"H- h- how?" Dirk stuttered out, staring down at his bloody remains of a right forearm.
***
Dirk was of average height in the celestial empire for a lowborn, and possessed a strong physique, with multiple scars scattered about his frame. Found as a baby outside a daycare in the upper slums, he led a tough life. Beginning at a young age he found that his best opportunity to make money for food and housing was the arena. Every level of Dimshadow contained several diverse arenas, offering coin in exchange for hard-fought victories.
Standard to celestial tradition, arena battles are fought as duels using rapiers and parrying daggers or sabers. Or they can be group battles using a myriad of weapons. Very quickly, Dirk found himself having a natural talent for both types of combat. He was at home on the sands, and in the Crossed Blades arena. Rapidly climbing his way up the ladder, he eventually became the arena champion, as the duels were to the death, receiving a hefty amount of coin with each victory.
Therefore, it was quite amusing when a young man, around Dirk's age, directly challenged him instead of rising the arena ladder. Yet, the arena master allowed it, citing the man's origins being from the top levels of Dimshadow. The arena champion begrudgingly agreed, and took up his saber, noting his opponent's choice of the rapier and dagger. The two men walked out onto the light crystal-lit sands, amongst the cheers of hundreds in the stands.
The battle started like many other duels, with both men strafing to their right. Several quick measures and blocks ensued, yet neither committed. Dirk could see the man was impatient, used to his rapier forcing his opponent to retreat in order to block his thrusts, yet Dirk utilized his superior strength, rapidly knocking away each blow while slowly advancing.
The arena champion knew from experience this moment was where one would either bide time, allowing themselves to be forced back and wait for an opportunity, or try a desperate ploy. The newcomer chose the latter, thrusting dagger forward. While such an attack was not a serious threat, it couldn't be ignored, allowing the man to close in without risking a counterattack. Despite normal convention dictating a rapier wielder stay at length, the man decided he could throw off Dirk enough to permit a fatal blow.
He was wrong.
As the man thrust across his body using his left hand, Dirk executed a string of blows. A knock with the flat of the blade shoved the man's left arm outward, while the next diagonally intersected the incoming rapier, using the crossguard of the saber to push the point past himself. Bring forward first his left, then his right behind, the leverage slid his blade rapidly up the length of the rapier, puncturing just right of the man's rapier-wielding shoulder.
Many would assume the battle was done, yet the newcomer surprised Dirk with a hefty kick to his gut, pushing him away, and allowing man time to swap the blade to his left hand, forgoing his dagger to the ground.
Yet as soon as Dirk regained his footing, he went back in, repeatedly slamming aside the man's thrusts, as he broke down his defense. Relentless blows forced the man back past the bloodstains from the earlier exchange, with Dirk hammering the man's guard until he triumphantly… Slipped.
The discarded dagger had slid on the sand, as Dirk's right boot had stepped upon it, causing his right leg to slide forward and to the left. Immediately his opponent lunged in, expecting the rapier to pierce the arena champion's chest. Instead, Dirk quickly raised his right foot to block the blow, clenching his jaw as the blade pierced the sole of his foot, stopping as it encountered his cuneiformal bones.
Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary shock both from his failed blow and his opponent's relentlessness, Dirk spun while still on the ground, dragging his opponent forward and off-balance, directly into Dirk's thrust blade. The champion had spun around to where his back was facing his enemy, kneeling almost as if he was praying, with his saber thrust below his armpit backward, directly into the neck of the upper-born challenger.
Teeth gritting from the pain in his foot, Dirk slowly rose to the cheers of hundreds in the stands. Countless spectators cheered his gladitorial nickname, "Blight! Blight! Blight! Blight!"
He raised his right arm holding the blade, to the sky, only to suddenly see his saber fall to the sand, hand still attached.