The air was stale and heavy in the cell. It reeked of moss and wet bones. He twisted his hands and felt the ropes cutting into his skin. They snaked from his wrists, around his chest, across his back and shoulders. They were wrapped around his ankles and wound so that, when he tried to straighten his back, they constricted, tearing at his joints. He tested his bonds gingerly, and looked around. From his kneeling position he could only view the cobbled floor of his cell. The sound of water dripping tickled his ears. The dim torchlight from the corridor made seeing anything beyond the bars difficult.
He sighed and steadied his breath carefully. He let his heartbeat even out and let go a long exhale. He then breathed in sharply and flexed. The muscles of his chest and back strained against the rotten cords. They stretched and creaked, but held. He repeated his breathing and tried again. The damp ties could not stand the onslaught of force and snapped. His joints cracked and popped as he got to his feet. He took another look around his windowless cell. Molded stonework surrounded him; a sealed chamber with heavy bars shut tight. A water-logged bedroll lay in the far corner of the room, and other than that the room was largely unfurnished.
He placed his hands on the bars. Cold iron, roughly wrought, met his touch. A heavy lock held the door fast and was frozen in place with rust. He centred his feet with the door, tightened his grip and pulled. The bars groaned and bowed. The great muscles of his arms and back bulged with the effort as he tried to pull the door free. His jet black hair shined with a bluish sheen where the light touched it and bristled in a spiky crew cut above his ruddy, hansom face. He blinked sweat out of his icy blue eyes. His finely tanned skin began to flush, making his many scars and tribal tattoos stand out. The scars where silvery and well healed, and criss-crossed his body like a tiger's stripes. His shoulders, upper back, and left arm were wound with ornate tattoos of flame and thorn vines. The rough leather pants he wore hid the stout legs above his bare feet. He clenched his teeth and pulled hard, but he was still weak. He released his hold and leaned on the bars.
It wasn't long before he heard footsteps down the tunnel. Before he knew what was happening, he was being drug out of the cell and tied again.
“Make sure he can't get loose this time” he heard a gruff voice say as his hands were cuffed behind his back. He was drug through darkness, dirt, grass, and finally up a flight of stone steps and thrown down on a smooth stone floor. His head smacked hard against the rock, drawing blood.
“Gah! Damnit!” he yelled. He rolled to his knees and looked around. He was in a large, open throne room. The space was made of finely shaped stonework, and simply, yet tastefully decorated. Tapestries bearing tribal symbols adorned the walls. Furs and pelts accented the hand crafted furniture. A large fire pit glowed behind him with a pair of massive cooking pots suspended over them, and two large dining tables sat on ether side. He noticed that he was surrounded by large, bulky shapes. Hairy arms swollen with muscle. Broad barrel chests with scars or tattoos. Big, rolling bellies hung over fur pants and kilts with leather belts. Here and there there where a few smaller shapes. Curvy, yet muscular. But the faces gave it all away. Piggly, buck tusked faces on small heads with long, floppy ears and beady eyes.
“Ogres,” he said to himself, “So that means....”
He looked up at the hand carved throne. On it sat a tall, lean figure. His head was more human shaped, with a choppy mo-hawk of dark hair with a pony tail. His belly was not round, but flat, and rippled with finely toned abs. The grey-green skin of his upper-body was stretched tight over broad shoulders and a thick chest. His legs where long, and lean, built for agility, and his powerful arms ended in big, clawed hands that could crush rock. His face bore a properly shaped nose and eyes, but the tell-tale tusks still extended up through his lips from his lower jaw.
“Grumhold. You know, if you wanted me to drop by for a visit, you could always just write. I get mail you know.”
The big ogre gave a small chuckle. “Wit and humor in the face of certain doom. I would expect no less from the great Elen Galad. However, seeing you trapped and helpless; beaten and tossed at my feet like a dog, is a bit surprising.”
Elen got to his feet and cracked his neck. “Wait till I get out of these shackles and you'll see what kinda dog I am.” he said. Grumhold held up a hand.
“Settle down, mighty warrior. You will need your strength. Letting you prove yourself is exactly what I intend to do.” Grumhold smirked as he spoke. He got up from his seat and stepped close to Elen. At six foot six, Elen was no slouch. Yet Grumhold inched ever so slightly taller, allowing him to look down on Elen; in a manner. The monster was so close Elen could smell blood and mead on his breath.
“I'm not interested in your little crusade, Ogre King. So you can spare me the recruitment speech.” he said.
“Oh no, you mistake me,” said Grumhold, “I would not have the likes of you soiling the ranks of such a fine invasion force. No you are here for another reason entirely. You see, war is taxing on a people. Rulers grow weary of directing troops. Warriors loose their heat; they begin to long for their families and the quiet of home. They need something to boost moral. They need a spectacle to put fire in their blood and anger in their hearts. They need blood sport.”
Elen straightened his back and yawned. “You going somewhere with this?” he asked.
Grumhold suddenly turned and delivered a heavy blow to his stomach. Elen doubled over coughing. “Ok,” he said, his breath ragged, “You have my attention.”
“Good,” Grumhold replied. “I would hate to have to hurt you. I need you at full strength for tomorrow. All these years I've heard the stories of The Black Terror. Of how he cannot be killed, not by man nor demon. How he slays giants and bests dragons. How he puts entire armies to the grave, with his bare hands alone. How his strength unmatched, his skill forged in fire, his will like iron. Being a ruler is the most boring thing I have ever had to endure, but worse still, there is not a soul I have come across who can offer me the challenge I so desire. None who have the strength to put my power to the test. To push me to the limit. You, however, if the stories are true, can. You will be the greatest test of my life. You and I shall meet on the field of battle, no weapons, no magic. Just your might against mine. Muscle to muscle, and only the strongest will stand. It will be a battle of the ages, to the death.”
Elen stood up an spat blood at Grumhold's feet. He looked his captor in the eye, not showing an ounce of fear. “You that anxious to die big boy?”
Grumhold met Elen's gaze with the same fearless pride. “I relish the possibility,” he said.
He motioned to the mounted heads of huge beasts hung around the throne room.
“Don't think I haven't heard all the stories, Elen Galad. Of what you are. What you can do. I killed and skinned every beast you see here with my own hands. Each one proved a relishing hunt. But you. You will be special. You are said to be a monster without equal. An apex predator. I will wear your pelt into battle with pride, and as for your head, I have a special place for that.” He motioned to an empty spot above his throne.
He snapped his fingers and Elen was grabbed again. He turned and went to his throne where he sat down. As he did, two of his wives came and sat in his lap, pawing him and licking his chest.
“Show our guest to his accommodations. Make sure he has everything he needs and is taken care of. If he is not ready for the contest by tomorrow, or is disturbed or neglected in any manor, I will personally deal with who ever is responsible. Go.” He waved the guards off and they led Elen out of the throne room. They took him into the castle and led him to a large, comfortable room. The furniture was the same hand crafted wood, and the bed was large and covered in fine furs. A big window looked out over the plains just outside the city walls.
