Slave Unbound Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Blood, Grit, and Sand

**Characters and text are protected under copyright law

Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

The first of the oncoming gladiators to reach her was the Armipotent fighter, a slender man armed in lighter-weight armor and carrying a pair of short-blades. While he was very obviously headed directly for her, she realized the Pryde warrior, a few steps behind him, was not. His path took him towards Kalder and Lamaran, leaping into the fight with the both of them, though seeming not to be aiding either of them.

Before he reached her, the Armipotent man pulled up short, his eyes taking in the collection of writhing and bleeding bodies surrounding Leita, and took notice that she was now not currently engaged with anyone else. He gave a little laugh and a nod of respect to her, before looking past her toward the oncoming Casartes, Semadar, and the Ravenblade fighter. Reconsidering his target, he decided to turn around and unexpectedly engage Heimsenal instead, landing several surprise hits on the aegeian and halting his advance towards her.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Leita turned to face Venge's three veteran gladiators coming up to her. Casartes sneered at her, settling into a combat stance, but the other two fighters quickly turned to face the oncoming pair from House Warforger, who apparently had been chasing them, not coming for her. As they met and halted Solivier's warriors, Casartes stalked forward, his broadsword already dripping with blood.

"Accept your death and I'll make it quick." He said to her, his powerfully muscled body flexing beneath his finely made platemail suit. She noted that it was as drenched in blood as his sword, but appeared mostly unbreached, suggesting that little to none of the blood was his own. She could see his eyes beneath his helmet regarding the tattered remains of what had once been her armor. The sneer on his lips grew broader.

"I'd rather send you to the spirit world where Myrinus is waiting for his rematch." Leita replied to him, adjusting her grip on the large battleaxe in her hands. It would not be her first, or even third, choice of weapon for this fight, but she intended to make as good of use of it as she could. She could see that he noted her awkwardness with the oversized weapon.

"Time to die, little girl." Casartes said coldly, seeming completely confident that, between her lack of proper armor and poorly suited weapon, she held little chance of matching him.

He surged forward, sword moving with such grace and skill that it was almost like a dance. Leita managed to narrowly evade the slash, making one of her own with the axe, but Casartes' shield effortlessly turned it away. He turned the blade and came in for a stab with it, but instantly changed motion when she went to dodge it, turning it again into a powerful sweep that she only barely managed to get the axe up in time to block. The strength he put behind it nearly dislodged the heavy weapon from her hands.

As strong as she was, the massive axe was unwieldy for her, too large for her and overly top heavy. It gave her fresh respect for how strong the Greyaxe fighter must have been to not only use it as effectively as he did, but with such speed and accuracy. It had likely been made specifically for him, but being almost a full foot and a half shorter than he'd been and likely a tenth as strong, the weapon was simply more liability to her than asset.

Before she could even recover her block, Casartes was attacking again, the sweep flowing perfectly into a downward chop that rotated unexpectedly into a thrust to counter her reaction to the original move. Though she managed to mitigate the hit to only a minor one, he still drew blood, cutting through her armor. His skill was impeccable, able to adapt quickly to her defensive moves, allowing him to stay on the offense. His blade danced around her like a living thing, staying in perfect lock-step with her. Apparently, his arrogance was well deserved. He was considered one of the best fighters of the arena for good reason.

Pressing in, he forced her back, edging her away from the other combatants, likely to ensure that Kalder couldn't suddenly come to her rescue. Considering that he seemed to also be meaningfully moving her away from them as well, her gut told her that Solivier's fighters were more her ally than her enemy, for the moment, at least. Casartes' two partners were clearly acting as a barrier to them getting up to the fight and she could tell that their focus was unquestionably more towards Venge's man than her. She decided it was possible that House Warforger wasn't interested in Venge's prize for her head. However, if the House Victorious champion thought she needed any of them to fight her battle for her, she intended to prove him wrong.

