Twilight had fallen across the coliseum, a beautiful dark blue that would have stolen Pavel’s breath away, had he not been so consumed by the task ahead of him.

He and Harshnag – still shrunken down – stood anxiously outside the wooden cutout, their feet on the sand, as they watched the attendants clean the last of the mess that Cruck’aa had left them. Large magical balls of light hung in the air and illuminated the sands, reflecting eerily in the pools of blood that the attendants hadn’t magicked away yet. Mutilated harpy remains lay scattered about the place, and Pavel refused to look at a single bit. Something about them, and the fact that Cruck’aa was responsible for them, twisted his stomach.

“Should we…go out?” Harshnag asked, hefting his axe onto his shoulder.

“I figure we’d wait until they called us. Thought they were done though.” Pavel said. “Suppose we didn’t need to wait outside.”

“Well, they better hurry up then. They’re getting pretty loud.”

Pavel glanced up; the magical lights illuminated the sands in such a way that he couldn’t see the spectators above him. He could hear them though, a low roar that swept about the coliseum and vibrated through his chest.

He glanced away and shook his head. Something about not being able to see the crowd made Pavel nauseous.

It didn’t take the attendants long to finish cleaning the sands. When the group of them wrapped up and filed passed Pavel and Harshnag – each as exhausted as the last – the sands were spotless.

An attendant at the end of the procession, an older man with a sweaty beard and equally sweaty tunic, stopped before them. He glanced them over, then nodded, hands on his hips.

“You two ready?” He asked. Overheard, the low roar began to grow, as though the crowd had heard the attendant.

Pavel and Harshnag nodded together, though Pavel couldn’t copy the massive grin plastered across the giant’s face.

“Alright, follow me then.” The attendant said, turning back towards the middle of the sands.

Each step that Pavel and Harshnag took after the attendant seemed to send ripples through the crowd. By the time all three had reached the middle, Pavel walking ahead to stand across from Harshnag, the coliseum had reacted in earnest, the low roar now a howl of excitement. Like wolves waiting their turn for a bloody feast.

It did nothing to help the anxiety still lodged within Pavel’s chest.

Harshnag, however, seemed to love every second of it. He raised his axe over his head, grinning cheekily, exciting the crowd further.

“Alright!” The Masked Lord’s voice boomed over the crowd; Pavel glanced up but didn’t see them outside their viewing box. “Alright!” Gradually, the roar died back down to a murmur. “I hope you all enjoyed our previous match, as bloody and exciting as it was. But…I can assure you that our final match of the day will be even better!”

They had to wait again as the crowd erupted once more. Some paces away, the attendant shook his head and muttered something that Pavel couldn’t hear.

“Before we begin, I must thank each and every one of you for staying with our tournament today.” The Masked Lord continued. “It’s the citizens of Waterdeep that truly make the Brightswords Festival the joyous occasion that it is. After all, what’s the point of making others fight each other if there’s no one to watch? Now!” They continued before the crowd could start up again. “Our final match of the day! May I remind everyone the prize on the table, what our two final contestants are competing for, what we all want at the end of the day – a prize pool of seven thousand gold, and the glory of being crowned CHAMPION OF THE COLISUEM!”

The crowd lost its collective mind. Despite the cold sweat that coated his body, Pavel couldn’t help but grin. The Masked Lord sure knew how to rile up a crowd.

“Along with everything else that comes with the fame. Free food and all that.” They cleared their throat. “Now, without further ado, our final matchup for the day – the undefeated Pavel Smith against Harshnag the Frost Giant! Winner takes all!”

The attendant gestured for both of them to come over, as the crowd bellowed loud enough for half the city to hear.

“Alright!” They, his mouth to Pavel and Harshnag’s ears. “You both know the rules! Clean fight! No cheating! Victor decided by the last one standing! Questions?”

“None!” Harshnag bellowed, scaring both the attendant and Pavel. Cursing under his breath, Pavel waved away any questions he might have had.

“Okay!” The attendant yelled, glaring at Harshnag. “Bit different, the Masked Lord will tell you when you can begin. Good luck!”

And with that, the attendant sprinted off the sands.

“Good luck indeed!” Harshnag shouted at Pavel; he raised a curled fist to him, which Pavel bumped with his own.

“Good luck to you!” he shouted back. Harshnag nodded, though Pavel wasn’t sure he actually heard him.

They split and walked back to their original spaces, flipping back around to face one another. By then, the crowd had quieted somewhat, their anticipation almost palpable.

“Gentleman!” The Masked Lord yelled. “Are you ready?”

Pavel unsheathed his flail and sword, then saluted towards the wooden viewing box.

Harshnag raised his axe above his head. Slowly, he began to grow – armor and axe shifting to match – until he stood at his normal height, what looked close to two stories tall. Taller than any hill giant ever dreamed of being.

He looked down at Pavel, his head at the same level of the lowest spectator seating, and grinned.

