The Arena

by Blobskin

Chapters

The Roster (version: 1.04)
1) Fist vs. Blood Lust - The Championship (version: 1.01)
2) Nail vs. Edge - The Revival Match (version: 1.01)

The Roster (version: 1.04)

Author's Note

*All characters are original works created by myself
*New fighters WILL be added over time

The Roster (version: 1.04)

INDEX
1) Angela
2) Blood Lust
3) Edge
4) Fist (Oralland Xanderfoot)
5) Nail
6) Shock Rod

Angela

Race: Dragon/Pony

Sex: Female

Height: 3'8"

Age: 19

Scales: Red

Mane: Orange

Eyes: Gold

Father: Uplift (Pegasus)

Mother: Adria Mordonia (Dragon, deceased)

Place of Birth: Las Pegasus

Discipline: Modified Dance of the Dark Forest (Pegasus Martial Art)

Education: Cloudsdale with Honors

Medical Notes:

Dragon/Pony: The subject's unique family background gives her a truly stunning appearance. She has the body structure of a pegasus, but her features are dominantly dragon in origin. She is covered in bright red scales, has clawed paws instead of hooves, two leather wings, serrated teeth, twin curled black horns just hidden by her orange mane, a lizard tail, and bares no cutie mark.

Draconic Power: Being a hybrid, the subject benefits from her dragon heritage. Not only does she have natural protection provided by her scales, but she also has an abnormally large wingspan for her small frame and muscular capabilities most earth ponies would struggle to match. She can also breath fire, has exceptional vision, and can eat an omnivorous diet.

History:

There was once a dragon named Adria who fell in love with a pony. Every day, she would lie on a mountaintop and watch her love go about his business clearing the skies or building storms. After two years of waiting and watching, her heart could take it no longer, and so she confessed everything. Adria was a young dragon and small enough that she could approach brave Uplift without him fleeing. Uplift, not wanting to have an upset dragon on his hooves, played along with her fantasy and even entertained her with a date. However, instead of breaking up with her after their outing, he too began to feel for the lonely creature and soon that sympathy evolved into marriage.

It wasn't long until Adria wanted to have Uplift's child. Of course, neither knew how such a thing could work with the two being different species. Fortune smiled upon them when Adria showed signs of pregnancy, but fate had a sick sense of humor. Adria soon realized that she couldn't lay the egg, that it continued to grow inside her. Finally, they learned that their hybrid daughter would have to be born alive like a pony, not from an egg like a dragon. Dragons are not designed to give live birth, however, and Adria would die in the process.

Without his wife to help him raise his daughter, Uplift faced the hurdles of being a single parent to a daughter that was half dragon. He was lucky that her mind was naturally pony-like and not draconic, which would have complicated matters when he went to enroll her in flight school. Despite some minor bullying, Angela quickly rose to the top of her class and proved that, although she was small, she could fly faster than any in her age group. Her advantages held true as she aged and it only became clearer she was different when she began smashing record after record on the track. Truly, she had no equal in school and it was no surprise when she applied to become a Wonderbolt as soon as she graduated.

When a letter denying her request came back, however, memories of her bullying in school returned in force. To Angela, it was obvious the Wonderbolts did not want her only because she was part dragon. Filled with rage, knowing her speed and strength were undeniably superior to any pegasus, Angela went to confront the first Wonderbolt she could find.

The meeting ended in bloodshed.

After calming down, Angela immediately fled to her father, begging for his help. Uplift, who was just as terrified, could only think of one piece of advice: "Flee the country." Taking his warning to heart, Angela went north, to the land of the griffins. There, Angela tried to start over and forget about the murder. But it proved hopeless as nightmares plagued her and she struggled to find work. In desperate need of money, and thinking her natural abilities would give her the advantage she needed, Angela joined the Arena.

She is haunted by her past and is reluctant to truly strike at her opponents. She does not wish for a repeat in history, but the Arena can change a person and this little runaway is no exception. With every battle she loses a piece of herself and is twisted more and more into the monster that lives within her mind... even if she doesn't know it yet.

Blood Lust

Race: Griffin

Sex: Male

Height: 11'7" (needs to be re-measured, see Gigantism Medical Note)

Age: Unknown (Lack of records and unique medical circumstances make determination impossible)

Fur: Caramel

Feathers: Black

Beak: Grey

Eyes: Red

Family: Unknown (see History)

Place of Birth: Unknown (see History)

Discipline: None

Education: Unknown (Likely none, see History)

Medical Notes:

Sociopath: Subject shows no care for the well-being or emotional state of others. When combined with his violent outbursts and strength, discretion is CRITICAL when in presence of subject.

Retardation: (Incorrect diagnosis. Blood Lust is not retarded, he simply does not care to learn anything)

Masochistic: (Incorrect diagnosis. Blood Lust does not enjoy pain, he is incapable of feeling it due to his lack of pain receptors)

Gigantism: Subject has a damaged pituitary gland and continues to grow an additional three inches per year. (Annual checkups required to determine consequences of his never ending growth cycle, see Iron Body)

Iron Body: Subject suffers from a genetic disorder resulting in iron deposits within the skeletal structure, feathers, and beak. His iron bones allow him to operate under his impossibly huge size and weight without consequence. His wings also suffer from the pure iron construction by being too heavy to sustain flight. Finally, the anomaly also manifests within the subject's beak, providing him an almost unbreakable jaw structure and a horrific facial appearance. (His jaw muscles are overly developed as well and capable of generating a bite strength unmatched even by full-grown dragons, See Dietary Warning)

High Metabolism: Subject suffers a high metabolism rate and rapid digestive process. Subject can easily devour three times his weight in a single day. (See Dietary Warning)

Immunity Anomaly: Subject has an immune system of remarkable efficiency. All known toxins, poisons, and anesthetics have shortened or lessened effects. Subduing the subject with chemicals is NOT recommended. (If control of Blood Lust does become a problem, use electricity spells. His iron skeleton has proven to be quite conductive and makes for a spectacular show)

Dietary Warning: Subject has cannibalistic tendencies and has been known to eat a large assortment of sentient life. When subject is feeding, it is recommended that no living thing not meant for subject's consumption be present.
History:

As far as the Griffin Empire is concerned, Blood Lust did not exist until his "Great Rampage". He has no records to speak of until that time: no birth certificate, no job, and no identity. Even his name was fabricated by the government after his capture. His age is a complete mystery and his numerous physical anomalies almost suggest genetic manufacturing. No one has ever responded to the queries for family either. So they are either all dead or unwilling to admit their relationship to Blood Lust. All that is known from his previous life is what has been derived from sketchy witness testimonies and old news articles.

We believe that Blood Lust preferred to live away from other griffins, in the wilderness around major cities. Blood Lust probably viewed the densely populated regions as choice hunting grounds, seeing how he is a cannibal. This theory is supported by numerous disappearances and a slew of animal attack stories that radiated from areas Blood Lust has described as his territory. (Blood Lust does not know names, but he does remember details)

The paper trail begins when several griffin guards caught Blood Lust in the act of eating another griffin. The griffins attacked immediately, as they were trained to do, which led to the "Great Rampage". It was likely the first time Blood Lust had ever faced a disciplined opponent that knew how to fight back and at least put a scratch on him. Unfortunately for many, Blood Lust suddenly discovered a passion for fighting that day.

The size and the speed of the killing easily classified as a massacre, so the Griffin Emperor dispatched his army to hunt him down and bring him in. After the slaughter of several dozen civilians and an entire battalion of his majesties armed forces, Blood Lust was exhausted. When reinforcements arrived, he was unable to keep up the fight for much longer and finally collapsed. He would awake the next day before the Griffin Emperor himself, who felt it appropriate to put the beast through a full psychological evaluation before trial.