While she'd managed to absorb a decent amount of what stood for a fighting style that the Greyaxe warrior employed the large battleaxe with, the fact that she lacked his utter might and towering stature, meant that it was meaningless. She abandoned any ideas of trying to mimic the man's methods with the weapon and tried to consider what would be her better course. Her only other weapon was the dagger on her arm, but the blade had been cut in half in its sheath, making it little use to her. However, she realized that Casartes was driving her towards where Heimsenal and the Armipotent gladiator were engaged and came to an idea.

At her foe's next heavy slash, she threw herself back several steps and slung the battleaxe spinning end over end towards him. The unexpected throw forced him to adapt, his advance pausing as he braced to bat it away with his shield. However, Leita made use of that brief pause in his onslaught to break and run headlong towards the Armipotent man.

He was aware enough to not to be entirely caught flat-footed by her charge, shifting in place to try and react to whatever attack she was bringing. However, Heimsenal and the sharp falchion he welded demanded a good bit of his attention and defense. In his attempt to track her and evade the aegeian, he was caught completely flat-footed when she dropped into a slide a handful of steps from him. She bowled right into his legs, a fist snapping up to punch him in his solar plexus as she sent him flying over her to crash down into the sand. To his credit, he was agile and hearty enough to kip back up to his feet immediately, though with a wince of pain, ready to move. However, the punch to midsection had caused him to drop both of his short swords reflexively.

Leita scooped them up as she rolled to her feet as well, turning on her heel as she instinctively raised both weapons to fend away the oncoming strike from Heimsenal's sword that had been meant for the Armipotent fighter. She instantly threw herself forward again, tumbling right past the oncoming Casartes. She didn't attempt to make an attack as she went past him, but stopped in a crouch just behind his stride and kicked back into his armored knee. While the steel took much of the real sting from the kick, the force of it squarely into the joint buckled his leg and sent him face first into the ground.

Before he even hit the turf, she was back upright again, snapping the other foot outwards and into the face of the Armipotent fighter, breaking his nose. He went down like a sack of meat. She wheeled about to face Heimsenal, who preceded to make a fresh strike, this one meant for her. She pivoted and side-stepped as she blocked to bring her closer to the rising Casartes and struck out with one of the short swords, a firm thrust that the man couldn't ignore.

Knocking the attack away with his sword awkwardly, he struggled to get back to his feet again, determined not to be caught in a compromised position. It forced him to stagger away to get his footing back, allowing Leita a chance to fend away another swing by the aegeian gladiator. Immediately, however, she disengaged from Heimsenal again and moved to continue to press Casartes. His heavier armor made him just slow enough that he couldn't regain his feet fast enough to be fully on balance as she came at him with a rush of attacks from her swords.

These lighter blades were far more her to her style, her speed and agility of better use with weapons she could control with ease. She unleashed a barrage of swings, thrusts, and buffets with the two short swords, putting Casartes fully into defense. However, it took him only moments to get himself replanted and balanced, using his shield and armored plates to utterly negate all of her attempts to do more than flail uselessly at him.

More immediately, however, he was able to hold his ground, keeping her in place long enough for Heimsenal to move up behind her for an attack. She heard the aegeian cry out "Athwung!" as he came up behind her, an honorable warning of his people, alerting a foe to prepare for attack. She started to shift to keep from being pinned between them, but Casartes quickly countered her attempt, shifting suddenly back to offense and measuring his attacks to keep her locked in place. She could just see the shadow of a smile appear beneath his helmet as Heimsenal's large falchion began to swing.

Before it could move more than a few inches, however, another large sword seemed to materialize from nowhere to block it, forcing it up and away. The larger, House Warforger gladiator, devoid of a helmet now, had apparently broken through the line and reached her. As she'd suspected, he and his partner had been coming to help her. The swordsman inserted himself between the aegeian and her, forcing Heimsenal to focus on him.

That allowed Leita to put her full attention back on Casartes, willing herself to match his skill and cunning. Once more, she shifted to all out offense, forcing him have to retreat away from her fury of attacks. As she pushed him back, she could feel the strain of having kept herself in a state of overdrive creeping into her arms and legs, a dark ache settling into them from staying in constant motion since the beginning of the event and repeatedly pushing herself past her limits.

