A massive Durgh, bare-chested and covered in tattoos stalked out of the crowd. In each hand, he held an axe almost the size of Drekt’s great cleaver, large silver bracers glittering on his muscular arms.

He strode confidently into the clearing, stopping abruptly in its center. A hush fell over the soldiers surrounding them, the only sound the steady tattoo of the warbeast heaving boulders at Westmarch.

The Durgh through both of his hands into the air with a bestial roar, still clutching the massive axes. The crowd joined him a swelling cacophony of shouts and hollering as the man strutted about the clearing, clanging his weapons together above his head.

Micah glanced over at Drekt. His friend stood stock still, eyes locked on his massive foe as the warrior paraded about, rallying the already supportive crowd..

Just as he was about to say something to encourage Drekt, the Durgh whirled around, slamming the hafts of his axes together twice. The mob surrounding them quieted down. They were still restive and unruly, but the constant screams and cheering quieted down.

The Khan’s champion pointed one of the axes at Drekt, a sneer on his face.

“A bastard child of the clans.” The Durgh spat on the ground. “You dare come back and show your withered body, weakened by your human blood.”

Both Trevor and Drekt stiffened.

“Your skin is almost pink,” he continued, almost snarling as he spat out the words. “You are not one of the people. You’re a grub. Weak and mewling as you feed upon vegetation.”

“I will crush you into paste.” The Durgh’s lip curled upward, displaying his tusks. “I will water the flowers with your thin, mixed blood so that more grubs can grow fat upon your remains.”

“I,” he screamed, right axe held high above his head. “Am Taklit Bastok. I have killed mightier Durgh than you. Kastian the Strong fell beneath my axes. Liktoft Pavvon died in a single blow after his sister impugned my uncle’s honor. I have killed a cave lurker in single combat with nothing more than my fists.”

“Today is not my day to die.” Taklit twisted the formal words of an honor challenge. “I will not die on my feet this morning. When I die it will be in combat against a worthy foe!”

The crowd broke into more cheers. Tumultuous screams and hollers overwhelmed even the sound of the siege warbeast. Somewhere nearby, a Durgh threw their helmet in the air as Taklit slammed his axes together, drinking in the noise.

Micah felt a hand on his shoulder as Jo leaned forward, whispering into his ear, “someone’s overcompensating. Whenever a man spends ten minutes bragging about their skills with the blade, you can be sure that when it comes time to fight, he will only draw a dagger.”

Before he could reply, Drekt stepped past him, face completely impassive as he strode into the clearing, ignoring the jeers of the mob. The big man stopped some fifteen paces from his opponent and slammed his cleaver into the ground.

The blade sank almost an arm’s span into the soft dirt silencing the bystanders.

“My name is Drekt.” Disdain dripped off of every word. “And you have not earned the right to hear my family name. I honor Ankros with combat rather than pretty words.”

“You have insulted my entire family line.” He twisted his neck to the side, cracking it. “If I cared about your words, I would declare this a duel of honor, but it seems pointless. In all of your preening, you have only made one true statement.”

“You will not die on your feet today.” Drekt drew his cleaver from the ground, pointing the heavy blade toward Taklit. “Before I send you to Ankros I will see you on your knees.”

“You.” Drekt gritted his teeth. “Will. Beg.”

Drekt charged, cleaver held in a double handed grip above his head. Micah hunched forward, heart fluttering in his chest as he watched his friend leave himself wide open. Trevor’s hand touched Micah’s bicep. He glanced up briefly to see his brother shaking his head.

There was still concern on Trevor’s face. He’d be foolish not to be worried as his boyfriend hurled himself at a musclebound giant of a man, totally exposed, but there was something else. Confidence.

Trevor knew Drekt more than anybody. If he believed in the warrior, Micah could too.

He turned back to the fight, just in time to see Tiklit’s axes slam into Drekt’s breastplate from either side. Micah gasped.

The enchantment he’d laid on the breastplate flared to life, reinforcing the steel with Drekt’s latent mana. The axes glowed with angry red light of their own as the two sets of enchanted equipment warred with each other.

The breastplate only held for a moment.

Taklit’s axes shattered Drekt’s armor, crumpling the expensive metal and biting into his friend’s sides. Still, Micah’s inscriptions had done just enough. Even though blood was welling up from Drekt’s wounds, the warrior still moved with the speed and purpose that Micah was accustomed to seeing in his companion.