The diagnosis: he was crazy and uncontrollable. Not even worth putting through the legal process.

Before the execution order could be completed, however, the Arena stepped in and bought Blood Lust for just over a million bits. The Arena then quickly discovered that the Emperor's doctors had been wrong and that Blood Lust could be controlled if one were willing to reason with him. The Arena did just that by making him a deal: if he cooperated and fought only in the ring for the joy of a thousand screaming fans, he'd get to kill for years to come and every opponent would offer him a challenge like he'd never faced before.

Grinning, Blood Lust accepted our offer and joined the Arena...

Edge

Race: Diamond Dog (Doberman)

Sex: Male

Height: 5'5"

Age: 25 (requires confirmation)

Fur: Black and Brown

Eyes: Brown

Mother: Jade

Father: "Big" Rex

Place of Birth: Crystal Mines (requires confirmation)

Discipline: Unspecific Martial Art

Education: None (Self-taught)

Medical Notes:

Intelligence: Subject shows a higher level of comprehension and desire to learn than others of his species. Whether this is a genetic phenomenon, or a rare psychological development, is unknown. (Otherwise, Edge is a healthy uninteresting Diamond Dog)

History:

Edge was born in the caves beneath Equestrian soil (technically an Equestrian citizen). He was the runt of his litter: small, weak, and treated like little more than garbage. His father was the proud alpha of the pack and saw his own son as an insult to his strength. Edge was abused by his father and neglected by his mother, who avoided him whenever she could. The sight of him made her feel as though she had betrayed her husband simply by producing him.

When he was eight, there was a rebellion in the pack and a new alpha came to power. This new pack leader made Edge watch helplessly as he murdered his father who he loved despite his cruelty. Then, Edge was banished from the caves, a fate considered worse than death for a Diamond Dog. After all, ponies controlled the surface and there were no gems or necessities of life for their kind above. A terrified Edge, who had never seen the light of day before, was forced to march to the surface.

Edge often describes the moment as a blessing in disguise, as he had never seen a sight so beautiful as the sun or felt its warmth on his fur. Edge would come to find that outside was actually a better place than where he was banished from. However, the harrowing memories of his father being murdered haunted him. Even after finding refuge in a Manehattan orphanage, Edge felt like he was helpless against the ways of the world. And he was tired of it.

Over the next several years, Edge trained himself and worked his body into an elegant fighting marvel. He created his own combat technique that would ensure he was always in control of his own life, that the world would never again decided his fate. The fighting style he developed centered around speed and precision, leaving raw muscular development on the back burner as his own body was naturally thin. Later, he would hear rumors of organized rings where the different battle styles could clash for money and fun.

Edge fights with the hopes of improving his skills and earning a fortune that would make his late father proud. Edge is a philosophical, if not somewhat paranoid, individual. He is also one of the younger fighters, only having been in the Arena for two years. In that time, he has proven himself a dedicated and spectacular warrior. He already has a large fan-base and quite a successful record. If he can keep it up, he is likely to become one of the greatest fighters the Arena has ever seen.

Fist (also known as Oralland Xanderfoot)

Race: Dragon

Sex: Male

Height: 6'5"

Age: 37

Scales: Blue

Eyes: Green

Family: Unknown (Refuses to say)

Place of Birth: Nest of the Western Mountains

Discipline: Magic Boxing

Education: Apprentice (Refuses to give name of dragon he studied under, see History)

Medical Notes:

Dead Scales: Subject suffers from a dragon version of a serious skin disease which results in a constant need to shed. Unlike most dragons, his natural armor is fragile and needs to be regrown every one to two month. The shedding process for victims is incredibly painful and can last anywhere from an hour to three days. This condition has the interesting bonus of allowing the subject to heal from serious injuries (often brought on by the weak scales) far faster than normal. Unfortunately, dragons who suffer from this rare genetic disorder are not expected to live past 100. Quite young when compared to a normal dragon lifespan of 1,000 or more years.

Cursed Bones: The bones in both the subject's arms are afflicted with a condition that allows them to channel magic much like a unicorn horn does. However, the subject is only able to use a narrow variety of spells and must use larger quantities of energy than a unicorn would to activate the ability. (Dragons are the only known species that can be afflicted with this condition. Fist is an extra special case in that he has the highest percentage of bone afflicted with the condition ever recorder.)

Swollen Arms: Whenever magic is concentrated in his arms, it irritates the muscle and tissue around the bones on a cellular level. This results in a defense mechanism from the brain stimulating the muscles to grow. After several years of intense magic usage, the subject's arms have grown to five times their original size. (Regular checkups are required to determine if he is still capable of fighting. Possible surgery to remove excess muscle and tissue is still under scrutiny.)

History:

Fist was a single child, hatched in the massive Nest of the Western Mountains. At the age of four, his parents learned he was afflicted with Dead Scales and abandoned him. Fist was soon after adopted by a powerful dragon shaman he has yet to name. This dragon raised Fist and taught him various principles of combat and the value of life. Fist also learned how to direct his magic through careful study of pony textbooks his teacher procured for him, but when Fist showed signs of slowing in his progress, his teacher commanded him to seek further instruction elsewhere. Fist left the home of his master at the age of 17 and proceeded to travel the globe in search of more training.

When he was 20, there was an outbreak of violence in Manehattan that led to a riot. After witnessing all-out chaos, Fist suffered a period of depression and doubt. He lost faith in Equestria's claims of peace and harmony, and by a chain of reasoning, believed the whole world was nothing but a large cesspool of lies beneath the images everyone had put up. Facing an internal crisis, Fist moved east into minotaur territory where he accidentally stumbled into a fight club. There, he saw warriors that would beat each other bloody for sport, then share a drink and laughs after. The sight shocked him out of his depression.

After spending three years training with minotaurs, Fist heard rumors of a great colosseum in the north known only... as the Arena. Stories began pouring in that all the world's greatest fighters were gathering to prove who was the strongest of all. After hearing a particularly spectacular tale of another dragon participating in this competition, Fist decided he had to see it for himself. He moved north into unknown territory and quickly learned that the rumors were all true.

Fist joined the Arena approximately 13 years ago, making him a Veteran. Fist fights with honor, respect, and strategy. He forms complicated plans and analyzes his opponents before battle. His systematic approach to fighting allows him to outmaneuver and defeat even the greatest champions with ease. He is the only competitor (aside from Blood Lust) to have had a perfect victory streak his first year in the ring.

Nail

Race: Minotaur

Sex: Male

Height: 6'8" (7'4" counting horns)

Age: 58

Skin: Grey

Fur: Black

Eyes: Green

Mother: Gaia Seam

Father: Steel Anvil

Place of Birth: Manehattan

Discipline: Art of the Hammer

Education: High School (Dropped out)

Medical Notes:

Steroids: Subject has obtained abnormally large muscular development with the assistance of various drugs. Subject also suffers from several organ complications due to his choice of lifestyle. (Although steroids are not forbidden in the Arena, they are highly shunned and seen as a sign of weakness.)

Top Heavy: The subject has focused solely on working his upper body and back, leaving his lower body and legs weak. This specialized training leaves the subject incredibly top heavy and, when combined with his small hooves, the subject has great difficulty maintaining balance. (His continued refusal to correct this error of training has led to abuse by competitors)

Brain Rot: The drugs the subject has taken over the course of his life have slowly degraded his brain. As a result, the subject is incredibly violent and incapable of higher level rational thought. Subject also has no memory of his schooling, but is able to read simple sentences. (Monthly brain scans required to monitor continued mental degeneration)

History:

Born to a strong specimen of a father, Nail's dad was a well-known blacksmith and his mother was a seamstress. The two ran a cooperative business and were surprisingly wealthy in the competitive markets of Manehattan. Nail, however, did not like it there. He was a rebellious child who rejected school and friends, preferring to train his body in an attempt to become the strongest minotaur on Equus.