Her whole body was soaked with sweat, half of it bruised, gashed, or abraded from countless hits and grazes from her foes. Still, she didn't dare relent or slow. Especially now, with only the most dangerous and determined of her enemies left. It was either leave everything out on the sand or never return off it again.

She divorced herself from any and all pain she felt. She ignored any signs that she might be forcing her body too far, too hard. If she died today, it would be because she exerted so much that she flew apart. Before that happened, however, she would let all these people, both here on the sands and high up in the stands watching her, know that she was not anyone's easy prize.

Shutting out all thoughts but those of the fight, she let her full instincts take control. Casartes went from slowly edging back from her hurricane of violence to moving swiftly from her, nearly in retreat from the insane whirlwind of death she became. Any attempts to break her stride and rhythm with a sudden attack was foiled instantly, her swords never losing momentum. Her swords hammered at his shield and armor, which he put his full efforts to intervening her attacks. Every strike she managed to land failed to find a weak point, only ever meeting the barrier of his armor and shield. While he might not be able to keep up with her fury enough to counterattack, his focus was sufficient to keep protecting his vital points, holding her off until she ran out of endurance.

And she was quickly reaching that place, her breathing already growing ragged and hard. The edges of her vision were starting to dim from fatigue and hyperventilation. Within another minute or two, she would have nothing left and would just stop. In that moment, he would have her.

So, she pushed herself even further, even harder, burning through what little she had left in moments. A roar of absolute savage rage ripped from her as her weapons pelted in with so much sheer ferocity that the champion gladiator couldn't move his sword and shield fast enough to block or parry and began to recoil away from her in uncertainty and fear. For all his ability to hold her at bay, he was becoming rattled by this beast of a girl, his resolve dissolving.

One of her swords rent open a piece of his armor, the other flew into the rift to shallowly bite the body beneath. Another chink in his armor burst open, another wound filled the hole. She sheered away one of the plates on his arm. Split open a plate on his thigh.

Now he was in full panicking retreat, abandoning attempts to deflect her hits or defend, now simply seeking to escape. As he moved away from her, she paused in her motion, chest heaving hard, stinging from the effort just to take in enough breath. She'd driven him well away from the other fighters, away from his allies, but also her own. Now with several yards between them, the utter exhaustion of her frenzied pace of assault suddenly caught up to her, causing her to sway and stumble a step.

She almost lost her grip on the swords and her ability to stay standing upright. Her head swam out of control, eyes fluttering as she teetered on the edge of consciousness, her awareness of the pain in her limbs and a searing fire in her heaving lungs, flooded into her. For precious moments, it was all she could do not to be overwhelmed by it all. If she collapsed, even if just for a second, he'd not hesitate to rush back in and kill her.

As it was, only the bubble of fear she'd grown inside him kept him from coming back forward to take advantage of her falter. His expression was confused and startled, glancing with shock at the ruined pieces of his armor and the blood rushing out from the holes in them. His hesitation wouldn't last long, less than moments, she was sure. He would quickly realize she had truly pushed herself too much and was finally completely vulnerable. If she dropped, he'd waste no time in advancing to kill her.

She made herself take a step forward. And promptly collapsed.

Only the thinnest thread of her senses tracked him coming immediately forward to take his shot, doing just as she'd known he would once it was evident that she had nothing left. He knew he had her, that she was his for the killing. He released his shield as he came, slinging it aside and taking his sword in both hands to make sure his stroke powered clean through her, hewing through her body like the branch of a tree.

Exactly as she'd hoped.

It didn't matter that she had nothing left or that she was only barely aware of anything around her anymore. It didn't even matter that she had no breath left in her body or that her arms and legs seemed to weigh like lead. As his sword came at her, she launched herself back upwards, twisting through the air and flying away from his attack and moving past him. Only pure instinct guided her, moved her spent body. Her mind was too far away to think beyond primal reaction.