Drekt’s cleaver dropped, swinging sideways toward Taklit’s overextended arms. The Durgh warrior’s eyes widened, his hands moving in slow motion as he tried to pull back his axes only to find that they were lodged firmly in Drekt’s armor and body.

The blade swept through Taklit’s wrists, removing both of his hands past the end of the warrior’s bracers.

The massive Durgh let out a strangled scream, staggering backward as blood fountained from the stumps that used to be his forearms.

Without any real emotion, Drekt dropped his cleaver before jerking an axe from his side with a grunt. Hot blood flowed from the wound, a stream compared to the arterial geysers that had been Taklit’s hands.

Drekt dropped the axe to the ground before gripping the haft of the other weapon. WIthout showing any emotion, he pulled the second axe from his side. He held it before him, taking in its razor sharp edge stained with his own blood before nodding.

Implacably he stalked forward, swinging the axe in a double handed blow toward Taklit’s legs. The big warrior tried to dodge, but Drekt was too quick, burying the weapon into the meat of the Durgh’s leg just above the knee.

Drekt left the axe there, turning and walking away from the injured warrior as he made his way back toward the discarded and bloody weapons.

Taklit whimpered, taking a step backward only for his injured leg to give out under him, toppling the massive man to his side. He tried to prop himself up on one of his broken stumps only to slip and fall back to the grass.

Drekt stalked back, Taklit’s other axe in hand. Micah winced, glancing away as his friend brought it down again and again. Finally, when the dull thud of its blows stopped, he looked back at the grisly scene.

Taklit was still alive, barely. His legs were a wreck of shattered bone and torn muscle, entirely useless from the knee down. The formerly proud warrior’s eyes were hooded, blood loss stealing their former fire and focus.

“As I said,” Drekt’s voice had a slight gurgle to it, indicative of a punctured lung. Still, the man betrayed no emotion or pain. “You would not die on your feet. All of this because you thought I was weak. Too afraid of a little pain to sacrifice my own body for victory.”

“Tell me how it feels.” Drekt stood over his downed opponent, axe gripped in both hands. “To lay on the ground bleeding out. Debased like a grub.”

“Who knows.” Drekt spat, a stream of crimson arcing through the air until it landed on Taklit’s laboring chest. “Maybe you won’t have to die today. There are healers here. You could still live the life of a cripple if only you would set aside your honor and beg.”

Micah shuddered. He’d known Drekt was touchy about his heritage, but-

“Too late.” Drekt beheaded him in one smooth stroke, leaving the axe behind as he began walking back toward the party, only stopping to pick up his cleaver.

Almost casually he returned to their cluster of individuals. Drekt draped an arm over Micah’s shoulder. A second later he was staggering as the big man put a surprising amount of weight on him.

“Help,” Drekt whispered, his breath coming in short sharp gasps as blood soaked Micah’s side through the gashes in his friends’ armor. “My blessing is wearing off and I’m starting to feel pain again. I can’t show weakness.”

Micah nodded, preparing to cast Augmented Mending only for Jo to place a hand on his arm. When he turned back to her, she simply shook her head.

“No.” Her voice was worried but firm. “You need to save your mana. Sarah and I have some healing potions we bought from Basil’s Cove for when I was scouting ahead of the party. We can provide emergency treatment, but Drekt will have to wait.”

“But-” Micah began, looking at the blood welling up from Drekt’s sides as Trevor shakily marched into the center of the now silent clearing.

Drekt squeezed his shoulder. “It is fine Micah,” the big man bit out through clenched teeth. “Jo is right. You need to save your mana. So long as they stop my bleeding, I will not die. Once you defeat the Khan, then you can heal me.”

“My name is Trevor Silver.” Micah’s head whipped around to see his brother standing in the clearing, butt of his spear planted in the soil. “It may be my time to die, but I die on my feet.”

This time there was no noise from the crowd. Drekt’s bloodthirsty display silenced even the most unruly among them. Instead, a thinner female Durgh, almost as tall as Taklit but clad in glittering silver chainmail and wielding staff stepped into the clearing.

“I am Hadrass Ahmar.” She nodded respectfully to Trevor. “It is a pleasure to fight you Trevor Silver. It may be my time to die, but I die on my feet.”

She waved her staff, generating a curtain of glowing mana between her and Trevor.