Pavel stared at the giant’s piercing blue eyes and fought to keep his body from shaking – not just from fear, but from what surfaced to his mind when he stared up at Harshnag’s awesome height.

The sight of destroyed wagons, of blood-soaked grass, of torn bodies and a broken promise, of a realization that he wasn’t what he was supposed to be, of the fear of failing again. Failing friends and comrades who relied upon him right until the very end, dying with a speck of hope still in their glazed over eyes.

What was he doing?

With a deep breath, Pavel took each of his thoughts and buried them deep, deep, deep into the recesses of his mind – something he was good at.

As he exhaled, he let only a single thought dominate his mind and tunnel his vision.

How in the hell was he going to win?

“Begin!”

Harshnag bellowed, the crowd roaring with him.

The Frost Giant crossed the distance between them with a single step and swung his axe, its biting edge whistling straight towards Pavel.

Without thinking, Pavel flung himself to the side, landing on his sword arm, as the axe exploded into the sand next to him, causing the ground to quake. A massive cloud of sand flew up around him.

That was a slow swing. Pavel had seen – had felt – Harshnag swing at him during their sparring matches, and almost every time, the giant had managed to hit or graze him. He was just too fast.

And now he was missing him?

Pavel narrowed his eyes.

So that’s what Harshnag meant by ‘a show’. He could work with it.

He shoved himself up, ducked his head, and ran through the cloud – straight into Harshnag’s legs.

Pavel swung his flail and gritted his teeth as the spiked head bounced harmlessly off the armor around Harshnag’s legs, impossibly thick. He swung once with his sword, only to receive the same effect.

He figured as much.

Above him, Harshnag roared.

Pavel flung himself the rest of the way through Harshnag’s legs, just as the top of axe came crashing down where just was.

He scrambled a bit further before he shoved himself up and flipped around. Harshnag swung his head about as he looked for Pavel under his feet.

Pavel breathed deep and settled into a crouch. His eyes flicked about the giant. All around him, the crowds cheered.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

The armor was too thick, on his legs, arms, chest, back, everywhere. No openings, save the joints in Harshnag’s arms. Probably too thick though. Only opening was the face.

How to get to the face?

Harshnag flipped around; his eyes landed on Pavel, and he pointed the massive axe his direction.

The axe…

Pavel grinned.

It was worth a shot.

Harshnag charged again – two steps this time – and brought the axe down. Pavel easily leapt out of the way.

“You missed!” He shouted at the giant.

A look of fury fell across Harshnag’s face, and he raised and brought the axe down again, roaring along with the crowd.

Pavel leapt again – and again and again, as Harshnag continued his assault, smashing his axe into the sand with fury, sending up huge clouds of dust. Each strike came as predictable as the last, Pavel dodging with ease. So easy were the blows that Pavel risked himself closer and closer to the axe, looking, and failing, to find an opening.

Harshnag, winded, buried the axe again, but did not rip it out immediately. He bent over, panting, massive beads of sweat pouring from his face.

Emboldened, Pavel jumped towards the axe and raised his flail. If he could just get a good strike –

The axe shifted.

Faster than Pavel could react, it twisted in Harshnag’s grip, the edge of the blade coming up and smacking into him, sending him back a distance, crashing hard into the sand.

It was as though he’d run straight into a wall. His flail arm bruised instantly, a horrible flat pain echoing through his body and scrambling his thoughts. Pavel’s back arched, his entire body tense, as he fought against the urge to pass out.

Gasping, he pushed himself to his feet and wobbled for a moment, pain flaring horribly, his head light. Pavel glanced up and tried to find the giant as the coliseum spun around him.

Harshnag still had his axe buried in the sand, catching his breath. His face twisted to meet Pavel’s gaze.

He growled, teeth bared.

As he began to lift the axe out of the sand, without thinking, without any regard to the pain that filled his body, Pavel sprinted forward and flung the flail in an underhand sweep towards the axe handle.

The chain caught, the momentum of the spiked head wrapping it around tightly.

Harshnag yanked the axe out of the ground and pulled Pavel up.

The force tore at his arm, wrenching it, causing Pavel to lose his grip. He flew into the air, away from the axe and over Harshnag’s head.

Pavel screamed, reached out, and barely grabbed the tip of the horn that adorned the dragon’s skull on Harshnag’s head, yanking his arm again, almost pulling it from his socket.

The crowd went wild, their roars deafening in Pavel’s ears.

Harshnag flung his head around, looking for Pavel but finding no one.

Pavel swung his legs and propelled himself forward; he landed on the giant’s shoulder and, ignoring the pain that screamed in his arm, grabbed a handful of Harshnag’s hair.

Without hesitation, he slashed across the giant’s face, scoring a bloody gash through Harshnag’s icy blue skin.

He roared – from pain and surprise – and reached up towards Pavel with his free hand.

Without thinking, Pavel leapt off Harshnag’s shoulder and grabbed the giant’s beard, just under his mouth.

Pavel glanced backwards, heart smashing in his chest; Harshnag’s hand descended towards him.