She lashed out with both swords as they passed one another, one blade breaching the battered cuirass he wore and the other burying itself deep into what lay within. It went deep, piercing past his ribs. As the blade withdrew from the wound, she heard a wet whistling sound come from the injury. Casartes was the one who crashed to the sand now, both he and the lung in his chest collapsing.

For a moment, she stood over him, struggling with her own need for breath. Any threat he may have ever posed her was over now, clutching the puncture in his chest and fighting to take air in long enough for a healer to tend him. Her vision finally beginning to clear, the throbbing weight of her arms subsiding, she raised her weapons up to make a finishing blow on the helpless man.

However, looking down at him, unable to defend himself, she thought of Myrunis, himself down and helpless with Casartes the one standing over him and deciding his fate. In that moment, she hesitated, something making her need to look away from the downed gladiator in disgust.

She looked back towards where she'd left Heimsenal and the Warforger combatant, making sure that in her narrow focus she hadn't failed to see a new threat approaching. She found only Solivier's man still standing, but noticed the aegeian was still moving where he lay, appearing to be in pain, but still alive. She regretted that he would not get his honorable fight with her, but a part of her was also glad to not have to be in a position where she might be forced to end his life.

The fight appeared to have only just finished, the Warforger fighter looking around to find her on the battlefield. For a moment, his gaze fell on her and lingered, recognizing that she'd prevailed. He gave her a slight nod before swiftly moving away and back to where his partner was fighting off the rest of Venge's appointed killers. As he moved to return to that fight, Leita turned her attention to her own partner and those he was engaged with.

He still faced Lamaran, if that was who he actually was, but House Pryde's warrior had been downed and crawled away in defeat. However, the oruhk warrior that she'd seen fighting with Trippart earlier was now fighting the two of them. She glanced around to see if she could see the Dvartan's fallen form, but found him instead kneeling beside one the Whitebanner fighters, seeming to be making sure that she was okay.

The sight of the act of compassion made her pause as nothing else had since the beginning of this battle. All of a sudden, she felt a strange sense of guilt rush through her. She'd been fighting like a wild animal, giving no quarter or mercy to anyone who'd faced her. A part of her had rationalized the need for that ruthlessness, excusing it based on the knowledge that most of the fighters here were out to kill her.

However, now, a part of her questioned whether that was good enough an excuse to strip away her humanity and compassion. How many had done so simply because they'd been commanded to by their owners? Had she too not stepped on these sands to take lives because she'd been told to kill? She'd slain Trinka while she'd been on her knees, simply because she was told that the fight must end with one of them dead or she would face punishment.

How many of these men and women had simply been told that they were expected to kill her or face punishment? How many, like Heimsenal, were simply motivated by obedience and honor? In that moment, she felt something within her shift. And then shift further as this revelation collapsed into a greater epiphany of her whole world.

She looked to where Casartes lay, his breath raged from the effort trying to breath, his lips turning blue from lack of enough air. The pain and terror on his face was as evident and unmistakable as the wet whistling in chest that would soon kill him. Silently, she made a decision.

As she regarded him, she could see a look of panic in his eyes, expecting her to finish her work at any moment. Lowering her weapons, she transferred both of them to a single hand. "I won't be you. I don't know if they will open it to bring you in for your House healer to save you, but I am going to drag you to the gate. You don't deserve mercy, but then... maybe neither do I."

She couldn't tell if the look of confusion on his face was because he was too far gone to fully understand her or if he simply couldn't comprehend her sparing him. What he did seem to understand was that he had a chance to live and when she took his arm to begin dragging him, he gripped her wrist with as much strength as he could muster, paddling his legs in an attempt to help her move him.

It took only a minute to get him to the gate, guards watching her passively. As she released him, she looked at them and shouted. "I would wager that House Victorious would be willing to reward anyone who made sure its champion didn't die today." She could see the guards glancing at one another, considering that point.

