MARSIL PALED WHEN HE BEHELD THE MONSTER marching across the sands towards him. How was he to fight such a man? he pondered. The man's feet alone left foot-wide holes in the ground.
The man-monster was the berserker, Vandal, and he was every bit a Titan.
As he walked across the sands to Marsil, the cries of the people rend the air. Since the king had already given the clap, the battle had already begun. Marsil quickly looked over Vandal, searching for any spot of weakness. All he saw was heavy rifts of bulk and muscles.
The man's arms were large as tree trunks. His fingers were thick as roots. His palms spanned a man's entire face. He was almost two times Marsil's height, and Marsil was no short lad. His legs were solid as pillars on the ground and he looked unmovable.
Everywhere Marsil looked, he found no weakness.
Vandal the Titan only wore a single highlander skirt. The rest of his body was bare, with bronze flesh and hardened muscles. He stopped a distance from Marsil and lifted his hands up into the air. The crowd roared higher at his display of power, and Marsil nearly fainted at the shaking movement of his bulging underarms.
Vandal was four times his size, with a body meant for a bear. The Titan let the crowd roar for a while as he soaked in their praise. Marsil used the time to search for weak points. Flesh was still flesh and surely he could get close enough to strike a killing blow. Staring at Vandal's great stature made him wish he had a bow and arrow; it was a coward's way out but that way he could evade him and kill him from afar. But he didn't. All he had was his sword.
Marsil gripped the hilt and pulled it out from the sheath. The steel shined in the light of the sun and Vandal turned to him. His dark eyes set on Marsil's weapon and he smirked. Vandal reached behind him and it was then Marsil saw the long dreadlocks falling to his waist, then to the back of his thighs.
Vandal looked like a man who should've been born a beast.
Marsil barely had time to stare at his shocking hair before the man pulled out a battle-axe from behind the strap on his back. When he lifted it in the air, Marsil shrank a little. The weapon was large and from the strain of Vandal's arm muscles, he could tell it was also heavy. A single strike from such weapon could end the fight before it even started.
The axe's handle was blackwood; the unbreakable kind. The blade was made of pure iron and gleamed in the sunlight. It spanned a great width and Marsil didn't even want to imagine how many had lost their heads to the blade.
Vandal held the axe high in the air for a moment, allowing the crowd to cheer on, then he stretched it out, the blade directly pointing at Marsil's head. The message was clear.
His lips spread and his mouth turned a grotesque smile. Marsil watched him take a mighty step, then another. Then two more. Soon, Vandal was running heavily across the distance to him.
The clash of his sandals lifted the sands of the arena and Marsil was aware of his heart shivering within him. Vandal held his axe up in a ready kill while Marsil waited with his sword drawn. His heels dug into the ground as he prepared for the contact.
Vandal fell on him with a great roar.
He swiped at his head but Marsil was quick as lightning. He dodged the blow, sweeping down between Vandal's legs. He came up behind him with his sword in the air.
A smudge of blood coated the blade's edge and at this, the crowd went silent...