Nail was arrested numerous times for assault and attempted murder, each time only narrowly escaping incarceration. By the age of 22, he was the strongest bull in Manehattan, often hired as an "enforcer" for the multitude of mob bosses. Despite his already imposing strength, Nail decided to push his physical limits to the absolute breaking point with steroids. Truly, there would never be another minotaur as strong as he. But the government had finally had enough of him.

Nail was deported from the country at the age of 27, and Celestia herself was present to read him the conditions of his sentence. She also added a warning that he would never again hurt one of her little ponies or return to the land of his birth. In return Nail swore an oath of hatred. "One day I'll surpass even your might, Sun Princess! And when I do, I'll take your throne from you and burn your castle to the ground!" Nail joined the Arena shortly after.

For 31 years Nail has fought a bloody campaign through the Arena's best. Wielding a 200 pound homemade hammer and muscles capable of bending steel beams, Nail is a terrifying adversary. Often called "The Spirit of Vengeance", Nail never lets go of a grudge and will challenge opponents to rematches over-and-over until he wins... or is firmly humiliated into submission.

Shock Rod

Race: Changeling

Sex: Male

Height: 4'6" (Estimated Height, subject refuses to get near a scale)

Age: Unknown (Estimated Mid-20's, subject refuses to say)

Shell: Black

Mane: Green

Eyes: Blue-Green

Family: Culicom Clan (Subject refuses to give more detail)

Place of Birth: The Hive (Subject refuses to give more detail)

Discipline: Striking Thunder (Pegasus Martial Art combined with electric magic)

Education: Home Schooled(?)

Medical Notes:

Shell: The subject, being a changeling, is protected by a thick black shell. While nearly immune to all forms of bladed attack, as well as temperature related spells, the subject is deadly susceptible to blunt force trauma. A heavy impact will fracture his chitinous armor and cause extreme external bleeding. (The nature of the subject's organ structure renders the very concept of internal bleeding impossible. Medical staff should skip such procedures before wasting their time.)

Emotional Feeding: The subject needs a diverse diet of positive emotional energy, or appropriately converted raw magic energy, to survive. Subject should not be exposed to those feeling large amounts of anxiety, stress, anger, sadness, regret, or other "negative" emotions as these can leak into the subject and cause "food poisoning". (Shock Rod has requested that no attempts to feed him, unless he is injured beyond his ability to move, be taken. He is, quote, "a grown bug and can take care of himself".)

History:

Shock Rod is one of very few changelings to ever compete in the Arena. Most of his species prefer to watch and bask in the positive emotions of the crowd. He is a decent sized competitor with a large assortment of moves and a knowledge of electricity few in all the world posses. Although he has only a few close victories to boast, he is without a doubt perfect Arena material. He is prideful, cocky, overconfident, and quite talkative during his fights. He is probably the youngest competitor (in terms of battles) ever to earn a title. Even if that name is: "The Great Taunt". Most fighters take at least a year to earn their first nickname, but his unique style earned it after only three wins.

Otherwise, nothing is known about this enigma. His fear that we will give any information he shares with us to Equestria has, metaphorically speaking, sealed his lips.

Legal Reminder: All information regarding our changeling competitors is absolutely confidential and WILL NOT be shared with any outside party. Any staff who violate this policy will face steep penalties from Ulrich himself. Our changeling fighters are some of our most profitable and we will not jeopardize said profit just because Celestia throws a tiff.

1) Fist vs. Blood Lust - The Championship (version: 1.01)

The night air was cold and a chilling wind was coming in from the arctic. Black clouds hung high over the mountainous landscape, obscuring the moon from view and threatening to unleash more snow upon the city. Numerous rooftops had already been powdered the previous day, but the roads had been plowed clear of the white stuff. Windows were frosted and most of the city's buildings were dark, the only exceptions being the market and the Arena.

The Arena was already stuffed full, yet still hundreds more waited in a twisting line outside where it was overwhelmingly obvious that not everyone was going to see this match. Burly guards were selling as many tickets as they could and directing customers with wings to have a seat on the walls of the Arena where sitting was normally forbidden. A stand was erected on a nearby cliff overlooking the stadium where those with telescopes and other view magnifiers were gathering to watch free of charge. Some winged fans had gotten the idea that they'd be able to hover over the open roof of the colosseum for the entire fight. No attempts were made to hamper either of these ideas as the guards knew they'd just find another way to catch the show.

There were two to a seat and a whole soup of different species gathered in the stands. The most numerous were the ponies and griffins, but there were some zebras and minotaurs mixed in here and there. There were diamond dogs, some buffalo, dragons, and even a few changelings. The different species had gathered together in their own little sections, apparently preferring to sit with their own kind even when it was uncomfortably packed.

The owner of the Arena was sitting in his spacious VIP Box on a stone throne high above the ring. He was a gray coated griffin with black feathers, a dented beak, and a pale right eye with a scar running over it. His only clothing was a gold ring on his right claw and a red scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. Ulrich was often regarded as the embodiment of cruelty thanks to how many participants in his competition often ended up in an early grave. He had been a mighty general back in the day, but now his military knowledge and contacts were used to run the largest and most controversial combat sport in the world. So it went without saying that he was secretive and made few public appearances outside of his arena.

There was a second throne beside him in the box that was reserved for special guests he'd invite to watch the show with him. Usually, the invitees were just attempts to get more publicity and draw a larger crowd, but tonight's guest was something else entirely. The Griffin Emperor himself was currently sitting in the second chair! He wasn't as old as Ulrich, but he radiated experience and control. His eyes were large and took in the view of the stuffed colosseum with amusement. He had only just arrived and the sight of so many creatures all here for one reason just tickled him inside.

Ulrich looked over with a playful smirk. "Nice to see you could find time for this humble public event."

He gave a hearty laugh in reply. "Celestia is always hounding me to make myself seem more approachable. When I heard my old friend was going to be partaking in the Championship, I couldn't help myself."

"I didn't know you and Fist were friends," Ulrich continued to joke.

The Emperor snorted, "while I have nothing against dragons, that's not who I was talking about."

Ulrich took on a much darker tone, "I know."

"Seriously now, why are you letting Blood Lust compete in the Championship? I thought you forbid him from ever fighting in these types of matches the first year you... acquired him?"

Ulrich took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "His strength... it's so far beyond that of any other living thing I realized it'd be impossible to defeat him in a one-on-one match. I've seen the most powerful warriors ever spawned crumple at his feet, the echoes of his footfalls drop entire crowds, and his body soaked in the crimson life of half the Arena's most famous competitors. Blood Lust can't be defeated," Ulrich concluded with venom.

"The problem?" he raised an eyebrow. "Is that not the nature of your competition, to prove who is the strongest?"

"The problem is that he completely breaks any concept of fairness!" Ulrich scowled down at the currently empty field. "If Blood Lust were allowed to take part, he'd always hold the title and no one would have even a chance of taking it from him. The Championship would become a pointless spectacle of idiots trying to defeat him every year."

The Emperor nodded in understanding. "So what's changed your mind?"

Ulrich faced him with a deadpan looked, "Fist."

"You think Fist will have a chance at beating him? After all these years of believing he was invincible?" he raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"No. Fist asked if he could fight Blood Lust."

"He hasn't before?" the Emperor blinked in confusion.

"No. Fist realized how dangerous Blood Lust was from the start and has avoided him for the past six years. He's been studying Blood Lust and learning his weaknesses the whole time. Now, he wants to prove he's the best in the Arena by 'ending his reign of terror' as he put it."

"Do you want Fist to win?"

Ulrich hummed in thought. He didn't like to pick favorites when it came to his fighters, but he couldn't deny his feelings. "I may have made a mistake when I added Blood Lust to the roster, and I... want to see that it is possible for him to lose."