With that, she looked to Casartes, the mystified look in his eyes still there, but now also mingled with gratitude and remorse. "Don't ask why. I'm still not sure I shouldn't just kill you. Just focus on each next breath and be thankful for it. May the gods give you the mercy that you and your owner lacks."

With that, she raced back towards Kalder to join the fight, hearing the sound of someone raising the iron gate behind her enough to drag Venge's champion through it and to a healer. A part of her wondered if this made her a fool, but a greater part of her knew that it was her mercy that made her stronger, made her more than just some butcher for the entertainment of the masses. Sparing Casartes, regardless of whether he deserved it or not, was her freedom to choose. Possibly one of the only true freedoms she'd ever known in her life.

And that freedom was a seed, fertile and vital, growing in her heart. The moment she stopped tending it, it would wither and she would become just like Casartes. Like so many heartless fighters here that sold their souls and wills to a meat grinder that was simply waiting to take them next. Trippart was a reminder that it was possible to keep one's soul intact here, so long as you didn't lose your compassion.

For the first time in her whole life, Leita realized that she wanted to be more than just a possession of someone else. More than just a game piece to be played or sacrificed at a whim. More than just a monster of the sands. She was... the aiest'ja. And it was time to start breaking her chains.

By the time she reached the fight between Lamaran, Kalder, and the oruhk, all the fatigue and ache in her body had fled again, replaced with a new determination. She leapt into the fray of action, weapons moving fast. She carved a deep line into one of the oruhk's arms, before slashing across to catch Lamaran off-guard and clip the blade across his armor. As she pivoted in place, she stabbed her other blade into the oruhk's knee, bringing the first sword back at Lamaran, forcing him to parry.

This gave Kalder the opening to bring in his warpick and bury it deep and hard in Lamaran's shoulder. The House Bloodwalker gladiator screamed in pain at the brutal hit, staggering back. Kalder ripped the pick free and brought the hammer side of it around to crack it across the side of the man's helmet, whipping his head to the side, his body following behind it to fall to the earth.

Leita put her full attention to the oruhk, who looked as though he'd already weathered plenty other injuries from previous fights. Unsteady and tired, he dropped his weapon stumbling back in surrender. At first, it surprised Leita to see, expecting the beastman fighter to still have something left. However, she realized it wasn't really her or Kalder that his gaze was focused on.

As the oruhk retreated away, she turned to see the two Warforger fighters stepping towards her. Casartes' allies were both down, one of them slowly crawling towards the gates with one hand while trying to stem a gush of blood from his gut with the other. Neither of Solivier's men looked as though they'd taken more than minor scraps from them or any other opponents they'd fought up to now, but wore the blood and gore of more than a few fallen opponents.

She considered the fact that the announcer had stated that House Warforger, likely these two men, had won this event the last three years. She was even pretty sure she knew both of their names, as both their likenesses were blazoned on many a banner and poster of the arena.

"Luthor and Dalgo, right?" She said to them, as they advanced.

"I prefer 'Dalgo and Luthor'." The dark-haired man carrying the greatsword, Dalgo, said with a wry grin.

His partner, Luthor, clad in heavier armor, still helmeted, and sporting a rather impressive shield and broadsword, ignored the comment. "You're good. Better than I was expecting."

"I assume you still think you can kill me." Leita replied, spinning the short swords in her hands, preparing for this new challenge.

"We're not here to kill you, just beat you." Dalgo replied, his gaze sizing up Kalder more than her. "Lord Solivier isn't motivated by Venge's money. However, he still expects us to win today." Leita had already surmised that, but it was a relief to hear it confirmed.

"Then how about we see if we can't disappoint him." Kalder said, readying his pick and obviously setting his focus on the beefy gladiator.

"We've danced this dance before, rocky." Dalgo returned with a chuckle. "I don't expect the outcome to be much different."

"We'll see." Was all Kalder said before he surged forward, bringing the pick around with a vicious attack.