The guards left Elen after removing his restraints. They locked the door from the outside and Elen looked around the room. The window was thick glass with iron work inside. It was sealed in the opening with resin and did not open. Elen knew he could easily smash his way out through it when he regained his full strength. Just as the thought entered his head, he heard a voice behind him.
“Leaving so soon? That's not a good idea.” Elen turned as a man stepped out from behind the wardrobe. He wore silver armor with flowing fabrics and sashes on it. His sword hung loosely at his side and his golden hair flowed with the skirt he wore. His wings were folded neatly behind him and he glowed so brightly Elen had to shield his eyes for a moment.
Elen sighed. “s**t Azriel. Don't you have anything better to do?” he said. The angel walked over and felt the blankets on the bed.
“Keeping an eye on you is not a hobby Elen. He knows I don't enjoy following you around.” he replied.
“So take a holiday. Isn't J.C.'s birthday coming up soon?”
“That kind of blasphemous disrespect is what got you in this situation in the first place. He is already furious with you because you have yet to repent from the hedonistic attitude that damned you in your first life. You humans are so typical. He gives you a second chance, and what do you do? You make a mockery of his mercy. He allowed you to be captured and brought here not just as penance for that last disaster you caused, but also to give you a chance to prove that you can be obedient and redeem yourself by doing his work.”
“******** you.”
“Case in point. Elen, your curse is your own doing. You have no one to blame. Now, if you do as you are told, you will be forgiven. If you choose not to obey, you will return to Hell and be destroyed at the End of Days. That is his law.”
Elen glared at him.
“So that's all I really am is it? A dog on a leash? He says bark, I bark? I'm just a mutt he sicks on hoodlums stepping on his turf! It's not bad enough he turns me into a monster, but he treats me like one as well!”
“Then stop acting like one! Look what you're doing now, snapping at the hand that feeds you! If you want to be treated like a man then show him you still are one!!”
Elen hung his head. He looked out the window at the lowering sun.
“Fine. What does he want?”
“Grumhold must die.” Azriel said.
“Big surprise there,” said Elen, “I hear he's been running over kingdoms all over the rim.”
“That's not why he has earned his fate. He has been demanding that his people, and those he conquers, worship him as a god. He believes he is without equal on the mortal plain and that because of his strength, he deserves to be given divine dominion. He follows the ancient ogre teachings that, if he proves worthy, he will be made a god of war. He insults God's sovereignty, and defies the will of the Almighty, choosing to lead his people to destruction.”
Elen looked out the window. The red sun was beginning to sink below the planet's south-eastern horizon. He felt the warm light on his face. It could never compare to the precious few moments from when he glimpsed the Almighty. He could still hear the voice of God thunder in his head. He had never felt so close to anything before, and every age he spent in his earthly body, separated from that glory, tortured him.
These things weighed on him as he turned to Azriel. “How do I accomplish this? I'm strong, but Grumhold has the strength of a mountain in his back, and the speed of the wind in his legs.”
“The same has been said of you, Elen,” Azriel replied, “But your strength comes from on high. Grumhold believes the power of his arms and the speed of his legs will prevail him, but they will fail. He will be left broken, made example of, and his strength will account for nothing. The energies inside you are you sword and shield Elen.
As he said this, Azriel faded away and Elen was once again left alone. He looked in the wardrobe and saw an outfit had been left for him, but it was obviously not the one Grumhold intended fro him. He closed the wardrobe and he looked down at his large hands. He clenched them into rock hard fists. The muscle in his forearms flexed. His skin was thick and leathery from the many ages he had lived since coming back to life. He looked the same as he had when he died, but his body was hardened and his skin clung tight to the thick muscle. He closed his eyes and silently tried his hardest to listen. He tried to feel the spirit within him. He waited until he felt the stillness enter him. It flowed through him and he felt like a fire burning in him was quenched, it's heat leaving him. He knew at once his prayer was answered. He felt the anger in him subside and he breathed easily as it was replaced by a warm light. It glowed bright, filling his body with energy, compelling him to move.
He shifted his weight as his feet slid on the smooth stone. His arms followed the motions that had been etched into his muscle over the years. His body flowed through the motions, shifting easily through every style of hand-to-hand combat ever developed by man that he had mastered. He moved through them all until the distinctions dissipated. They melded into his soul and his body moved by instinct. It reacted by nature, the attack and defence flowing from within, a completely unique form that combined the four elements into a dance of skill and strength. Earth, his body. Strength and solidity. His bones hardened and sturdy, his stance grounded and his feet set like stone. His muscle forged like iron, but moving deliberately. No waisted movement. Power, controlled and focused. Air his defence. His mind removed and his body running on reflex. Moving and shifting, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You could swing at it all you want, but he would not be there, until he was. Just as the wind flowed through the hills, he would dodge, redirect, deflect and move all around. Water, his offence. He flowed, rose, fell, ebbed and swelled. His blows rolled and hit like waves, crashing on the rocks, sending the force through and into the target. His fists would slam into flesh like a river breaking through a dam. He would use the weight of his body, his entire being, to hit with the force of a tidal wave. And finally, Fire, his spirit. It burned in his heart, put heat in his belly and gave his movements energy and purpose. It flowed through his veins, boiling his blood and adding fury to his fists and feet.
He stopped as the door to his room was unlocked and opened. A lovely young she-elf was pushed into the room by the big guard. “Do as your told. Make sure he's taken care of, or you'll get worse than no food for a week,” he growled. She cringed as he slammed and locked the door. She was a small, tender thing. She had long, shapely legs, flowing wheat colored hair, and her green dress hung snugly on her curvy frame. She looked up at Elen, pure terror in her emerald eyes. She tried to remain calm, but he could tell she was loosing it. There was no telling what horrors she had endured at the hands of those animals. Elen's heart ached for her as she came a little closer.
“My lord, my name is Melaria. I am your loyal and humble servant. P-please. Tell m-me what you require. B-Be gentl-” She lost control and fell to her knees as tears fell from her eyes. She tried to hide her face as she sobbed. She tried to hold back the tears and speak. “P-please forg-give me m-m-master...” She suddenly felt a strong hand lifting gently to her feet. She looked up at Elen through tears as he helped her stand up. She tensed a bit at his touch, but she quickly relaxed. He moved deliberately, no sudden movements. Like how her father moved so that he would not frighten birds or animals in the woods near their home. He did not shout at her, he did not hit her like she expected him to, like all her previous masters had when she made a mistake. His touch was gentle, and loving. She saw compassion in his eyes, not anger or contempt. He set her on her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. She barely came up to his chest and his hand was so big it could go almost around her whole head. She looked and saw the scars and tattoos on him. She became afraid, slowly backing away from him. But he did not pursue her. He stayed where he was. His hands, so strong they could bend iron, stayed at his side. He didn't threaten to grab her or strike her. He simply turned from her and sat on the bed.