The smaller man feinted forward before using Flash Step to juke to the side, avoiding a thicket of stone spikes that erupted where he had just been standing. Trevor’s spear danced, launching a trio of Air Knives across the gap between them.

Micah felt the weight of Drekt’s arm being removed from his shoulder, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fight.

Trevor’s spells hit an invisible barrier, shattering into shining motes of energy just in front of the Durgh Shaman’s face. She began chanting a reply, grabbing her staff in a double handed grip and planting it into the ground.

The earth bucked and heaved beneath their feet as her mana sunk into it. Trevor jumped into the air, quickly tracing a circle with his spear beneath his feet. For a moment the air glowed green, supporting his foot as a massive hand made of stone reached up and clenched into a fist, grasping nothing but empty space where the young man had once stood.

The circle of glowing air faded, depositing Trevor on top of the stone hand.

For a second the two of them stood there, Durgh shaman with her staff planted in the ground and Trevor, hair wild, perched atop her casting.

Then, they began reciting spells at the same time. Trevor leaping from the hand and to the grass below as he tried to close the distance between him and the Durgh.

She grunted and the ground shook once again, a fissure opening in front of Trevor. Without missing a beat, he Flash Stepped past it and unleashed a Sonic Bolt at close range into his opponent, the waves of sound traveling unimpeded through her defensive casting.

The Durgh had enough hit points that the spell didn’t cripple her, but it was still enough for the shaman’s eyes to lose focus for a fraction of a second. She stuttered, losing control of the spell she’d been casting.

Trevor’s spear flashed, raining blows upon her shield as attack after attack sparked a burst of light, rapidly draining the shaman’s mana.

She shook her head, and began casting another spell only for Trevor to hit her with Sonic Bolt once more.

A trickle of blood ran from her nose as the shaman became frantic. Even from his spot in the crowd, Micah could see that the light of her shield was beginning to fade.

How could it not? Trevor’s weapon struck like a snake before spinning and slamming the butt into the magical defense with the force of a thunderbolt. The field cracked.

Hadrass’ eyes grew wide. She pulled her staff from the ground just as the field shattered into shards of mana infused glass.

Trevor leapt through the storm of glass, bleeding freely from a dozen or so cuts inflicted by the shaman’s final layer of defense. He landed on the grass, hair flowing wildly and an intense look of concentration on his face as he unleashed a storm of attacks.

Micah let out a sigh of relief as Trevor’s spear clattered off of the Shaman’s staff as she swung her weapon wildly to parry his rapid thrusts. The woman was bigger and stronger than his brother, but there was no question that Trevor was faster.

The Durgh was backpedaling frantically, using the last of her mana to harden her skin into stone and stop the occasional attack that slipped through her guard, but the fight was no longer in doubt.

Trevor was too close and Hadrass’ mana was too low for her to cast a spell, and without magic, there was no way for her to keep up with the onslaught of blows. Then, her mana ran out.

Nicks and cuts began to appear on her body. The Durgh was talented enough to stop any fatal blows, but the flesh wounds quickly began to add up. Due to a combination of exhaustion and blood loss, her staff slowed, allowing more and more of Trevor’s pinpoint accurate attacks through.

Barely two minutes from when the battle began, a spear found her throat. Hadrass stumbled backward, clutching at the wound with blood covered hands before sinking to her knees.

“She yields!” Krosst’s voice jolted Micah. “Do you accept her surrender?”

Trevor nodded curtly to the Khan before spinning around. He flicked his spear downward, spattering the grass with blood as he began approaching their group. The entire time, his eyes never left Drekt’s gravely injured body.

Micah felt a pang of guilt. Drekt himself didn’t want him to waste mana, but it felt wrong to let his friend suffer. Worse, the concern and panic in Trevor’s formerly steely gaze almost broke his heart. But in the end, practicality won.

Krosst stomped out into the clearing, motioning for a handful of healers to take Hadrass away while one of them chanted frantically. He paused in the center of the open area.

“Your companions are formidable Micah Silver.” The Khan let the head of his flail drop to the ground. “For the first time in a while, the thought of single combat with a worthy foe has my blood racing once again. You have more than earned the right to challenge me.”

“Although.” The tower of a man smiled wryly, “I would suggest that everyone move back a dozen or so paces. I suspect our contest won’t be so… contained.”