As Dalgo quickly parried away the blow, countering with a sweep of his own large weapon, Leita put her full attention on Luthor. "You really think I'm better than you expected?" She asked as she began to circle him, both of them moving away from their partners' fight.

"I was already expecting you to be capable, but I assumed you would need more help from us than you did." Luthor admitted. "It would seem Donovan isn't wrong about his estimations of you."

"And just what are those estimations?" She asked, watching his motions carefully.

His answer was with his steel, stepping forward so fast that Leita only narrowly managed to see the attack coming, despite having been carefully watching for it. His sword flashed out with more speed and precision than she'd even seen anyone other than Colja have. The economy of his motion was so perfect that he was making his next move almost before she'd countered the previous one. Even with both her swords working as quickly as she could move them, his attacks with just the one weapon were coming almost faster than she could keep up with.

And he seemed to not even be putting real effort behind his offense yet. He wasn't trying to connect, just testing her skill, learning how she defended. Given his statement about recognizing her skill, he had clearly been watching her throughout the melee, studying her the way she studied her own opponents. Even now, he was learning, preparing for the real fight.

She, however, had not been able to spare the attention to study him until this moment. He was an alien threat, even now masking his real skills as he forced her to reveal hers. Not only was he not underestimating her the way most others did, he understood that her greatest weapon was absorbing the techniques and style of her foe, turning it against them. He was more than skilled enough to handle her without even employing his real talents.

Despite this, she had fought Casartes and she realized that he had studied Luthor's techniques, learned them himself, though likely not as well as the champion of House Warforger employed them. She could see the evidence written all across Luthor. Or more, specifically, across his heavily scored suit of armor.

Casartes had used the plates of his armor like a dozen miniature shields, shifting his body as attacks came in to deflect blows and make the already well-made protection far more effective. Most fighters made limited use of armored parts of their body as part of their defense, but were loath to lean too heavily upon it as a real defense. Casartes had employed a technique of turning and moving his body to let the plates deflect and redirect blows, not just absorb their impact.

It had actually been how she'd defeated him. She'd forced him to repeatedly use the technique, noticing that he employed it with only a limited number of specific movements, interposing the same plates for certain areas. Inspired by how she'd used a similar tactic to get her opponents to remove the excess armor weighing her down and holding her back, she'd focused her strikes to certain places that he had to continually utilize to fend her hits. It had weakened those plates and areas enough for her to start piercing them with her swords, bursting them open and finally drawing blood.

Luthor's armor, however, had buffs and dings everywhere, evenly distributed and far better measured. He would be clever enough to make sure that she didn't continually batter the same locations, would likely even recognize the tactic fast enough to use it to his own benefit. Not to mention, she didn't think she had enough energy left to burn through just to perform such an insane plan.

Regardless, it was, at least, information about how her current opponent fought. It told her more than he was wanting her to learn of him. And it might be something she could make use of, with the right strategy. She just needed to find that strategy before he beat her.

A part of her, however, considered simply ceding to him. Unlike the rest, he was not here to take her life, just win the event. If she surrendered to him, he intended show her mercy and let her walk away. As tired and battered as she was, it would be far easier to accept that she might not have enough left inside her to win. Kalder showed obvious signs of having suffered dozens of wounds himself, his rock-like hide coated in places with his own blood. He was just as tired, just worn out from trying to survive the day.

All she had to do was give. Throw down her weapons as the oruhk had and walk away. That these two had won the last three years would make it easier to swallow that pride. Knowing that their odds of beating them was low anyway. In the end, she didn't even care if she won the Grand Melee anymore, she simply wanted to prove she was nobody's victim.

Taking a deep breath in, she looked around at all the evidence of blood and writhing bodied that already proved she was not some easy kill, but a real warrior. She looked back at Luthor and saw the placidity of his expression, as calm as still water. She made her decision.

On Luthor's next attack, she flew into action, reaching down to summon forth the last of what she had in her, once more pushing her body and will past all limits. Blocking the weapon with a cross and using it to guide it to one side, she rotated in place, stepping into the armored warrior as she pivoted and brought one elbow back towards him. His shield was immediately there to stop it, his feet stepping back to regain space between him and her.