She stood there for a moment. She eventually went to his side and keeled. She sat there on her knees until he finally said something.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, fearful again. “Awaiting you command my lord,” she said, and quickly dropped her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes.
“I don't need anything. You can relax. I won't hurt you.” His voice was deep and dark. Like thunder rolling in black clouds behind the mountains. She looked up at him again, and saw the honesty on his face. He felt her pain.
She got up quickly. “Surly my master would enjoy a bath, and some clean clothes. I'll draw water for you.” She went into the basin room and used a bucket to draw heated water from a small well that ran down into a natural hot spring beneath the castle. She made sure the water was just right and she seasoned it with herbs, and spices, and warm soap. She came back out and bowed. “Your bath is ready.”
Elen looked at her for a second, then got up and walked into the basin room. “Thanks,” he said as he passed her. She blushed and stayed still as she listened to the sound of him climbing into the water. After a while, he came back out, a fur wrapped around him. The grime and mud from the dungeon was washed from him and his body glowed slightly, his black hair shining in the lamp light. She handed him a shirt and pants and turned away from him as he changed. He put the clothes on and went over to the bed. He pulled some of the blankets and a pillow off and set them on the floor.
“Um...what are doing, sir?” she asked.
“You can have the bed,” he told her.
“But...don't you want....you know....company?...It's what I'm here for.....”
Elen turned to her. “I will not lay a hand on you, little one. I'm not an animal. Vetial nu domni esuteivery.”
Her eyes suddenly lit up as he said that. “You..you know my tribe's tongue?” she asked, excitedly. He nodded.
“I am Elen Galad, little one.”
She gasped. She covered her mouth as she looked him up and down, realization dawning on her. She ran to him and fell to the ground. She kissed his feet and clung to his legs. “Oh thank God! My most treasured elder, Netiaste hu dueti forut mnicatinami tutoida!”
Elen lifted her to her feet again. She wiped tears of joy from her eyes.
“Take it easy. Yes, I have come to defeat Grumhold and free you and your people. God has heard your prayers. I am his answer.”
Melaria got up and hugged him around his waist. She let go and stepped back, her face flushed. “I'm sorry, that was improper of me,” she said.
“It's alright,” said Elen, “Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep.” He laid down on the blankets and rested his head on the pillow. Melaria wanted to say something, but her excitement blocked her words, so she lay on the bed and closed her eyes. While Elen fell into the blackness of his nightmares, she drifted peacefully into dreams of freedom.
Elen blinked awake as the sun slipped into the window of the room. He got up and stretched his back. He looked over and saw that Melaria was still asleep, so he quietly opened the wardrobe and got dressed. Azriel had left him a pair of leather pants, with thick patches on the knees, large boots that laced up to just below his knee, a tight fitting shirt with no sleeves, a black leather vest, and leather gloves with no fingers on them. He was just finishing the laces on the gloves when he heard Melaria yawn. She swung her legs over the bed, and when she noticed him, she yelped.
“Oh no!” she shouted, “We have to get you to the arena, quickly!” She went to the wardrobe and threw on a clean dress before Elen could say anything. He turned away from her nakedness, his face red as the sun. But she grabbed his hand and banged on the door. As soon as it opened, she was desperately trying to pull him down the hallway and out the doors of the palace. They made their way down the streets of the stone city to a massive colosseum. Elen could hear roars and shouts coming from the structure as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky. She pulled him into an archway and led him to an iron gate that opened onto the arena floor. She ran off as the crowd suddenly quieted. A voice rang out into the stands as Elen looked through the bars to see his opponent standing in the centre, wearing a long fur robe over his shoulders that covered his body.
“Good people!” the announcement said, “Welcome ogres and elves, humans and orcs, living creatures from all parts of the galaxy! Today you shall witness a spectacle the likes of which has never before, and never shall be seen again. A battle to the death, where the use of weapons and magic will be strictly prohibited! A test of muscle! A challenge of might, where only the strongest will survive!! Introducing first, his holy majesty, your emperor, god and sovereign ruler, Grumhold! King of the Ogres!!!”
The crowds roared, mixed cheering and jeering. Eventually, the negative sounds ether faded or where snuffed completely.
“And his opponent, from planet Earth! He is the White Bard, the Red Terror, the man who cannot be killed!! He has faced dragons, demons, and laid waist to entire kingdoms, but never has he faced an opponent such as this!! Here he is, Elen Galad!!!”
Elen stepped through the gate as it lowered. The crowds booed and jeered as he made his way to the centre of the dusty arena floor. He stopped when he stood directly across from Grumhold. The ogre reached up and unclasped his robe. It fell to his feet, and he stretched his arms. He was shirtless, his hairy chest and arms rippled with rock hard muscle. He wore a fur kilt with sandals on his clawed feet. His hands where wrapped in cloth.
A rock suddenly flew out of the crowd as Elen removed his own vest and shirt. Quick as a flash, Elen's hand shot up and caught the fist sized stone. He flexed his own muscular body and his hand squeezed the rock till it crumbled into gravel. Grumhold smirked and cracked his neck and knuckles. “Ready to face my power, Elen Galad?”
"It's not you're power I'm afraid of, ogre."
Grumhold pounded his fist.“Then I shall teach you to fear true power!"
With that Grumhold rushed in and swung a wide kick. Elen met his shin with his own forearm and ducked. He smacked Grumhold's feet away as the ogre lashed at him with a flurry of kicks. Elen caught his foot and twisted. Grumhold spun in mid-air, and Elen swung his leg at his ribs, but Grimhold caught him and pushed away. The both slid to a halt and jumped in again. They slammed each other with kicks and punches that would shatter rock. Elen ducked under Grumhold's elbow and surged up, his knee connecting with his stomach. Grumhold doubled over and Elen smashed his fist into his jaw. Grumhold went flipping back and crashed to the ground in a heap. He got to his feet and spat blood onto the ground. He growled as a tooth came loose. He ripped it out and charged at Elen again. He went low and tried to sweep Elen's feet out from under him. Elen jumped but the ogre was ready. He brough his heal up and hit Elen in the chest. Elen felt his ribcage crack and he coughed blood on Grumhold's leg. Grumhold caught Elen and swung him into the ground. Elen gasped as the air was knocked from him. He rolled away just in time as Grumhold's foot smashed the ground where his head had been. The blow left a small crater and dust flew out as Elen got to his feet. He had little time as Grumhold came in again and they blocked and parried in a blur of fists and feet. They broke again and Elen clutched his chest. Grumhold stretched his arm.
“Come on. Fight! You expect me to believe all the things I've heard about you!? Show me your true power!! I did not come today to fight a frail, pitiful man. I want the monster!”
“You do not make demands of me.” Elen snarled.
