The subterranean combat arena was in shambles. Sweat filled the air, the stench of previous battles' blood, and the cacophony of drunken, starving masses roared loudly within the stone arena. Before the flickering shadows of the torches' light, two men faced each other from opposing ends of the pit.
One of these was a giant of a man, approaching seven feet high, his body bristling with raw muscular strength. His countenance bore scars like those awarded for conquest, and just looking at him could send even newcomers into cringing terror. The Mad Giant was his tittle given to him by the people, and indeed, he had earned it in his long line of victories as a ring hand. His twin-headed battle axe, heavy as death itself with the malevolent spirit of itself, rested over his shoulder, the blade as dry as cracked leather with blood.
