The pit was a circle of death.
A twenty foot-deep sand filled arena carved into the cavern floor with walls carved smooth so no one could climb out once in. It was a place of execution and a stage where the clan's most violent impulses were given free rein. At the center of it all, under the cold light of the dawning sun filtering through a crack in the mountain's peak, stood two orcs.
The entire clan was gathered around the rim of the pit. They were a silent, hungry audience and their bloodlust presence in the air. They had come to see a slaughter and did not care who won.
They only cared that there was blood.
Ruk stood at one end of the pit as a tiny shadow to the hulking form of his opponent. He was armed with his flint knife, Grasha's obsidian dagger and a small leather wrapped shield. He was a hunter and he looked hopelessly out of place in this arena of brute force.
Bor stood at the other end of the circle. He was bare chested, his scarred leathery hide a show to a hundred brutal fights. He carried his two handed obsidian club, a weapon designed not for destruction. He was a warrior and he was home.
Grummok sat on a makeshift throne at the edge of the pit. This was his circus and these were his gladiators. He was about to be entertained.
He raised a single hand and the cavern fell silent. The only sound was the rhythmic beat of the judgment drum of death.
"Let the duel begin!" Grummok boomed in the silent cavern. He dropped his hand and the drumbeat stopped. The crowd held its breath in excitement.
Bor let out a roar and charged straight at Ruk with his massive club held high, ready to bring it down and smash Ruk's skull. It was his signature move of an overwhelming display of raw power that had won him a hundred fights.
He didn't try to block or to parry, he simply… moved at the last possible second, as the shadow of Bor's club fell over him he darted to the side, his movements a blur of speed and agility. The club came down with a vibrating crash, shattering the sand covered stone beneath it, sending a shower of sparks and dust into the air.
Ruk was already moving and used the momentum of his dodge to circle around Bor, his flint knife held low in his hand, searching for an opening.
Bor roared in frustration and swung his club again with a wide, horizontal arc designed to cleave Ruk in two. But Ruk was already gone and dropped to the ground, the club whistling harmlessly over his head and had driven his own knife into the soft part of Bor's thigh. It was a shallow cut but it was blood. First blood...
Bor howled in pain and rage, a sound that was more animal than orc. He spun around with his club of destruction, forcing Ruk to retreat back. He was a wounded beast now and a wounded beast was the most dangerous kind.
The fight fell into a brutal rhythm. Bor would charge with his club and Ruk would evade death. He would dart in land a quick, shallow cut and then retreat before Bor could bring his overwhelming power down on him.
He was bleeding the giant and dieing one drop at a time. He was turning Bor's greatest asset of strength, into his greatest weakness. The massive club was a devastating weapon, but it was also heavy and exhausting to swing. With every missed strike, Bor's movements became a little slower, his breathing a little more ragged, and his rage a little more desperate. He was becoming sloppy.
The crowd was silent as their initial bloodlust replaced by a fearful respect. They had never seen a fight like this before. They had never seen a warrior who fought not with his muscles, but with his mind. They were witnessing the birth of a new kind of power and a new kind of fear that left them in awe.
Ruk was a machine and a focused instrument of death, as he tracked Bor's movements, his breathing, his every twitch and feint was using his ANALYZE skill, the information flooding his mind in a constant stream.
[Target: Bor]
[Condition: Enraged. Stamina: Depleting rapidly. Weakness: Left-side blind spot. Frustration leading to predictable attack patterns.]
He saw the opening and the pattern in Bor's rage as it was becoming sloppy. He was relying on the same three swing combination: a vertical smash, a horizontal sweep and a desperate lunging thrust. It was a powerful combination but it was also an easily readable one and after the third swing there was a moment. This moment was a very small and brief opening but it was enough for Ruk to notice.
Ruk decided to take the bait and he waited for the combination to begin. He dodged the smash, ducked under the sweep and then, as Bor lunged forward with his massive club extended which left his body off balance, Ruk did not retreat but instead rushed inward to the opening.
He drove his shield hard into it and the unforgiving piece of leather wrapped ironwood went directly into Bor's exposed knee. There was a sickening crack of a sound that was so audible even over the roar of the crowd. Bor screamed a high-pitched, agonized sound and stumbled back, his leg buckling beneath him.
He was crippled and vulnerable but most of all he was open.
Ruk moved in for the kill and brought Grasha's obsidian dagger in his hand upward, its razor sharp edge glinting in the dawn light cracks from the rock formed ceiling and aimed for Bor's throat. But Bor even in his agony was still a warrior with his head on a swivel. He let go of his club with a desperate last act of self preservation and caught Ruk's wrist in a grip of pure steel. He had stopped the dagger with a hair's breadth from his throat...
They were locked in a desperate struggle now. The giant and the ghost with their faces inches apart and their breath mingling in the cold morning air like fog. Bor's strength was still immense and was slowly pushing the dagger away, his one good eye burning with a hateful light. He was going to win and going to crush the whelp's wrist then take the dagger and gut him like a fish.