"Interesting, I have a similar desire. Blood Lust is a great symbol of power for the empire and I have used him and his victories to paint an image of how mighty we have become over the years of struggle. But his animalistic ways are a bleak contrast to the civilized image I have been crafting since I was anointed as emperor. I just want to see that beast put down for a day. JUST for a day."

No seats were left, the doors were sealed, and the stadium was a dull murmur of commotion as everyone argued who would win.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen....... to the ARENA!!" the announcer's voice boomed over the stereo system while the lights dimmed, hushing the crowd. "Tonight, we have a very special show in-store for you. In case you weren't in the know," his tone turned playful, "we're all here to watch the biggest battle of the year: the CHAMPIONSHIP!!" he bellowed into the microphone, sending the audience into a cheer.

Ulrich began messaging his forehead with a groan. He absolutely hated his announcer, but he was the only guy for a hundred miles with the voice -- and who was willing -- to do the job. He told bad jokes, he was comical when he should have been serious and serious when he should have been comical, and he narrated the fights as though the audience was blind.

"I hope you placed your bets at the booth when you came in, and I also hope you keep your ticket until the end because it could be worth quite a bit of money," he sassed. "If you have to use the restroom, make sure to do it now or you might miss some of the action. Remember kiddies, our fights are not scripted, rehearsed, or planned and anything could happen at anytime."

"Get to the match already you idiot," Ulrich mumbled to himself in frustration.

"We'd also like to extend a warm welcome to tonight's special guest, the Griffin Emperor HIMSELF!!" Many of the assembled creatures gasped in amazement before looking up at the VIP Box for confirmation. "He made time just to see the scuffle we're going to host down here in a moment, so you make sure to say 'hi' to the big man, alright?"

Ulrich glanced over at the Emperor who was now smiling and waving to the crowd. Ulrich sighed in relief, glad his idiot spokesman hadn't made the ruler of the country angry. He really wished that bone-head announcer would just start the match.

"Now, without further ado, let's meet tonight's titans of WAR!!" he screamed into the microphone, sending everyone into a fit of claps, stomps, and screams.

"Our first contestant is a dragon from the Western Mountains with extensive training and quite the record around these parts. Standing at six and a half feet, with blue scales covering his entire body, and the second longest running victory streak in Arena history. I give you," he paused to take a breath. "The FIST!!" he bellowed as long and as loud as he could.

On one side of the colosseum a pair of wooden hanger doors slid apart. At an agonizing pace, light crept into the Arena's underground and revealed a lone dragon standing there cracking his massive knuckles. Fist huffed and spread his wings so he could glide out into the spotlights and greet his adoring fans. They loved it of course. Seeing Fist in pristine fighting condition sent waves of excitement through the crowd that burned the air and made the stone walls quake. Fist only made them louder by throwing his arms up and giving a short bark of a roar.

"Looks like our dragon is ready to rock, huh? Well he'd better be, because he's taking on the biggest and most badass monster ever to walk these hollow grounds. His enemy tonight stands at nearly 12 feet! He has glowing red eyes, bladed wings that can cut down full grown trees, and an appetite that would make your momma turn over in her grave." The lights were changed to a grim red color and collected on the opposite gate from the one Fist had used. "I give you... BLOOD LUST!!" The wooden doors couldn't have pulled apart any slower for the adrenaline soaked mob.

When the largest griffin in the world came into view, many in the audience involuntarily shivered. Blood Lust's head was pointed at the ground, eyes closed, and his massive metallic wings were curled around in front of him like a protective shell. For several tense seconds, Blood Lust didn't move. Then as sudden as a lightning strike, his red eyes jerked open and his head bobbed upwards. Fist brought his bare knuckles up and snorted. The bell hadn't rung yet, but he wasn't delusional enough to think Blood Lust wouldn't charge out of his pen and start tearing into him right now.

The cries coming from the crowd died down as Blood Lust took his first heavy step onto the dirt floor of the ring, his wings still curled around his front. When he was clear of the doors they began to close behind him with a creak of rusty wheels and a click as the wood pieces reunited.

That was all it took to set him off.

His iron feathered wings shot outwards and Blood Lust let out a roar which made every dragon present jealous. The announcer, seeing the fight was going to start whether he told it to or not, quickly screamed the magic word.

"FIGHT!!"

Fist knew what to do. He hadn't watched every one of Blood's fights just for the fun of it. He was a relentless opponent and, if Fist made even one mistake, Blood Lust would literally be eating him alive before the night was over. The first order of business was to slow the monster down.

Blood Lust was preparing to make a mad dash while Fist positioned his left arm behind his back and began to charge his most powerful technique. A white-blue glow of sparking energy encompassed his arm and illuminated the area around him to blinding levels.

"Fist is going to use his Ultimate Punch this early in the game!?" the announcer burst over the loudspeaker, alerting everyone to the incoming violence.

It was shocking to everyone because the Ultimate Punch was a double-edged sword. It did crippling damage to any on the receiving end, but it would render whichever arm Fist did it with practically useless for the rest of the match. It was a move that Fist only used in desperate situations and usually near the end of the fight. The fact he was bringing it out right at the start was downright madness as far as the crowd was concerned.

Blood Lust let off a monstrous snarl and began bounding across the flat dusty field towards his enemy, the intent to kill the only thing running through his over-sized skull. Fist held his ground and let the griffin get closer and closer. Fist's left arm was alight with magic, the powering kicking up dust and arcing off into the dirt. His clawed toes dug into the earth while the screams of a thousand fans filled his ears. If Fist miscalculated this move by even a fraction of a second... it was all over. His body would be pounded into pulp by the 8 tons of insanity coming his way or he'd be helping his enemy eat his left arm in one bite.

Blood Lust extended his neck, beak open and jaws poised to snap down on his prey. Fist raised his magic strike and lunged to the left just as Blood flew past, his head driving into the ground. Everyone gasped as Fist flew around his opponent's flank and landed the Ultimate Punch into the side of Blood Lust's back right knee. An explosion rang out and a horrible snap resounded as the knee bent sideways from its natural angle. All of Blood's legs were sent shooting out from under him and the gigantic griffin came crashing down to the Arena floor. Another massive boom made the stands shake and then there was silence.

Horribly pained grunts took hold of the stillness and everyone could only guess at who was making the simpering noises. As the smoke cleared, Fist was seen cradling his left arm. All the scales from his elbow up were pointed outward and looked like shards of smoldering charcoal. Drops of blood oozed out of his arm wherever one of the mangled scales connected with his flesh and Fist could do nothing but whimper. His fingers twitched and the dragons watching winced. They knew this was all thanks to Dead Scales. It would take hours to remove all those ruined bits of armor and the agony would last days.

Fist forced himself to look up from his crouched position. He didn't have time to worry about his arm, Blood Lust wasn't going to stay down forever.

Speaking of which, the brute was even now getting back up, completely ignoring his horribly deformed leg. The bone was clearly shattered and well out of its proper place, but Blood Lust's growls were of anger, not pain. He stood on three good legs... and then tried to stand on his forth only for it to protest with a series of low pops. Blood growled even more fiercely as he looked back at his broken limb. His eyes narrowed and his beak opened to let out a demonic snarl of displeasure. Fist didn't need anyone to tell him this griffin was officially pissed.

Fist, distracted by his injury, didn't even see it coming as Blood spun around and slapped him across the ring with a claw. Fist rolled helplessly in the loose dust, his limp body tumbling over and over again, his limbs flailing like an epileptic squid. He eventually stopped tumbling 200 feet from where he'd started, a cry of torment the only indication he'd survived. He lay on the ground biting back screams, grabbing his left arm again. It felt like it had gone through an acid covered shredder and then had the limb reattached before being set on fire.

