He Accepts The Challenge

He stands and accepts the challenge, a deep grunt of acknowledgment escaping his throat. The crowd erupts in cheers, most of them favoring the orc. Typical. I draw my sword, the familiar weight of it grounding me as I face my opponent. Dagul raises his halberd, the sharp blade glinting menacingly in the sunlight.

We begin to circle each other, our steps slow and measured, like predators sizing up their prey. The tension in the air is thick, the crowd's murmurs and shouts fading into the background as I focus solely on the orc before me.

Dagul makes the first move, swinging his halberd in a wide, powerful arc aimed at my head. I duck beneath it, feeling the whoosh of air as the blade passes mere inches from my face. In a fluid motion, I spin my sword, the blade clashing against the halberd as I slam down on it, using the **** of his swing to unbalance him. He stumbles forward, and I take advantage, bringing my blade up and over his shoulder, cutting through the fabric of his armor and into his flesh. He roars in pain and anger, but I'm already stepping back, avoiding his backhanded swing.

He plants his foot, steadying himself, and I can see the rage in his eyes as he prepares to charge. I'm open, ****, and if I step back, I'll be out of the ring. His arms are raised, blocking both sides, leaving me with little option but to wrestle or forfeit. I tighten my grip on my sword, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepare to make my choice.