted with flesh, he thumbed the switch on the handle of the staff, retracting it back to the cylinder, focusing the gathered angular momentum from the swing into a strong side kick with his right foot, aiming for the center of Garaths' chest.

This wonderful (and wonderfully long) read of a battle has to go to Psiko.

Both of you are very capable RPBers, and this battle was very heated. I must admit, while your first post was a bit.....long...the way you took the story was intriguing, Psiko. LS, your posts were very good too, but I had to give this battle to psiko. Either way, though, you both advance.