Grumhold growled. He rushed Elen and threw him to the ground again. He punched him repeatedly in the stomach and face. He grinned as Elen's bones cracked under his fist. Suddenly, Elen's hand shot up and grabbed Grumhold by the neck. He placed his knee on the ogre's belly and kicked upward. Grumhold was thrown into the air and Elen got to his feet, and as Grumhold fell, Elen brought his knee up. Grumhold's face crashed into Elen's knee and Elen grabbed his shoulders, and slammed his forehead into Grumhold's nose. He staggered back, his vision blurred, but it was too late. Elen began to hammer him with fists and feet. He kicked, punched, gouged and stomped any part of Grumhold's body he could reach. He kicked at Grumhold's knee with his heel and he went down. Elen grabbed his head and hit him in the face with his knee again. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as the crowd roared.
Dust, dirt, sweat, and blood flew as they clashed again and again. They would rush in, kicking, blocking, punching and dodging, then back off, only to rush in again. Then as they came in again, they both caught the other's fist to the jaw. The blows sent each rolling away on the ground. Grumhold pushed himself to his feet, but Elen lay in the dirt. Grumhold snorted and began to stalk toward him as the crowd chanted. Elen rolled to his side, bruised and broken. Then, he looked up.
Melaria was standing near the gate. Her hands were over her mouth and tears were falling from her eyes like bitter rain. He suddenly remembered what he was fighting for. She stood their, hoping, praying for him to prevail. He could not let her down. As Grumhold drew closer, he closed his eyes and prayed.
“God, please...forgive me for this...”
Grumhold used his foot to roll Elen onto his back. “And so ends the great Elen Galad. The last champion of an anaemic deity,” he growled.
He raised his foot and brought it down hard. Elen reached out and grabbed his heel. Grumhold tried to push his foot down, but Elen's arm was locked, and would not give. He then tried to pull his foot back, but Elen's hand clamped around it like a vice. Elen pushed upward and Grumhold did a back flip and landed hard on his feet. He watched as Elen got to his feet. His body was restored and he cracked his knuckles.
“Alright,” Elen said, “Time to get serious.”
Grumhold saw the gleam in Elen's eye. He grinned and rolled his shoulders. The challenge he was hoping for had finally come. “Bring it!” he shouted.
Elen suddenly bowed over. His body began to writhe and swell. He began to grow and his skin turned stony black. His hair turned blood red, his mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. His hands grew long, savage claws and little horns sprouted between his long, pointed ears. Melaria watched in awe and fear as the huge demon flexed and reared his head back to let out a loud roar. Grumhold smiled.
“At last, the beast called Abaddon. This is the moment I waited for.”
The crowd cheered as they charged at each other. Abaddon ducked under Grumhold's punch and ploughed into him with his head. Grumhold went airborne. Abaddon kicked and used his knee to juggle him in the air like a soccer player. He jumped and slammed him with a vicious windmill kick. Grumhold flew through the air and crashed to the ground. Abaddon was there and grabbed him by the face and drilled his head into the dirt. He lifted him by the head and dropped him. As Grumhold fell he brought his fist up and hit him with a devastating punch. The blow sent Grumhold flying back and he crashed into the wall. As he bounced off of it, Abaddon crashed into him; he wrapped his arms around Grumhold and he carried him as he ran towards the stone wall of the arena. He smashed through it with out stopping and the crowd roared and screamed as he kept going, the fight spilling into the streets. Grumhold dug his heals in and stopped the monster's momentum. He hammered Abaddon's back and lifted him over his head, slamming him into the ground so hard it cracked the stones beneath him. Abaddon grabbed Grumhold by the head and flung him into the side of a building. Grumhold jumped out of the smoke and rubble and he and Abaddon crashed through the city, smashing walls and buildings with their fists, legs and bodies. They traded blows back and forth so quickly the eye could not follow, and they hit each other so hard the shock-waves thundered and cracked the walls and the street around them. Grumhold ducked as Abaddon slashed a wall in two with his claws. As the ogre tried to retaliate, Abaddon caught his foot with his powerful jaws. Grumhold roared in pain as the demon savagely flung him back and forth, shaking him in his jaws like a piece of meat. He slammed the ogre into walls and the ground before finally flinging him into a fountain that exploded in a shower of rock and water as he hit it. Grumhold got to his feet and rushed at his opponent. They caught each other's fist, sending out a shock wave and the ground shook as they struggled, toe to toe, fist to fist. They leaned in and tried to shove the other off his feet. Abaddon began to give way, his arms bending backward. Grumhold roared as he shoved the brute to one knee. The demon's eyes glowed like burning blood as he suddenly looked up at him and gritted his teeth. Smoke rolled from his nose and mouth as he squeezed Grumhold's hands so tight the bones cracked and he pushed his way to his feet and pulled Grumhold into his knee. He laid into him with savage fury. Grumhold tried to stem the onslaught, but Abaddon was moving with the speed of the wind. Every time he punched Grumhold, his muscles would bulge with the force of the blow. His legs flashed in and out with kicks and sweeps that would level a house. Grumhold found himself caught in a hurricane of pain and misery. His great body bent and crumbled with each hit. His strength left him and he fell apart as The Destroyer pounded away, breaking bone and spirit.
A massive uppercut sent Grumhold flying back into the arena, where he hit like a meteor, smashing a big crater in the dirt. The crowd gasped as Abaddon walked back in through the hole he had made in the arena wall. Where his feet hit the ground, the stone and dirt cracked and burned beneath his feet, leaving scorched footprints. He approached Grumhold, who was crawling to his feet. He tried to straighten up, but he was exhausted and fell to his knees. He looked up at the huge, black monster, his face beaten into ugliness.
“How,” he said, “How could an animal match my power? I am a god among mortals! How can you be stronger than me!!?”
“I told you. I tried to warn you but you would not listen. You heard the growling but still you kicked the dog.” Abaddon replied, his voice deep and dark, booming across the arena like a volcano erupting. “You have been put to the scales and found wanting. As I said, it is not your power that should be feared. It is mine."
Grumhold spat. “What are you then? Some claim you are a monster of the pit, others that you are a guardian of light. Do you even know, Elen Galad? Do you look at yourself and wander?"
Abaddon roared and swung his arm. His fist smashed into Grumhold's head. The skull cracked and his head twisted completely around, snapping his neck. He fell to the ground in a crumbled, lifeless heap. The crowd was shocked into silence. Suddenly, all the slaves, the races and people that had been oppressed under Grumhold's rule, burst forth with cheers. They spilled out onto the floor of the arena, praising and cheering for their deliverance. The ogres, stunned into submission, could do nothing to stop them. Their king lay in a broken, bloody heap in the centre of his prized arena. Melaria was among them. She ran about, looking for Elen. She wanted so badly to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but he was nowhere. Se pushed her way through the rejoicing crowds but still she did not see the man who had taken on the form of God's wrath. She stopped and looked out the hole in the wall, where she thought she just barely saw a man-shaped silhouette walking away off in the distance. He had changed back, and was sauntering off, stretching the soreness out of his body. As she watched, a shining man with wings wearing silver armor approached and began to walk beside him. As they dissolved into the distance, a single tear fell from her face and she hugged herself as she watched them go.