But while Fist was desperately trying to get his crippling ache under control, Blood Lust was limping towards him. Murder was in his eyes and the crowd was holding its breath. Like a sudden revelation, Blood's shadow fell over him and Fist looked up at his opponent. Again, Blood Lust thrust his beak down at his opponent in another attempt to devour him. In an amazing display of will, Fist rolled onto his stomach and punched out with both arms, sending his body flying into the air at an angle just missing the lunging beak.

Fist spun several times in the air before landing a short walk away. As soon as his feet touched the ground, however, he nearly collapsed again. His left arm was still bleeding and he had no means of dealing with the injury at the moment. Several in the audience were biting their nails, had Fist bitten off more than he could chew? He needed to get back into the fight now because he wasn't going to get mercy from Blood Lust with displays of suffering. The monster was advancing once more with an awkward three-legged gait.

A stream of fire suddenly erupted from Fist's mouth, engulfing the entire area in flames 30 feet high. Those watching jumped back in their seats, the announcer himself declaring his astonishment into the microphone. Fist rarely ever used his dragon breath, and when he did, it was usually just for intimidation. This battle was seeing a complete change in strategy from the sapphire dragon which made it all the more enticing to get closer.

The flames ended nearly as abruptly as they had appeared and everyone scooted forward a few precious inches to see. Fist was further away from his opponent now, his arms in classic boxing-ready position. The black smoke thinned and Blood Lust appeared completely unharmed by the inferno, his iron wings having formed a wedge in front of him that directed the flames away from his body. His metallic feathers were red hot and steam rose off of him slowly. A collective gasp was heard as Blood spread his wings to reveal a burn mark running over the right side of his face, some of the feathers still smoldering.

Fist didn't let himself so much as smirk at the sight. He knew such a minor wound meant nothing against Blood Lust. What he needed was to break another leg. Blood Lust was still mobile and still a serious threat, disarming him piece by piece was his only chance. The first hit was good, but now it was going to be a real struggle. Fist let his eyes dart to his near useless left arm. The sacrifice was going to be worth it if his plan worked out.

Blood dove forward recklessly, using an awkward jumping maneuver with his good legs. Fist held his ground until Blood was snapping at him, at which point he launched himself into the air with his mighty leather wings, but he was almost ripped out of the air by the rush of wind Blood Lust created by charging past bellow. As soon as his landing spot was cleared, Fist crashed into the ground, sending up loose earth. He spun and thrust out a punch, hitting Blood's back left knee from behind.

Blood Lust lost balance and fell forward in a humiliating manner, his following roar a clear indication he didn't appreciate it. Fist took the advantage and charged at his opponent while he was down. He nearly cracked one of his scaled knuckles punching the left knee again, this time from the outside edge. Blood spun on the ground immediately after feeling the hit and shot his bladed wing outward. Fist had a face full of swords flying at him as he desperately backpedaled out of the way.

Fist stumbled backwards several more steps while his opponent crawled to a standing position. Blood snarled down at his enemy, drool creeping out of his mouth. He wasn't known for his hygiene or his intelligence, but his ferocity was a global terror. He put weight onto his damaged left leg without so much as flinching. Even in the cheering of excited arena goers, Fist could hear the bones creaking from the strain after being damaged. If Blood could feel pain, he'd have been crumpled on the ground from that injury alone.

Fist raised his tight knuckles. He needed to deliver a few blows to the head if he was going to get behind his opponent again. Facing Blood Lust head-on might have seemed suicidal, but it could payoff big if it worked. Blood didn't seem to have a problem with the idea either as he took several stomps forward, his shadow falling over Fist's smaller body.

Blood's bellow filled the stadium as he raised a talon over his head and slammed it down, claws spread. Fist slid to the right as the massive yellow claw tore into the ground. Without hesitating, he jabbed a right hook into the center of Blood's wrist, the following crack putting a smile on his snout. It had taken some magic in that punch, but he'd broken yet another joint with minimal difficulty. True, the arm was still usable, but it would be impossible to form a fist with that hand now.

Blood Lust made no indication he was hurt and swiped his other clawed appendage over the ground to try and rip Fist off his feet. Fist jumped over the swing with his right arm held over his head. The winter night got much colder when everyone realized the move Fist had just made. He was making an uppercut right into Blood Lust's head which was right by the beast's mouth! Many contenders had met their demise in that dark orifice, yet Fist was charging right at it. Insane didn't even begin to describe the thoughts running through everyone's heads.

His scaly knuckles cut some of the burned flesh from the side of Blood Lust's feathered face, but Fist did not return to the ground as many thought he would after such a daring move. Far from it in fact, Fist continued sailing up over his opponent and touched down on the behemoth's back. He then charged his right arm with glowing hot energy and thrust it into the point where Blood's wings met his torso. A cry, of rage most likely, quickly erupted from the beast. His body whipped up and down in an attempt to shake off his attacker, booms echoing as his huge weight compacted the dirt below his paws with each bounce.

The movements were unnecessary as Fist promptly jumped off of Blood's back and spun around, his bare knuckle aimed for the left knee once more. A split second later, eyes were widening, gasps were spreading, and a crack was heard.

A cloud exploded into the air as Blood Lust collapsed, both his back legs now rendered useless by his ever calculating opponent. Fist didn't want to take any more risks and began sprinting away from his enemy, putting as much distance between them as he could. He had a pretty good idea what Blood Lust was going to resort to now that he couldn't easily get around, but he had to be sure he knew what was coming before he could enact step two of his plan.

True to his nature, Blood Lust tried to stand up despite his injuries, but the popping of broken bones trying to slide against each other made the audience grimace in disgust followed by Blood collapsing again. His sense of balance was completely gone and he now realized he would have to be sitting for the rest of the fight. More growls were emitted as his animal brain put together the coming scenario. For Blood Lust, the fight had now lost all its entertainment value and was now a matter of pride. No hunter should be defeated by prey!

"So that was your plan, huh?" Ulrich spoke to himself up in the box. "Now what are you going to do, pepper 'em with fire until his wings melt?"

Fist was breathing heavily. All that jumping and running was taking its toll, but the fight had only two stages left. Unfortunately, his plans depended on whatever it was Blood Lust decided to do now.

Blood eyed his target and took in a deep breath. Holding that air for a moment, he pointed his wings forward and tensed his body. Fist grinned at the sight. Not only was this in-line with his plans, but he rather enjoyed acrobatics. The iron feathers on Blood Lust's wings began to quiver, then they started flying! The natural blades began shooting through the air as though from a cannon and burrowing into the ground, walls, and dust kicked up as Fist dove and rolled out of the way.

It was one of Blood Lust's more unusual abilities, to launch the miniature swords from his back while holding his breath. Fist had concluded long ago that it had something to do with his lungs and pressure in his muscles. It was a problem that could either be waited out, or corrected with a punch to the diaphragm. For now, Fist was just buying time, even Blood Lust had to breathe eventually.

Ulrich and the Griffin Emperor jumped forward in their seats as crimson spilt onto the Arena floor. Right when Blood Lust had ended his barrage, Fist had taken a slice across the chest. Red was dripping down his abdomen but he ignored it as he ran towards his enemy full speed, madness in his eyes. This wasn't right, he wasn't supposed to take a hit from that attack. Fist was beginning to panic and act irrationally.

Blood Lust was catching his breath when the dragon was launching a wild assault from the front. Instinctively, his wings curved around his front and made a serrated wall between them. Fist couldn't stop himself, he had to hit something. He was barely able to switch arms just in time to connect his already injured left arm with the trap. Blood squirted into the air and Fist choked on his own tongue. Pain rocketed up his arm as the compacted muscles squeezed on the jagged scales still poking out of the limb.