He swung wildly with his sword, barely scoring Harshnag’s palm, causing the giant to yelp in surprise and pull his hand back.

With only a moment to spare, Pavel gripped the beard in his other hand – difficult with his sword – and pulled himself up to be just under the giant’s mouth.

“Get off me!” Harshnag bellowed; pain lanced through Pavel’s ears, and he almost dropped from the shock alone.

Instead, he reached up, pulled his sword arm back, and drove the weapon into the giant’s cheek.

It plunged halfway, jerking to a halt as it hit bone.

Harshnag screamed and shook out his head; Pavel barely held his grip, flailing about like a ragdoll, immense pain shooting through his shoulder.

He pulled himself up and grabbed at the underside of Harshnag’s nostril.

Pavel yanked his sword out and plunged it back into the giant’s face, right below Harshnag’s eye.

The crowd’s roar masked Harshnag’s second scream; blood sprayed from the wound and coated him as Pavel ripped his sword out.

The blood trickled down Harshnag’s face and over his nose, causing Pavel’s grip to slip; he fell for a moment before grabbing a handful of beard.

Just in time to see the giant’s hand come flying towards him.

Stars exploded in his vision as Pavel was slapped away, going through Harshnag’s beard, and impacting against the giant’s thick neck.

Breathless from the pain, Pavel could do nothing as he tumbled down Harshnag’s chest and plummeted to the sands below.

They did nothing to cushion Pavel as he smashed into the ground; he tried to scream as he heard something break, but all the air was shoved from his lungs. Sharp pain lanced through his body and hips, and his back arched as it ripped through him, like an ice pick in his spine pounding over and over and over again. The world grew fuzzy as he fought to pull in a breath; though dull in his ears, it seemed as though the crowd couldn’t get enough.

Finally sucking in a single breath, Pavel gritted his teeth and forced himself up into a seated position.

The world went black as he screamed.

Somehow still conscious, he blinked rapidly, almost biting through his tongue, as the darkness bled away, and the world came back to him.

Just in time to see Harshnag’s foot come speeding towards him.

Pavel blinked once more.

And was on his back, staring up at the ceiling of an arched hallway.

He lay there, eyes wide, unmoving; the pain he’d felt just seconds before had vanished, which scared him more than any injury ever could.

Pavel pulled his head up and glanced around. He lay in a pile of wooden debris on a stone floor, cuts and gashes scored over his body – his chest piece had shattered in one spot, the strips of metal bent and ruined or gone completely.

It took him a full minute to realize that he’d been flung through a section of the wooden boards against the coliseum walls, leaving a large and jagged opening in them. Blood began to pool around him, and as Pavel checked himself over, he realized that his left arm was broken, bent back at the elbow much farther than it actually could.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, blood spilling from his mouth.

Moving automatically, Pavel rolled onto his right arm – he somehow still gripped his sword – tucked his legs under himself – slipping slightly from the blood – and heaved himself up, almost passing out in the process.

A fog had descended over his mind, bad enough that he was sure that he’d suffered some sort of concussion. He checked over himself again, wobbling, but couldn’t make out where he was bleeding from, though blood still pooled underneath him.

Pavel heaved his head up, vision swimming. He still couldn’t feel an ounce of pain.

“Fuck.” He mumbled again. “Must be bad.”

It took him a considerable effort, but Pavel managed to stagger his way back onto the sands, his vision still blurry. The moment he did, the crowd roared their approval, shocking him awake better than any amount of pain ever could.

Harshnag remained in the middle of the sands, kneeling, a hand over his cheek. His fingers were stained crimson, and it looked as though a waterfall of blood poured from his wounds, a small pool of red at the giant’s feet.

The Frost Giant looked up, and his blue eyes went wide. Fury erupted in them, naked and pure, as he curled his lip and snarled at Pavel.

The massive axe smashed into the sand as Harshnag used it to push himself up. He seemed tired, as though the slashes across his face had done more than draw blood.

The giant bellowed in rage and charged towards Pavel.

It took him a full second to comprehend what was about to happen, just as the crowd above him reached the same conclusion.

Running on pure adrenaline, Pavel leapt forward and through Harshnag’s legs, just as the giant’s axe came up from an underhand swing. The screams of the fleeing crowd were masked by the shattering of stone as that section of the coliseum exploded apart, chunks flying into the air, smashing into the sands with resounding thuds.

Cursing, Pavel crawled through the sands and away from Harshnag, screams of fear dull in his ears. Somewhere, he heard the voice of the Masked Lord calling for a halt.

He crawled until his body gave out completely, the pain slowly returning to him in a maelstrom of fury. Panting, he rolled himself onto his back, his body screaming in protest.

Harshnag had ripped his axe free, sending more loose stone about the place. He turned around, icy eyes now burning with fury. A fury that didn’t seem natural. A fury that could not be stopped.

With another roar, Harshnag raised a heavy foot into the air, directly over Pavel.

“Fuck.” Pavel mumbled.