“Thank you God. Thank you for sending us your champion.......Elen Galad.”
He sighed and steadied his breath carefully. He let his heartbeat even out and let go a long exhale. He then breathed in sharply and flexed. The muscles of his chest and back strained against the rotten cords. They stretched and creaked, but held. He repeated his breathing and tried again. The damp ties could not stand the onslaught of force and snapped. His joints cracked and popped as he got to his feet. He took another look around his windowless cell. Molded stonework surrounded him; a sealed chamber with heavy bars shut tight. A water-logged bedroll lay in the far corner of the room, and other than that the room was largely unfurnished.
He placed his hands on the bars. Cold iron, roughly wrought, met his touch. A heavy lock held the door fast and was frozen in place with rust. He centred his feet with the door, tightened his grip and pulled. The bars groaned and bowed. The great muscles of his arms and back bulged with the effort as he tried to pull the door free. His jet black hair shined with a bluish sheen where the light touched it and bristled in a spiky crew cut above his ruddy, hansom face. He blinked sweat out of his icy blue eyes. His finely tanned skin began to flush, making his many scars and tribal tattoos stand out. The scars where silvery and well healed, and criss-crossed his body like a tiger's stripes. His shoulders, upper back, and left arm were wound with ornate tattoos of flame and thorn vines. The rough leather pants he wore hid the stout legs above his bare feet. He clenched his teeth and pulled hard, but he was still weak. He released his hold and leaned on the bars.
It wasn't long before he heard footsteps down the tunnel. Before he knew what was happening, he was being drug out of the cell and tied again.
“Make sure he can't get loose this time” he heard a gruff voice say as his hands were cuffed behind his back. He was drug through darkness, dirt, grass, and finally up a flight of stone steps and thrown down on a smooth stone floor. His head smacked hard against the rock, drawing blood.
“Gah! Damnit!” he yelled. He rolled to his knees and looked around. He was in a large, open throne room. The space was made of finely shaped stonework, and simply, yet tastefully decorated. Tapestries bearing tribal symbols adorned the walls. Furs and pelts accented the hand crafted furniture. A large fire pit glowed behind him with a pair of massive cooking pots suspended over them, and two large dining tables sat on ether side. He noticed that he was surrounded by large, bulky shapes. Hairy arms swollen with muscle. Broad barrel chests with scars or tattoos. Big, rolling bellies hung over fur pants and kilts with leather belts. Here and there there where a few smaller shapes. Curvy, yet muscular. But the faces gave it all away. Piggly, buck tusked faces on small heads with long, floppy ears and beady eyes.
“Ogres,” he said to himself, “So that means....”
He looked up at the hand carved throne. On it sat a tall, lean figure. His head was more human shaped, with a choppy mo-hawk of dark hair with a pony tail. His belly was not round, but flat, and rippled with finely toned abs. The grey-green skin of his upper-body was stretched tight over broad shoulders and a thick chest. His legs where long, and lean, built for agility, and his powerful arms ended in big, clawed hands that could crush rock. His face bore a properly shaped nose and eyes, but the tell-tale tusks still extended up through his lips from his lower jaw.
“Grumhold. You know, if you wanted me to drop by for a visit, you could always just write. I get mail you know.”
The big ogre gave a small chuckle. “Wit and humor in the face of certain doom. I would expect no less from the great Elen Galad. However, seeing you trapped and helpless; beaten and tossed at my feet like a dog, is a bit surprising.”
Elen got to his feet and cracked his neck. “Wait till I get out of these shackles and you'll see what kinda dog I am.” he said. Grumhold held up a hand.
“Settle down, mighty warrior. You will need your strength. Letting you prove yourself is exactly what I intend to do.” Grumhold smirked as he spoke. He got up from his seat and stepped close to Elen. At six foot six, Elen was no slouch. Yet Grumhold inched ever so slightly taller, allowing him to look down on Elen; in a manner. The monster was so close Elen could smell blood and mead on his breath.
“I'm not interested in your little crusade, Ogre King. So you can spare me the recruitment speech.” he said.
“Oh no, you mistake me,” said Grumhold, “I would not have the likes of you soiling the ranks of such a fine invasion force. No you are here for another reason entirely. You see, war is taxing on a people. Rulers grow weary of directing troops. Warriors loose their heat; they begin to long for their families and the quiet of home. They need something to boost moral. They need a spectacle to put fire in their blood and anger in their hearts. They need blood sport.”
Elen straightened his back and yawned. “You going somewhere with this?” he asked.
Grumhold suddenly turned and delivered a heavy blow to his stomach. Elen doubled over coughing. “Ok,” he said, his breath ragged, “You have my attention.”
“Good,” Grumhold replied. “I would hate to have to hurt you. I need you at full strength for tomorrow. All these years I've heard the stories of The Black Terror. Of how he cannot be killed, not by man nor demon. How he slays giants and bests dragons. How he puts entire armies to the grave, with his bare hands alone. How his strength unmatched, his skill forged in fire, his will like iron. Being a ruler is the most boring thing I have ever had to endure, but worse still, there is not a soul I have come across who can offer me the challenge I so desire. None who have the strength to put my power to the test. To push me to the limit. You, however, if the stories are true, can. You will be the greatest test of my life. You and I shall meet on the field of battle, no weapons, no magic. Just your might against mine. Muscle to muscle, and only the strongest will stand. It will be a battle of the ages, to the death.”
Elen stood up an spat blood at Grumhold's feet. He looked his captor in the eye, not showing an ounce of fear. “You that anxious to die big boy?”
Grumhold met Elen's gaze with the same fearless pride. “I relish the possibility,” he said.
He motioned to the mounted heads of huge beasts hung around the throne room.
“Don't think I haven't heard all the stories, Elen Galad. Of what you are. What you can do. I killed and skinned every beast you see here with my own hands. Each one proved a relishing hunt. But you. You will be special. You are said to be a monster without equal. An apex predator. I will wear your pelt into battle with pride, and as for your head, I have a special place for that.” He motioned to an empty spot above his throne.
He snapped his fingers and Elen was grabbed again. He turned and went to his throne where he sat down. As he did, two of his wives came and sat in his lap, pawing him and licking his chest.
“Show our guest to his accommodations. Make sure he has everything he needs and is taken care of. If he is not ready for the contest by tomorrow, or is disturbed or neglected in any manor, I will personally deal with who ever is responsible. Go.” He waved the guards off and they led Elen out of the throne room. They took him into the castle and led him to a large, comfortable room. The furniture was the same hand crafted wood, and the bed was large and covered in fine furs. A big window looked out over the plains just outside the city walls.
The guards left Elen after removing his restraints. They locked the door from the outside and Elen looked around the room. The window was thick glass with iron work inside. It was sealed in the opening with resin and did not open. Elen knew he could easily smash his way out through it when he regained his full strength. Just as the thought entered his head, he heard a voice behind him.
