Vandal turned around and the people gasped as blood dripped down from his left arm. They shifted in their seats to take closer looks. Vandal lifted the wounded arm and peered under. The flesh had been sliced open by Marsil's sword. It was a deep cut but not a killing blow. Marsil waited with a bated breath for the poison of his blade to kick in.
When nothing happened after several moments, he frowned. Vandal noted his frown and a grim smile curled his cruel features.
"Did you think to defeat me with poison, boy?" he growled.
His bass thundered across the sands and Marsil visibly shivered under his voice. Vandal lifted his head and let out a crackly laughter. The crowd were silent so his voice went round the arena, like a madman's cackle. After a moment, he leaned back down.
"I am Vandal. Son of the gods. I am the Titan and mortal weapons cannot defeat me. Now, you shall die."
Before Marsil could blink, his axe came crashing down. Marsil couldn't dodge the blow in time and used his sword to parry the hit. The steel shattered on impact and Marsil was stunned.
What the fuck! he mused.
The sword was made from the strongest steel. He was a bit confused by his broken weapon and couldn't look up in time.
Vandal's fist crashed hard into the side of his face. Marsil staggered and the crowd let out a loud gasp. The blow was so heavy his helmet cracked. To add to the blinding pain of Vandal's fist, the sun speared through the crack and searing pain hit his face as his skin began to sizzle.
He moved to block out the sunlight and Vandal's fist crashed again. This time square on his jaw.
A woman in the crowd let out a yelp.
The sun speared into his helmet the more and he tried blinking past the light but his skin was melting faster than he could heal.
Vandal's fist crashed again, right on top of his head. Marsil heard another audible yelp in the crowd as he sank to his knees. His broken sword lay at his side and the sun was streaming in through the cracks in his helmet. From his blurry eyes, he saw his father hide his head. Not in shame but in agony. Arlon couldn't watch Marsil get killed.
A heavy shadow fell over his kneeling form and he looked up just as Vandal lifted his fist again. The back of his mighty hand crashed into his nose and Marsil was sent rolling across the sands.
He could feel his ears ringing and a warmth running down his nose. He didn't need to look down to know it was blood. The sun had weakened him and everything he saw was hazy. He tried to get back up but Vandal was right over him. A mighty blow to the back of his head sent him facefirst into the sand.
Dirt flooded his mouth, mixing with the blood running from his nose. Vandal continued pounding his head and Marsil thought he might faint. He was aware the soft gasps from some of the spectators and he lifted his hand to slow the blows.
Something hard gripped his arm. He heard a loud crack followed by pain so fierce it colored his vision. Marsil would have screamed but for the blood filling his mouth. From the crowd's silence, he knew Vandal had broken his arm.
He couldn't look up to access the horror so he just lay down on the soft earth. A pass of breeze moved by his face and he caught the blur of metal. Vandal had lifted his axe to finish him off. At this the crowd began to chant. He supposed the spectators only supported the winning fighter, and right now, he had lost.
Marsil lifted his eyes to the seats.
His gaze moved over the royal space and he spotted Arlon with his head bowed. Marsil was closing his eyes to await the death blow when his eyes moved over a particular shrouded entity. At first he thought he'd imagined it.
Then he looked closer. It was a man but his manner was strange.
The first thing Marsil noted was that his eyes were colorless like his. The second was that they shined with magic.
Suddenly, he heard a voice in his head. Somehow, he knew it was the strange man.
"I'm Gryther," the voice said, "...and I'm here to help you."