Nick in armor was one a sight to behold. That colossal stature clad in the thickest of chainmail, the bulkiest of iron… I've seen lifelike statue-replicas of those holy knights before, but Nick with his sword and shield has placed those fancy, expensive museum exhibits to utter shame.

Fucker's on a crusade for love.

I was reassured by a staff member, when asked, that the weapons we were to be using to beat each other to mushy pulps were but harmless plastic props given a little polish to sheen and gleam like the real thing.

But when it came to Nick, entering the ring packing those bulging forearms of his tucked underneath all that layer of metal? That freakish grip strength of a gorilla strangling the handle of the blade as tight as it would let… I felt like the difference wouldn't have mattered anyway if he swung it with full intent.

A prop sword or a real sword - either way, your head's getting cleaved off with just a single stroke.

On the other side of the arena, Terrence, his former partner turned mortal enemy, was quaking in his boots like a tin metal can. I'm guessing he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.

"Champions!" Tyler boomed aloud from the podium, his voice plummeting to the lowest deepest octave he could muster. "Proceed with the warrior's greeting."

A single arm outstretched, Nick raised his sword to his opponent. Terrence, in movements brimming with reluctance, replicated his actions, crossing their swords with one another. Then swiftly in unison, they pulled both blades back - scraping each other's edges, producing a shrill buzz that rang aloud in an echo.

Warrior's greeting. Must have been a tradition in-game. First time I was seeing it in action.

Came and went the build-up, done and over with was the staredown… now there was only that one other thing left to proceed with.

I'm sure between the two, that one of them would have loved nothing more than more time to prep for what was coming, a chance to try and build up his resolve even stronger… yet alas, the eager crowd wasn't going to wait for this one moment for any longer.

Tyler smacked his lips, his every slight sound discernible in the speakers, his sharp inhale, his long exhale.

He looked left. "Nick the Gallant Giant."

He gazed right. "Terrence of the Red Sorcerers."

Finally, he faced forward, staring, smiling center. "Quenz't adil lok'athar!"

Through the deafening cheers of a million's excitement, amidst the blaring fanfare of trumpets and drums, a cry rang out, a strained yell exerting all effort - as metal clang and jangled loose, as Terrence charged the looming giant, his blade aimed to deeply skewer swift and true.

Surprising would be if he had actually struck as he intended, that he dealt the first blow and had gained the upper hand against the odds stacked looming just as high as his adversary.

Unsurprisingly, reality remained ever the predictable story. Nick dodged, the slightest sidestep ensuring the blade would miss significantly, and promptly retaliated. Didn't even use his weapon for it, probably didn't think it necessary one bit.

With his shield bared forward, he gave a firm push, a hard bash… and Terrence immediately went stumbling backward, his gaze staring dazed, and his weapon falling to the dirt from a loosened grip.

I was also assured by the same staff-man that they'd do their utmost to prevent any injuries apart from light bruising and winded breath… but when it came to a duel, and all the unknown variables that'd entail… there really was no guarantee on that.

A duel's a duel… you don't walk away from one unscathed, and the doomed look slowly forming on Terrence's face meant he felt that prospect right then more than ever.

Nick didn't waste a single moment, he saw the earliest chance and took it - marching thundering steps forward, kicking the fallen sword in a spin that had it hurling away far from reach, before striking again - a violent swing of his shield that rang a metal clang upon impact that sent Terrence in an unsteady spin all over.

I think Tyler put it best when he exclaimed out loud- "Yo, this is a fucking massacre, dude!"

Every blow was followed by the wincing 'ooohs' and the painful 'aaahs' of the crowd flinching with tight gazes… morbid fascination, just one of various reasons keeping them clinging, creeping at the edge of their seats.

Tyler also struggled to provide any meaningful input to the match… I mean there are only so many ways of saying "He's getting destroyed," before you're drawing blanks.

And as the duel continued to wage on, it seemed less and less likely that the tides of battle would ever turn to Terrence's favor.

"What's the winning criteria?" I asked the fellow staff member again, who at this point was growing weary of my questions. Poor guy, he just wanna enjoy his smoke break. "Feel's like Nick's won already."