Blood Lust tried to capitalize on the opening by spreading his wings and snapping his jaws at his dazed prey. Fist had no time to react as the massive beak came at him. In desperation, his arms opened wide and he grabbed both halves of the monstrosity. The momentum of the lunge was too much and Fist was forced back with a mighty grunt of effort. His vision was filled with the unholy evil that was Blood Lust's cannibalistic gullet. Fist grit his teeth and hardened his gaze down that demonic passage, he hadn't a clue how many innocent lives had passed through there, but he was determined not to join them. His arms were vibrating from the strain of holding back the gigantic griffin, but his growls of effort were not in vain.

With a flick of his neck, Blood Lust raised his head and sent Fist hurdling through the air in a rapped spin. As soon as he was able to right himself, Fist unleashed more flames down on Blood Lust. The giant griffin reacted to the fire as he had before, moving his iron wings into the way of the blast. Fist snarled through his maw full of fire and came up with another strategy. He cut off his dragon breath and dove past the guarding behemoth.

The griffin stiffened when he felt claws dig into his back, his head turning just enough to spy the fly that clung to his spine with clawed feet. Fist roared as he thrust a glowing punch down on the joint where a wing met with Blood's back. Blood Lust moved to counterattack by closing his wings on the area, but Fist was faster. His jagged knuckle plowed into the tendons and bone, a pop and deformation of the area revealing the seriousness of the injury. The wing in question promptly fell to the ground, Blood Lust no longer able to lift the appendage as it was now.

The other bladed wing kept advancing unfortunately, and Fist took a slicing blow to the hip. Fist inhaled sharply as he was flung through the air, the force of the strike and his attempt to kick away making any attempt at righting himself a pipe-dream. His limp body fell to the dirt as Blood Lust growled at his crippled body, as though threatening the limbs would make them work again. Many watching the battle covered their mouths in shock. Even the announcer had gone quiet as he waited to see if Fist would get back up.

The referee refused to call the match just yet, still believing that Fist was capable of continuing even though he'd nearly been cut in-half.

"Not yet, I am so close. I can beat him, I know I can!" His lungs burned, his sliced chest and waist oozed the life giving red liquid, and his left arm was a tattered waste. He still had energy in him, he had to get up. If he took too long, the referee was going to count him out if Blood Lust didn't start eating him first. Rolling his fingers into a ball, Fist rolled onto his side and punched at the loose dirt with his right hand. He positioned his left hand under him and began to slide knees and then his legs into position.

Silence spread throughout the Arena as Fist pushed himself to his feet. He was in terrible pain, his whole body pleading with him for rest, but Blood Lust was still standing and he had to finish him off. Fist took in a huge gulp of air and shivered. He blinked several times, now noticing the blurs in his vision. He moaned in protest, knowing he had lost far too much blood. At the moment most of his scales were red instead of blue and only a few drops of it were not his own.

Clutching his right wrist with his left hand, Fist exhaled forcefully. His arm began to glow and his stance widened. Blood Lust tried to pull himself forward, but his broken knees and useless claw, as well as his wing dragging along the ground, made movement virtually impossible... just what Fist had intended for this final moment. The magic wrapping around his arm took on a violet hue and the crowd began to "ooh" at the sight. The announcer realized what was coming and made sure everyone else knew it too.

"It looks like it's time for Fist to wrap this up. This match is in the bag!" he screamed.

Everyone holding tickets that they bet on Blood Lust began protesting, standing up and yelling obscenities. Everyone could tell that Blood Lust wasn't in any shape to take the Ultimate Punch now. All Fist had to do was make it connect with something vital: heart, lungs, or head. Any one of these places and it was a guarantee he'd win.

Fist screamed, causing Blood Lust to snarl in return. Fist kicked off the ground with his feet and charged for everything he was worth at Blood. The magic engulfing him was so concentrated, it tore the ground apart as he passed over and sent arcs of energy shooting out wildly. Each step was like a sonic boom tearing through the air, pushing the crowd back into their seats. Ulrich and the Emperor crossed their arms in unison and let smiles adorn their faces, they were about to get just what they wanted.

Fist swung his arm low and wide, making a scene of punching upwards. Blood Lust ignored the incoming hit and went to chomp on Fist's head, but the uppercut connected with his neck just a second before he could bite down. An eruption of red light consumed the ring. Everyone was forced to cover their eyes as a shock-wave blew hair back and sent those trying to hover above the show flying away. A crack was heard seconds later, but no one could tell what had happened. They all had a pretty good guess though.

The minutes passed and the apprehension mounted as the visibility hindering dust settled. It was times like these Ulrich hated himself for picking this particular kind of dirt. It made the fights seem more epic and impressive when clouds were kicked up, but the championship was already hyped enough that such scenes just became annoying. He wanted to see Fist standing triumphantly over an unconscious Blood Lust already.

A figure began to appear. Pained shivers could be heard, but otherwise, there was silence as everyone waited. Finally, the air cleared enough that a wobbly looking Fist could be seen cradling his right arm, a pool of crimson quickly growing around him. Not far from him, Blood Lust could also be seen but in far worse condition. He was lying on his back, choking sounds coming from his beak. His neck was practically flat, blood gushing from his mouth and face. His eyeballs had literally popped from the pressure of the explosion and his iron beak was fractured like glass.

The ref had seen enough and made the call.

Fist's roar joined the screams of five thousand fans and the once cold winter air was now all but burning up...

2) Nail vs. Edge - The Revival Match (version: 1.01)

Author's Note

No I don't watch wrestling and this was supposed to be posted last week, but stupid me accidentally deleted it and I humbly apologies for the delay.

2) Nail vs. Edge - The Revival Match (version: 1.01)

The griffin winter is incredibly cold and fierce. Ulrich, the owner of the Arena and a griffin himself, often found himself hiring weather pegasi to come and change the weather just so he could hold a match on its scheduled day. Needless to say, the price tag for such an operation was enormous. To escape having to pay the bill very often, Ulrich decided long ago to have the Arena only operate 10 months of the year, leaving the two months with the lowest temperatures and most ferocious snow storms as a kind of "resting period" for the Arena. A time when necessary paperwork is filled out and new employees are hired.

The Championship is always the last match of the year and the largest money maker for the Arena. Once the two month rest is up, however, the second biggest money maker is hosted at the start of the new season. Surrounded in superstitions with the combatants picked by a random draw, The Revival Match always promises to be a wild opening to yet another year of bloodshed.

The Arena was filling up quickly today and the rumble of a thousand hooves and claws clicking on stone walkways made it all the way down into the locker rooms underground where one fighter was getting ready. Edge was seated on a simple wooden bench with four rolls of cotton bandages beside him. He was meticulously wrapping his ankles and wrists in the frail fabric while he hummed an old lullaby he'd learned when he was just a puppy. Despite the sad memories the song trudged up, Edge was feeling optimistic about the coming fight. Many fans would find this piece of information surprising after what had happened last year.

Edge could still picture the failure as clear as day: the misplaced kick, his enemy in the perfect position to strike, and the horrible crackle of his entire leg being smashed into powder. At the time, he had feared it was the end of his career. But pony magic was amazing. Not only had he made a full recovery, but he didn't even have a scar to show for it. Edge had to give credit to the fact the Arena employed the best doctors in the world. If he'd been anywhere else with an injury that serious it is likely he would never have walked again. And that's assuming he'd even been allowed to keep the leg.

As Edge continued to wind the cloth around his wrist, he smiled. "I'm not going to blow the Revival Match," he reassured himself confidently.

There was a saying in the Arena: "those who win the Revival Match will have supernatural protection from the God of War for one year." Edge didn't know for sure whether the gods existed, but it couldn't hurt to try and get one on his side.

"Time to go boy!" called a familiar brown draft horse from the brick doorway.