“Leaving so soon? That's not a good idea.” Elen turned as a man stepped out from behind the wardrobe. He wore silver armor with flowing fabrics and sashes on it. His sword hung loosely at his side and his golden hair flowed with the skirt he wore. His wings were folded neatly behind him and he glowed so brightly Elen had to shield his eyes for a moment.
Elen sighed. “s**t Azriel. Don't you have anything better to do?” he said. The angel walked over and felt the blankets on the bed.
“Keeping an eye on you is not a hobby Elen. He knows I don't enjoy following you around.” he replied.
“So take a holiday. Isn't J.C.'s birthday coming up soon?”
“That kind of blasphemous disrespect is what got you in this situation in the first place. He is already furious with you because you have yet to repent from the hedonistic attitude that damned you in your first life. You humans are so typical. He gives you a second chance, and what do you do? You make a mockery of his mercy. He allowed you to be captured and brought here not just as penance for that last disaster you caused, but also to give you a chance to prove that you can be obedient and redeem yourself by doing his work.”
“******** you.”
“Case in point. Elen, your curse is your own doing. You have no one to blame. Now, if you do as you are told, you will be forgiven. If you choose not to obey, you will return to Hell and be destroyed at the End of Days. That is his law.”
Elen glared at him.
“So that's all I really am is it? A dog on a leash? He says bark, I bark? I'm just a mutt he sicks on hoodlums stepping on his turf! It's not bad enough he turns me into a monster, but he treats me like one as well!”
“Then stop acting like one! Look what you're doing now, snapping at the hand that feeds you! If you want to be treated like a man then show him you still are one!!”
Elen hung his head. He looked out the window at the lowering sun.
“Fine. What does he want?”
“Grumhold must die.” Azriel said.
“Big surprise there,” said Elen, “I hear he's been running over kingdoms all over the rim.”
“That's not why he has earned his fate. He has been demanding that his people, and those he conquers, worship him as a god. He believes he is without equal on the mortal plain and that because of his strength, he deserves to be given divine dominion. He follows the ancient ogre teachings that, if he proves worthy, he will be made a god of war. He insults God's sovereignty, and defies the will of the Almighty, choosing to lead his people to destruction.”
Elen looked out the window. The red sun was beginning to sink below the planet's south-eastern horizon. He felt the warm light on his face. It could never compare to the precious few moments from when he glimpsed the Almighty. He could still hear the voice of God thunder in his head. He had never felt so close to anything before, and every age he spent in his earthly body, separated from that glory, tortured him.
These things weighed on him as he turned to Azriel. “How do I accomplish this? I'm strong, but Grumhold has the strength of a mountain in his back, and the speed of the wind in his legs.”
“The same has been said of you, Elen,” Azriel replied, “But your strength comes from on high. Grumhold believes the power of his arms and the speed of his legs will prevail him, but they will fail. He will be left broken, made example of, and his strength will account for nothing. The energies inside you are you sword and shield Elen.
As he said this, Azriel faded away and Elen was once again left alone. He looked in the wardrobe and saw an outfit had been left for him, but it was obviously not the one Grumhold intended fro him. He closed the wardrobe and he looked down at his large hands. He clenched them into rock hard fists. The muscle in his forearms flexed. His skin was thick and leathery from the many ages he had lived since coming back to life. He looked the same as he had when he died, but his body was hardened and his skin clung tight to the thick muscle. He closed his eyes and silently tried his hardest to listen. He tried to feel the spirit within him. He waited until he felt the stillness enter him. It flowed through him and he felt like a fire burning in him was quenched, it's heat leaving him. He knew at once his prayer was answered. He felt the anger in him subside and he breathed easily as it was replaced by a warm light. It glowed bright, filling his body with energy, compelling him to move.
He shifted his weight as his feet slid on the smooth stone. His arms followed the motions that had been etched into his muscle over the years. His body flowed through the motions, shifting easily through every style of hand-to-hand combat ever developed by man that he had mastered. He moved through them all until the distinctions dissipated. They melded into his soul and his body moved by instinct. It reacted by nature, the attack and defence flowing from within, a completely unique form that combined the four elements into a dance of skill and strength. Earth, his body. Strength and solidity. His bones hardened and sturdy, his stance grounded and his feet set like stone. His muscle forged like iron, but moving deliberately. No waisted movement. Power, controlled and focused. Air his defence. His mind removed and his body running on reflex. Moving and shifting, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You could swing at it all you want, but he would not be there, until he was. Just as the wind flowed through the hills, he would dodge, redirect, deflect and move all around. Water, his offence. He flowed, rose, fell, ebbed and swelled. His blows rolled and hit like waves, crashing on the rocks, sending the force through and into the target. His fists would slam into flesh like a river breaking through a dam. He would use the weight of his body, his entire being, to hit with the force of a tidal wave. And finally, Fire, his spirit. It burned in his heart, put heat in his belly and gave his movements energy and purpose. It flowed through his veins, boiling his blood and adding fury to his fists and feet.
He stopped as the door to his room was unlocked and opened. A lovely young she-elf was pushed into the room by the big guard. “Do as your told. Make sure he's taken care of, or you'll get worse than no food for a week,” he growled. She cringed as he slammed and locked the door. She was a small, tender thing. She had long, shapely legs, flowing wheat colored hair, and her green dress hung snugly on her curvy frame. She looked up at Elen, pure terror in her emerald eyes. She tried to remain calm, but he could tell she was loosing it. There was no telling what horrors she had endured at the hands of those animals. Elen's heart ached for her as she came a little closer.
“My lord, my name is Melaria. I am your loyal and humble servant. P-please. Tell m-me what you require. B-Be gentl-” She lost control and fell to her knees as tears fell from her eyes. She tried to hide her face as she sobbed. She tried to hold back the tears and speak. “P-please forg-give me m-m-master...” She suddenly felt a strong hand lifting gently to her feet. She looked up at Elen through tears as he helped her stand up. She tensed a bit at his touch, but she quickly relaxed. He moved deliberately, no sudden movements. Like how her father moved so that he would not frighten birds or animals in the woods near their home. He did not shout at her, he did not hit her like she expected him to, like all her previous masters had when she made a mistake. His touch was gentle, and loving. She saw compassion in his eyes, not anger or contempt. He set her on her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. She barely came up to his chest and his hand was so big it could go almost around her whole head. She looked and saw the scars and tattoos on him. She became afraid, slowly backing away from him. But he did not pursue her. He stayed where he was. His hands, so strong they could bend iron, stayed at his side. He didn't threaten to grab her or strike her. He simply turned from her and sat on the bed.
She stood there for a moment. She eventually went to his side and keeled. She sat there on her knees until he finally said something.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, fearful again. “Awaiting you command my lord,” she said, and quickly dropped her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes.