Staff-guy took a puff, gave a shrug. "Judges' call. It's always the judges' call. That or if one of them calls for a forfeit."

"Judges' call? So he's allowed to wail on this poor guy as long as they want it to? Seems a little stupid."

"It is a little stupid," He said, turning his nose away from me. "Now leave me alone, I have a street of paint to scrub clean in five minutes and I really need this cig right now… damn this stupid competition, what a waste of time."

A street of paint? If he's referring to what I think he's referring to then I think that's got my name written all over the pavement. Well, I'd say my sorries… but since he strongly expressed the desire to be left well alone… guess I'll just keep it to myself for the time being.

"Wait, wait!" Suddenly in the ring, there echoed a desperate high-pitch squeal dampened behind metal grilles. "Enough! Enough! I-I give up! No-no more! I forfeit! I'm done!"

To be fair anybody would be when you got an absolute behemoth on top of you with both hands held onto his sword high, ready any moment to strike down the killing bow upon your soul.

"A forfeit! It's a forfeit! Nick the Gallant Giant is the MVP of this matchup!" Tyler instantly announced, swiftly putting an end to the one-sided beatdown. "Two minutes! Wooo! That's… that's a pretty quick fight… if it even was a fight. No offense, Terrence."

Honestly, he lasted a lot longer than I thought he would. In my books, he put on a good valiant show. Hell, even the crowd, as bloodthirsty as they were, still sympathetically cheered him on as he shambled out of the arena with all the grace of a truck-stricken deer.

Of course, Nick's ovation was much more in the spirit of celebration. He stood in the center of the ring, sword in hand, shield in the other… not a single scratch to his armor… facing the revelry with his usual stony-faced expression.

Could be my imagination, could be that I just thought I saw so, therefore, I saw it… but I could have sworn he was directing that face at me too. That patient gaze, that waiting gaze… for the moment where I am to stand in opposition against him.

Just like Terrence.

Come to think of it, If I recall right, Terrence was fighting for the hand of Ash. Hmm. That's a thought right there.

On a whim, I peeked a quick glance backward, a little curious of her reaction to her now fallen champion.

We met eyes, instead. The moment I turned - before the thought even occurred to me - she already had her eyes on me, and it was clear in an instant she hadn't expected me to suddenly look back.

Ash quickly veered her eyes away, play the sly pretense of simply wandering her gaze as if she really expected me to think I didn't just see what I saw.

First rule of being a princess: No showing any favoritism to any of your champions.

It was a rule she had strictly adhered to all this time. Her gaze was distant, her expression always blank… but it seems when she thinks that no one was looking, even her, the model figure of following authority, wasn't bashful to breaking a rule or two of her own.

If it was for me.

Nice to know that even if I didn't know, Ash would always be looking out for me… or plain out just looking at me. Same difference either way.

Helps a lot… more than a lot. Helps soothe the nerves, especially when it comes to the inevitable prospect of what is now next to come.

"Alright guys, alright, settle down!" Tyler said, unable to hide the blatant eagerness in his tone. "Now here we arrive at the fight I'm itching to watch the most! Ooo, this is it! You guys are in for a treat, trust me! If you think he's wowed you enough in the race… hehe, you ain't seen nothing yet."

Once more, the perfect words to generate levels of hype unmatch. Tyler really should consider going into preaching.

"And on that note, ladies, and gents," He pointed a finger to the stands, into the crowd, a perfect aim before my very eyes. "Would the real Big Man of House Playboy please stand up?"

Then lightly, he shifted his finger the slightest left. "Bob of the Builder, you wanna show everyone why you, out of all the disqualified, deserve to still be in the innings? Now's your chance. Stand up! Head down! Your time has finally come!"

Almost as if in sync, we both collectively rose to our feet, then still of one mind, we both shared a glance at each other.

Eagerness. Too much eagerness filled the brazen malice in his stare. I think he was looking for revenge, a comeuppance… he wanted me out for good this time.

Which, alright, sure… guess we're more in unison than I thought.

'Cause I'm going to get him out for good too.