Ruk was losing.
He could feel his bones grinding together and muscles screaming in protest of Bor's might. He couldn't match Bor's strength... He couldn't win a direct contest of power right now. He needed another way.
He needed an edge...
He remembered Grasha's gift in this flash of his life. The vial stimulant she had gave him as a last resort. The desperate final gambit that could give him more then he was.
With his free hand he scambled at his belt with his fingers closing around the small vial. He brought it to his mouth and bit down on the wax seal and swallowed the contents in a single burning gulp.
The effect was instantaneous.
A wave of pure white hot fire surged through his veins and he world exploded into a kaleidoscope of hyper saturated color and sound. His senses sharpened to a razor's edge and the pain in his wrist vanished, but was replaced by a cold and exhilarating numbness. His AGILITY and STREGNTH stats which had been hovering at a respectable 8 and 7 had now suddenly miraculously doubled.
[Crimson-Spur Stimulant consumed. Agility +8. Strength +7. Duration: 60 seconds. Warning: Severe stamina drain imminent]
He had sixty seconds to win the fight or he would die.
He let out a roar of a sound that was not of a whelp but of a predator and pushed back against the flurry of Bor's stregnth. Bor's eyes widened in shock as the whelp who had been on the verge of collapse was now matching him in strength for strength.
Ruk used the momentary surprise to his advantage as he twisted his wrist with the dagger in a blur of motion and sliced open Bor's hand, severing the tendons. Bor screamed and his grip loosened on the dagger setting it free.
Ruk didn't go for the throat for that would have been too obvious. He remembered Nym's words that "He is vulnerable on his left side" The blind spot.
He ducked under Bor's swinging arm and drove the obsidian dagger into the blinded area with all his newfound strength just under the ribcage with a slight right angle into the soft and unprotected organs beneath.
Bor's scream was cut short and now replaced by a wet gurgling gasp for life. He stared down at the hilt of the dagger that was protruding from his side and his single eye wide with a look of pure shock.
He had been beaten.
He had been out smarted, out maneuvered and in the end out fought. The whelp had killed him.
He stumbled back with his hand clutching at the wound, a thick flow of blood pouring between his fingers. He looked at Ruk with his expression no longer one of hate but of a strange, grudging respect. He had been defeated and in the brutal calculus of their world that was all that mattered.
He fell to his knees as his massive frame swayed back and forth, his blood staining the sand with a deep dark crimson. He tried to open his his mouth to speak, but only a bloody froth emerged. He then pitched forward with his face hitting the sand with a dull and final thud.
The giant was dead...
A profound silence fell over the cavern and he clan, the Alpha and the very mountain itself, seemed to hold its breath in this moment. The duel was over and the War General was dead. But now a new and utterly unpredictable power stood at the center of their world.
Ruk stood over Bor's body with his chest heaving and body trembling with the aftershocks of the stimulant vial. The world was beginning to swim in his vision with the colors fading and sounds becoming muffled. The sixty seconds were almost up and he found himself on the verge of collapse.
But he was not done.
There was one more thing he had to do of a final, brutal and necessary act to solidify his victory to claim his prize and now become the thing he had been fighting to be.
He knelt down and placed his hand on Bor's cooling corpse and then whispered the single and most important word in his new vocabulary. "DEVOUR"
A wave of pure raw and unimaginably potent energy surged into him like a flood of power. He was consuming the essence of a warrior and felt his bones crack and reform as his muscles swelled and hardened, his very being expanding to accommodate the massive influx of power drawn from Bor.
[Level Up! Level 5 reached!]
[Level Up! Level 6 reached!]
[Level Up! Level 7 reached!]
[Strength: 15]
[Vitality: 12]
[Agility: 11]
[Will: 10]
[Corruption: 5]
[Desire: 15]
[New Skill Unlocked: Battle Roar (Tier 1) - A terrifying roar that can intimidate and demoralize weaker enemies.]
[New Skill Unlocked: Unyielding Will (Tier 1) - Passively resist mental and emotional manipulation.]
He had not just won and ascended then consumed his rival and had taken his strength for his own. He had become the new master of the pit.
He slowly rose to his feet while in pain from the battle. He was no longer the small whelp, but was taller, broader, his muscles beefed up and dense but was still lean like a hunter. Now there was a new undeniable power in his frame and a dangerous light in his eyes.
He looked up at the crowd of silent awe struck faces. He looked at Grummok whose lazy amusement had been replaced by a look of genuine interest in him. He had not just killed a warrior but had created a new one.
Ruk raised his blood soaked dagger to the sky like a symbol of his victory with a declaration of his new station in the clan. He let out a roar that was not enraged like a brute named Bor. It was the cold and terrifying roar of a predator or a conqueror.
It was the sound of a new era and a red dawn. The tribe in that moment knew that their world had changed forever. The age of the brute was dead and now the age of the mind and of the shadow had just begun