“I don't need anything. You can relax. I won't hurt you.” His voice was deep and dark. Like thunder rolling in black clouds behind the mountains. She looked up at him again, and saw the honesty on his face. He felt her pain.
She got up quickly. “Surly my master would enjoy a bath, and some clean clothes. I'll draw water for you.” She went into the basin room and used a bucket to draw heated water from a small well that ran down into a natural hot spring beneath the castle. She made sure the water was just right and she seasoned it with herbs, and spices, and warm soap. She came back out and bowed. “Your bath is ready.”
Elen looked at her for a second, then got up and walked into the basin room. “Thanks,” he said as he passed her. She blushed and stayed still as she listened to the sound of him climbing into the water. After a while, he came back out, a fur wrapped around him. The grime and mud from the dungeon was washed from him and his body glowed slightly, his black hair shining in the lamp light. She handed him a shirt and pants and turned away from him as he changed. He put the clothes on and went over to the bed. He pulled some of the blankets and a pillow off and set them on the floor.
“Um...what are doing, sir?” she asked.
“You can have the bed,” he told her.
“But...don't you want....you know....company?...It's what I'm here for.....”
Elen turned to her. “I will not lay a hand on you, little one. I'm not an animal. Vetial nu domni esuteivery.”
Her eyes suddenly lit up as he said that. “You..you know my tribe's tongue?” she asked, excitedly. He nodded.
“I am Elen Galad, little one.”
She gasped. She covered her mouth as she looked him up and down, realization dawning on her. She ran to him and fell to the ground. She kissed his feet and clung to his legs. “Oh thank God! My most treasured elder, Netiaste hu dueti forut mnicatinami tutoida!”
Elen lifted her to her feet again. She wiped tears of joy from her eyes.
“Take it easy. Yes, I have come to defeat Grumhold and free you and your people. God has heard your prayers. I am his answer.”
Melaria got up and hugged him around his waist. She let go and stepped back, her face flushed. “I'm sorry, that was improper of me,” she said.
“It's alright,” said Elen, “Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep.” He laid down on the blankets and rested his head on the pillow. Melaria wanted to say something, but her excitement blocked her words, so she lay on the bed and closed her eyes. While Elen fell into the blackness of his nightmares, she drifted peacefully into dreams of freedom.
Elen blinked awake as the sun slipped into the window of the room. He got up and stretched his back. He looked over and saw that Melaria was still asleep, so he quietly opened the wardrobe and got dressed. Azriel had left him a pair of leather pants, with thick patches on the knees, large boots that laced up to just below his knee, a tight fitting shirt with no sleeves, a black leather vest, and leather gloves with no fingers on them. He was just finishing the laces on the gloves when he heard Melaria yawn. She swung her legs over the bed, and when she noticed him, she yelped.
“Oh no!” she shouted, “We have to get you to the arena, quickly!” She went to the wardrobe and threw on a clean dress before Elen could say anything. He turned away from her nakedness, his face red as the sun. But she grabbed his hand and banged on the door. As soon as it opened, she was desperately trying to pull him down the hallway and out the doors of the palace. They made their way down the streets of the stone city to a massive colosseum. Elen could hear roars and shouts coming from the structure as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky. She pulled him into an archway and led him to an iron gate that opened onto the arena floor. She ran off as the crowd suddenly quieted. A voice rang out into the stands as Elen looked through the bars to see his opponent standing in the centre, wearing a long fur robe over his shoulders that covered his body.
“Good people!” the announcement said, “Welcome ogres and elves, humans and orcs, living creatures from all parts of the galaxy! Today you shall witness a spectacle the likes of which has never before, and never shall be seen again. A battle to the death, where the use of weapons and magic will be strictly prohibited! A test of muscle! A challenge of might, where only the strongest will survive!! Introducing first, his holy majesty, your emperor, god and sovereign ruler, Grumhold! King of the Ogres!!!”
The crowds roared, mixed cheering and jeering. Eventually, the negative sounds ether faded or where snuffed completely.
“And his opponent, from planet Earth! He is the White Bard, the Red Terror, the man who cannot be killed!! He has faced dragons, demons, and laid waist to entire kingdoms, but never has he faced an opponent such as this!! Here he is, Elen Galad!!!”
Elen stepped through the gate as it lowered. The crowds booed and jeered as he made his way to the centre of the dusty arena floor. He stopped when he stood directly across from Grumhold. The ogre reached up and unclasped his robe. It fell to his feet, and he stretched his arms. He was shirtless, his hairy chest and arms rippled with rock hard muscle. He wore a fur kilt with sandals on his clawed feet. His hands where wrapped in cloth.
A rock suddenly flew out of the crowd as Elen removed his own vest and shirt. Quick as a flash, Elen's hand shot up and caught the fist sized stone. He flexed his own muscular body and his hand squeezed the rock till it crumbled into gravel. Grumhold smirked and cracked his neck and knuckles. “Ready to face my power, Elen Galad?”
"It's not you're power I'm afraid of, ogre."
Grumhold pounded his fist.“Then I shall teach you to fear true power!"
With that Grumhold rushed in and swung a wide kick. Elen met his shin with his own forearm and ducked. He smacked Grumhold's feet away as the ogre lashed at him with a flurry of kicks. Elen caught his foot and twisted. Grumhold spun in mid-air, and Elen swung his leg at his ribs, but Grimhold caught him and pushed away. The both slid to a halt and jumped in again. They slammed each other with kicks and punches that would shatter rock. Elen ducked under Grumhold's elbow and surged up, his knee connecting with his stomach. Grumhold doubled over and Elen smashed his fist into his jaw. Grumhold went flipping back and crashed to the ground in a heap. He got to his feet and spat blood onto the ground. He growled as a tooth came loose. He ripped it out and charged at Elen again. He went low and tried to sweep Elen's feet out from under him. Elen jumped but the ogre was ready. He brough his heal up and hit Elen in the chest. Elen felt his ribcage crack and he coughed blood on Grumhold's leg. Grumhold caught Elen and swung him into the ground. Elen gasped as the air was knocked from him. He rolled away just in time as Grumhold's foot smashed the ground where his head had been. The blow left a small crater and dust flew out as Elen got to his feet. He had little time as Grumhold came in again and they blocked and parried in a blur of fists and feet. They broke again and Elen clutched his chest. Grumhold stretched his arm.
“Come on. Fight! You expect me to believe all the things I've heard about you!? Show me your true power!! I did not come today to fight a frail, pitiful man. I want the monster!”
“You do not make demands of me.” Elen snarled.