Edge nodded once and quickly finished his wrappings. He set the unused portions aside and rose from his perch to follow the earth pony down a lone corridor that led straight to the gates that opened to the battlefield outside. To the right was a crank with a braided rope wrapped around a wheel that served as a means to open the door. It would take a creature of trained muscle to turn it, luckily there was one present to do it for Edge.

"I got 300 bits on you, so you better not let me down," the pony warned Edge with a playful smile.

Edge gave him a thumbs-up as the telltale voice of the announcer boomed through the walls...

"I give you... EDGE!!" the announcer screamed into the microphone.

The doors slid apart and, not even waiting for the planks to separate completely, Edge sprinted out onto the field. There, he let a massive grin dominate his face and threw his arms over his head as he slid to the center of the ring just to get the crowd riled up. After his little show and all the roaring it created, Edge let his arms drop and simply took in the atmosphere. It was midday, the sun was out, the air was dry, and a thin veil of clouds was drifting along above. There wasn't a trace of a breeze, the temperature was perfect, and there were no empty spaces in the stands. It was a good day for a fight.

"Looks like we could be in for a dog pile!" the announcer tried to joke, but only a handful in the audience even chuckled. "This fine evening, we'll see Edge's first fight in almost four months. Don't worry though folks, that just means he's well rested and ready to kick some flank! Which he'd better be, because his opponent today ain't no crawdad."

Edge popped his neck and shook his shoulders to loosen up. He didn't even know who his enemy was going to be. The Revival Match had the unique quality that neither contender knew who they were going to fight, or if they were even chosen for the fight, until the day of. It made the match a little more interesting if it was a surprise after all.

"He stands a full foot taller than Edge, sports muscles of unnatural size," he stressed mysteriously, "swings a homemade hammer weighing in at 211 lbs alone and he is the longest running competitor in Arena history!"

Edge's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat at that description. It couldn't be...

"I give you... NAIL!!"

Edge took an involuntary step back and lowered his head, but kept his eyes trained on the creaking gate. There, in the shadows of the Arena's underground, a legend in the flesh stood patiently waiting to emerge. Even from this distance Edge's precise eyes could make out the massive defined shoulders, the rebellious shag of hair, and the terrifying shape of a monstrous hammer. The crowd was going ballistic, but Edge could hear it even over the cheers filling the air.

Nail's first hoof fall.

The ground seemed to shake with every step, the air pulsed along with his ancient heart, and the cowardly dust fled from his mighty form. Edge didn't know what to feel. Here he was facing his role-model, a veteran of the Arena, his inspiration for fighting in the first place. But that was just it, he was going to fight this marvel of power, not watch.

Nail came to within 20 feet of Edge before halting his advance and proceeding to wait for the bell. Edge couldn't help but eye Nail's crude hammer as it rested on his right shoulder with a boney knuckle clutching the handle. The design was as simple as it was effective. The head of the hammer was a whiskey barrel that had been filled with iron and then had a piece of rebar stuck in to act as a grasp. It wasn't the prettiest weapon ever made, but in Nail's hands it could take down demons... and it had.

"You will fall," Nail said in his deep voice.

Edge growled. "You won't be able to hit me with your slow clumsy movements," he taunted back, unwilling to be pushed around even by his hero.

Nail's pupils shrunk to the size of pins, his neck muscles tensing. "Nail. Not. Ever. Loose. To mut," he spat.

The ref, who was sitting on a platform on the lip of the ring, narrowed his eyes. This was going to be a very one-sided match and he couldn't help but look to the VIP Box where Ulrich sat with a smile across his beak. "The Spirit of Vengeance" versus the "The Rising Star"? It was a fishy match-up pairing a rookie against an established champion, but it wasn't his call and the announcer was all to glad to start it.

"FIGHT!!"

Edge brought his fists up and began bouncing on his slender legs, he would have to rely on his superior speed if he was going to win. However, Nail was not interested in such theatrics and went right for the main event. He charged forward with his hammer grasped in both hands behind his head like a deadly baseball bat.

When he was in range, Nail swung his hammer horizontally with as much force as he could muster. Edge dropped to his knees, spread his arms, and lowered his head so the attack would pass right over him. Then, like a spring being released, Edge jumped to his feet and delivered a quick left uppercut into Nail's armpit, sending a spark of pain up the limb that forced him to let go of the weapon with his right arm. Unblocked now, Edge delivered a powerful right blow to Nail's fat snout. Nail's head shot backwards in response and with his hammer well behind him, barely still clutched in his left hand, he was dangerously off balance. He backpedaled several steps, desperately trying to find his footing as Edge continued to pummel him with blows.

A left hook to the ribs, a right to the shoulder, another left to the face, and a final heavy strike to the diaphragm sent Nail into a humiliating kneel. As he looked up, gasping for breath, Edge did a devastating backflip with his right leg shooting out to kick him under the chin. The angle and power of the strike sent Nail's thoughts scrambling and his body lifting up just enough for him to fall over on his back. Numerous fans cheered at such an incredible opening to a fight.

Nail snarled in anger and sat up, his eyes homing in on their prey. Edge stepped back and continued to hop on his paws to keep mobile. Nail rose to his full height and slung the hammer back over his shoulder, his rippling muscles not so much as quivering despite its great weight. He took a slow cautious step forward, then exploded across the dirt with speed Edge had never seen him achieve before. Suddenly, Nail was standing over him with a his hammer aimed straight for his head!

The hammer smashed into the ground with the power of a falling mountain behind it and Edge, having lunged to the side with as much strength as he could, slid in the dust and rolled a few times before he was able to right himself and get to his paws. When he was standing again, there was dirt in his eyes and he took a second to wipe it away, but when his focused returned to the match, he gasped.

Nail roared as he flew at Edge, mindlessly swinging his hammer horizontally again. Edge jumped back out of range, the dog grunting as he felt the rush of wind blast through his fur, a clear indication of the power Nail was capable of. He quickly turned his hammer over and swung it through the air once more in the opposite direction from before. Edge was only barely able to hop backwards in time to be missed. He could even feel the tip of the weapon brush some of his coat.

Nail roared even louder, his rage boiling over. He brought his hammer up high over his head and jumped forward as he forced it down on his enemy. Edge did a backflip just as the enormous weapon tore into the earth and sent a shock-wave racing through the ground. Edge knew he needed to get some distance between them so he could rethink his strategy. He got an opportune moment as Nail struggled to lift the tool back onto his shoulder so he could heft it into the fight again.

Once Nail had secured his weapon, he discovered that Edge had fled almost two dozen steps away and was bouncing on his paws again. He bore his teeth and began stomping forward, making sure to put emphasis on his hoof falls the whole way. Edge took this pause as a time to analyze his opponent and try to form a plan. Unfortunately, Nail didn't give him enough time and before he knew it, the minotaur was on-top of him.

Nail raised his hammer high in the air and let it drop down where his target was standing. Edge flew to the right and raced past Nail's mighty arms, lashing out with a quick blow as he past. Nail merely grunted as the jab hit him in the ribs and made him stand a little straighter. He spun on his hooves like a top, thrusting out his weapon in an attempt to whack Edge right off his feet. When he met only empty air, his eyes opened in surprise. Suddenly, a weight plopped down on his shoulders, Edge's legs wrapping around his neck and hands gripping his horns with a vice-like grip.

Nail's hammer was flung out of his hand like a sack of potatoes and wild snorts flooded from his nostrils. Edge was riding him like some kind of stage bull, yanking his head this-way and that-way. Nail bellowed and bucked his body in every direction he could to shake off the little pest. He snapped his head back and forth, he shook his shoulders, he jumped and threw himself around and around. His hooves crushed the dirt, his great weight compacting it nicely as he charged around the arena like a wild animal, slowly choking.

