The Arena

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...