Grumhold growled. He rushed Elen and threw him to the ground again. He punched him repeatedly in the stomach and face. He grinned as Elen's bones cracked under his fist. Suddenly, Elen's hand shot up and grabbed Grumhold by the neck. He placed his knee on the ogre's belly and kicked upward. Grumhold was thrown into the air and Elen got to his feet, and as Grumhold fell, Elen brought his knee up. Grumhold's face crashed into Elen's knee and Elen grabbed his shoulders, and slammed his forehead into Grumhold's nose. He staggered back, his vision blurred, but it was too late. Elen began to hammer him with fists and feet. He kicked, punched, gouged and stomped any part of Grumhold's body he could reach. He kicked at Grumhold's knee with his heel and he went down. Elen grabbed his head and hit him in the face with his knee again. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as the crowd roared.
Dust, dirt, sweat, and blood flew as they clashed again and again. They would rush in, kicking, blocking, punching and dodging, then back off, only to rush in again. Then as they came in again, they both caught the other's fist to the jaw. The blows sent each rolling away on the ground. Grumhold pushed himself to his feet, but Elen lay in the dirt. Grumhold snorted and began to stalk toward him as the crowd chanted. Elen rolled to his side, bruised and broken. Then, he looked up.
Melaria was standing near the gate. Her hands were over her mouth and tears were falling from her eyes like bitter rain. He suddenly remembered what he was fighting for. She stood their, hoping, praying for him to prevail. He could not let her down. As Grumhold drew closer, he closed his eyes and prayed.
“God, please...forgive me for this...”
Grumhold used his foot to roll Elen onto his back. “And so ends the great Elen Galad. The last champion of an anaemic deity,” he growled.
He raised his foot and brought it down hard. Elen reached out and grabbed his heel. Grumhold tried to push his foot down, but Elen's arm was locked, and would not give. He then tried to pull his foot back, but Elen's hand clamped around it like a vice. Elen pushed upward and Grumhold did a back flip and landed hard on his feet. He watched as Elen got to his feet. His body was restored and he cracked his knuckles.
“Alright,” Elen said, “Time to get serious.”
Grumhold saw the gleam in Elen's eye. He grinned and rolled his shoulders. The challenge he was hoping for had finally come. “Bring it!” he shouted.
Elen suddenly bowed over. His body began to writhe and swell. He began to grow and his skin turned stony black. His hair turned blood red, his mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. His hands grew long, savage claws and little horns sprouted between his long, pointed ears. Melaria watched in awe and fear as the huge demon flexed and reared his head back to let out a loud roar. Grumhold smiled.
“At last, the beast called Abaddon. This is the moment I waited for.”
The crowd cheered as they charged at each other. Abaddon ducked under Grumhold's punch and ploughed into him with his head. Grumhold went airborne. Abaddon kicked and used his knee to juggle him in the air like a soccer player. He jumped and slammed him with a vicious windmill kick. Grumhold flew through the air and crashed to the ground. Abaddon was there and grabbed him by the face and drilled his head into the dirt. He lifted him by the head and dropped him. As Grumhold fell he brought his fist up and hit him with a devastating punch. The blow sent Grumhold flying back and he crashed into the wall. As he bounced off of it, Abaddon crashed into him; he wrapped his arms around Grumhold and he carried him as he ran towards the stone wall of the arena. He smashed through it with out stopping and the crowd roared and screamed as he kept going, the fight spilling into the streets. Grumhold dug his heals in and stopped the monster's momentum. He hammered Abaddon's back and lifted him over his head, slamming him into the ground so hard it cracked the stones beneath him. Abaddon grabbed Grumhold by the head and flung him into the side of a building. Grumhold jumped out of the smoke and rubble and he and Abaddon crashed through the city, smashing walls and buildings with their fists, legs and bodies. They traded blows back and forth so quickly the eye could not follow, and they hit each other so hard the shock-waves thundered and cracked the walls and the street around them. Grumhold ducked as Abaddon slashed a wall in two with his claws. As the ogre tried to retaliate, Abaddon caught his foot with his powerful jaws. Grumhold roared in pain as the demon savagely flung him back and forth, shaking him in his jaws like a piece of meat. He slammed the ogre into walls and the ground before finally flinging him into a fountain that exploded in a shower of rock and water as he hit it. Grumhold got to his feet and rushed at his opponent. They caught each other's fist, sending out a shock wave and the ground shook as they struggled, toe to toe, fist to fist. They leaned in and tried to shove the other off his feet. Abaddon began to give way, his arms bending backward. Grumhold roared as he shoved the brute to one knee. The demon's eyes glowed like burning blood as he suddenly looked up at him and gritted his teeth. Smoke rolled from his nose and mouth as he squeezed Grumhold's hands so tight the bones cracked and he pushed his way to his feet and pulled Grumhold into his knee. He laid into him with savage fury. Grumhold tried to stem the onslaught, but Abaddon was moving with the speed of the wind. Every time he punched Grumhold, his muscles would bulge with the force of the blow. His legs flashed in and out with kicks and sweeps that would level a house. Grumhold found himself caught in a hurricane of pain and misery. His great body bent and crumbled with each hit. His strength left him and he fell apart as The Destroyer pounded away, breaking bone and spirit.
A massive uppercut sent Grumhold flying back into the arena, where he hit like a meteor, smashing a big crater in the dirt. The crowd gasped as Abaddon walked back in through the hole he had made in the arena wall. Where his feet hit the ground, the stone and dirt cracked and burned beneath his feet, leaving scorched footprints. He approached Grumhold, who was crawling to his feet. He tried to straighten up, but he was exhausted and fell to his knees. He looked up at the huge, black monster, his face beaten into ugliness.
“How,” he said, “How could an animal match my power? I am a god among mortals! How can you be stronger than me!!?”
“I told you. I tried to warn you but you would not listen. You heard the growling but still you kicked the dog.” Abaddon replied, his voice deep and dark, booming across the arena like a volcano erupting. “You have been put to the scales and found wanting. As I said, it is not your power that should be feared. It is mine."
Grumhold spat. “What are you then? Some claim you are a monster of the pit, others that you are a guardian of light. Do you even know, Elen Galad? Do you look at yourself and wander?"
Abaddon roared and swung his arm. His fist smashed into Grumhold's head. The skull cracked and his head twisted completely around, snapping his neck. He fell to the ground in a crumbled, lifeless heap. The crowd was shocked into silence. Suddenly, all the slaves, the races and people that had been oppressed under Grumhold's rule, burst forth with cheers. They spilled out onto the floor of the arena, praising and cheering for their deliverance. The ogres, stunned into submission, could do nothing to stop them. Their king lay in a broken, bloody heap in the centre of his prized arena. Melaria was among them. She ran about, looking for Elen. She wanted so badly to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but he was nowhere. Se pushed her way through the rejoicing crowds but still she did not see the man who had taken on the form of God's wrath. She stopped and looked out the hole in the wall, where she thought she just barely saw a man-shaped silhouette walking away off in the distance. He had changed back, and was sauntering off, stretching the soreness out of his body. As she watched, a shining man with wings wearing silver armor approached and began to walk beside him. As they dissolved into the distance, a single tear fell from her face and she hugged herself as she watched them go.
“Thank you God. Thank you for sending us your champion.......Elen Galad.”