Edge grunted and growled with every buck, his own body being tossed every which-way painfully. This may not have been the most spectacular way to win, but it was his best chance when facing an opponent who was so much bigger and stronger. Nail had trouble reaching up over his head, so the beast couldn't throw him off if Edge could just keep a decent grip. But as Nail thrashed around, Edge couldn't help but be thrown against his spiked horns once or twice. Blood soon began to leak from his wounds.

Nail gasped for breath, his limbs going heavy, and spots started to dot his vision. He couldn't breath, his head felt like it was made of cotton, and spit was pouring from his mouth. He made one last dash forward, no idea where he was going as his vision continued to lessen. Edge's eyes went wide and he ditched his ride with a backflip.

Nail smashed head-on into the Arena's stone walls only a moment later.

Edge crouched on all four limbs in the dust as he stared in awe at the spectacle. Nail had plowed into the wall, blowing a crater into the stone and sent debris shooting across the field. The stands where the audience sat visibly trembled from the crash and many of those seated stood up in shock. Everyone sitting directly above the site leaned over the railing and peered down as Nail's limp body slumped in a pile of rubble. The announcer was rendered speechless and the ref gawked across the Arena. Ulrich, sitting happily up in his booth a moment prior, was now sitting much farther forward with a confused stare plastered to his face. There was a cute, and well-known, pink mare sitting next to him who also jumped forward in her seat, desperately wanting to know what would happened next.

Edge wasn't sure if it was over or not. The ref hadn't called it yet and Nail didn't seem to be moving. Was he dead? "Hey! You alright?" he asked, sympathy for his opponent taking over as he took a single hesitant step forward.

Nail's only response was a dark grunt, almost a growl.

Edge reeled back in shock that the minotaur was still conscious. The behemoth slowly began to move, his horned head pulling from of the destroyed wall. His large hands grasped at the ground and lifted his considerable bulk away from the hole. His whole body quaked from the strain. The crowd was as amazed as Edge as Nail pushed himself upright and turned to face his enemy yet again. His face was bloody, his mouth broken and bleeding. His horns were both snapped, one of his eyes was sealed shut, and his nose oozed crimson.

He might have been standing, but his slumping shoulders, ragged breath, and the way his legs were shaking made it clear he was not in good shape.

A massive breath sent some of the blood flying from his mouth and Nail raised a heavy arm to wipe it off. In doing so, all he achieved was painting his arm red. Edge popped his knuckles and calmed his own breathing. A trickle of blood was running down his waist, but he was much better off than Nail, whose snarling was mildly discomforting.

For a time, the two merely stood there, waiting for the other to resume the fight. Eventually, Edge decided he'd given Nail enough to time to catch his breathe and went on the offensive. He dashed for his enemy, his arms raised and ready to strike out at his opponent. Nail's slouched form popped upward as he prepared to counterattack, his arms rising just in time for the assault to be unleashed.

Edge's first jab met Nail's broad forearms as they blocked any attack from reaching his injured head. Edge merely snorted and lashed out at the wall of flesh again and again. Punch after punch harmlessly beat against Nail's arms, none of them making him budge an inch. Edge, seeing this wouldn't work, thrust a blow under the guard and struck Nail in the stomach. The sudden pain made him drop his block and Edge immediately rewarded him with a right hook to the snout.

Nail stumbled to the left, his small hooves slipping and sliding as he tried to find a foothold. Edge, not willing to give him a moment, jumped into the air and lashed out at his off-balance opponent with a powerful right kick that landed on the side of his head. The minotaur reeled over and fell to the ground, sending up a small pocket of dirt and filling the air with coughs. Edge charged him again and threw yet another right fist at the downed beasts already abused nose.

A mixture of spit and blood splattered the ground as Nail's jaw seemed to unhinge. He lay there for a moment as Edge wandered off a few steps and cradled his knuckle, now beginning to feel a stinging in his hands. Looking at them, Edge could clearly see that his bandages were ripping and his skin was running red. He grit his teeth and looked back at his opponent. Nail was using all his strength just to stand up, his face a total mess. Edge just couldn't see his hero winning at this point.

Edge finally let a smirk adorn his muzzle, this match was over. He was going to win!

He barked once and charged at Nail, who had just gotten up, and unleashed a monstrous kick to his chest. The behemoth took three whole steps back. Edge rose on one leg and lashed out with his left, the kick met Nail's diaphragm and sent him back several more steps. He wasn't even trying to block now, his massive limbs simply dangling by his sides helplessly as he was beaten down by the smaller fighter. Long time fans of Nail could only sit back and watch as Edge struck him again and again. Hit after hit, the muscular brute simply took and backpedaled until... there was nowhere left to go.

Nail was pressed up against the Arena wall, the skin on his chest tearing from the number of hits he'd taken. Edge grinned and stepped away, clenching his right fist. Then, with all the strength in his being, Edge dashed forward and struck Nail straight on in the chest, rocketing more crimson from the minotaur's mouth. Edge held his fist there as Nail gasped in agony, his chest seeming to collapse in on itself. But then the impossible happened.

Nail's massive arms clamped onto Edge's, one hand on either elbow. The world froze, Edge's eyes filled with terror, Nail's with madness. Those who were close enough to see it knew that Nail had just won the fight. Ulrich, even hundreds of feet away, realized it.

Nothing in all this world is more terrifying than watching your own arm bend 90 degrees in the wrong direction. Nothing in all the world can make your heart stop as quickly as watching one of your limbs broken so easily. Nothing in all the world could have made Edge howl any louder.

Everything moved so fast, Edge didn't know how to keep up. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground screaming out and desperately trying to clutch his destroyed arms. He was wracked with so much torturous pain, he couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't win.

The weight of the entire world suddenly slammed into his chest, his mouth shooting spit into orbit from the impact. His eyes bulged and he could just make-out Nail standing over him, murder the only thing on his mind. Then, the weight rose off him just as Nail lifted his leg, only for it to slam into him again. His ribs cried out for release, for somewhere to go. His organs compressed in his chest, his heart now had no room to beat. His lungs squished under the pressure, needing more room to inflate. And just like that, the weight lifted again.

Sweet air filled his lungs, oxygen flowed into him again. But the hoof fell once more and the cracking of bones rang out. Edge felt his body press into the ground, his insides being reduced to jelly. Blood gushed from his mouth like a geyser the sky turned black as oil. He couldn't move, nerves throughout his form were going berserk, sending a never ending torrent of pain signals to his brain. The light dimmed with each stomp, the will to continue crushed out of him, an endlessly cycle like a living hell.

What felt like an eternity later, two griffins in white robes grabbed Nail's shoulders and pulled him back. A snow white unicorn appeared above like an angel, a bright light encircling his head. Edge could feel his life leaving him, this must have been an angel sent by the gods to collect his soul. They must have been pleased with him, how close he'd come to winning. He had done his duty, he had fought to the end. Edge was ready to be taken away on golden wings to a place of eternal happiness. He hurt so much, he just wanted it to end.

"He's losing too much blood, get me a pump! His lungs are flooding!" a voice echoed in his ears. Angels don't need pumps, do they?

"He's in shock, where's that needle?" another voice reverberated. Since when did angels use needles for anything?

"Don't you dare close those eyes you mut!" a familiar gruff voice warned him.

All at once, the doberman burst forward in an attempt to sit upright. Immediately, a team of doctors held him down, desperately trying to keep him from moving. Edge's eyes jumped from one face to another, taking in one critical fact: these were doctors. His eyes continued scanning until they spotted Nail with his hammer slung over his shoulder marching out of the Arena. He knew right then. He knew without having heard the call that he had lost.

The doctors proceeded with their work. The unicorn noticed a lone tear snake its way out from under Edge's quivering eyes and watched it drip down his cheek to the dry dirt of the Arena floor where it was absorbed in a blink.

"I was defeated... in every way..."