Instead of just driving her elbow into the shield, she shifted its motion, flattening the arm across the face of the shield and grabbing the top of it in her empty hand. She'd released that sword as she'd diverted his, leaving her the ability to get a hold of the impressive-looking object that she'd noticed was firmly strapped to his forearm. Sliding her leg back further, she pulled the shield forward, putting her hip into his pelvis.

With her shorter height, she was a much lower center of gravity to him. As she felt his weight tip forward onto her back, she rolled her body forward, taking him with her. They both crashed hard into the sand, her half on top of him. Instantly, she was springing off him, tumbling away as he scrambled to get to his own feet. He was half-way there when she tackled right into the center of his chest, once again throwing him to the sand.

This time, the difference between their ability to get back up again was enough for her to snatch up a fallen shield from nearby, abandoned by one of the many opponents who'd crawled away. Bracing behind it, she once more rushed him, shield leading the way. He put his own shield up, bracing himself just in take to meet the charge and keep from being once more thrown to the ground. However, she tilted her course just as they collided, letting his block help guide her around to the side of him, her remaining sword slashing at him as she went by.

As she'd expected, he moved himself in a way to put one of the plates on his body in line to deflect the hit, but it cost him the ability to counter her attack with one of his own. Three steps past him, she planted her feet and launched back towards him again, forcing him to pivot in response and once again place the shield and brace against her shield charge.

Again, she lashed out with the sword, Luthor once more putting a protected part of his body in the way of it finding a place where it could do damage. However, the weapon veered at the last second, never even trying to make contact. Instead, she thrust past him with her arm and stepped her leading leg behind his. In the next instant, he was hitting the sand again, bouncing immediately back up before she could turn and bring any sort of attack at him.

Again, she thundered at him, forcing him to brace against her a third time with his shield, this time taking extra care to keep her from returning back to the sand again. To his surprise, she kicked her feet forward at the last instant and, as she'd done with the Armipotent fighter, slide right into his legs, causing him to fall over her and, once again, crash to the ground.

As he launched back upwards again, she heard him make a sound of irritation and anger. She wasn't hurting him, but the repeated spills were making him annoyed, breaking his focus. And that was the whole point. Upsetting him enough to shatter that calm mind that was his real weapon.

Before he was even fully back to his feet, he was already positioning himself to receive the next, seemingly inevitable, desperate charge from her. Only, this time, she didn't charge. Instead, she slung away the shield and sword and kicked the handle of the Greyaxe warrior's battleaxe laying behind her, which she'd carefully moved herself over to, up into her hands and swung it over her body into a tremendous overhead chop.

Luthor switched his stance and shield position into a blink, lowering one knee a little to take the weight of the weapon's impact. Just as the axe made contact, she released her grip on it, roll-stepped to the her left and performed a spinning kick to the side of the armored warrior, sending him once more tumbling to the ground.

He rolled upwards again instantly, uttering a guttural sound of annoyance. However, this time it wasn't due to the indignation of being once again knocked off his feet, but because, this time, she'd hurt him. With his sharp and steady focus broken, she'd managed to land the kick into a weak point of his armored suit, placing it so that it met only mail that yielded easily to the blunt force of her foot. She'd likely bruised a rib on him, at most, but the twinge of his body as he lurched upright again showed that it had deeply stung him.

In addition, the effort of leaping back up, over and over, wearing all that steel and heavy armor was taking its toll. Like her, he'd been in constant motion since the start of the fight. While he might have fared better than her as far as injuries, he had expended just as much energy in the course of the entire Grand Melee as she had. The extra effort of having to move his body up from a prone position, with so much extra weight, had his breath now becoming labored and heavy.

With most her own armor gone now, Leita was able to rise back up without much difficulty. In fact, her body was hitting a second wind of energy that now had her moving faster than him, coming at him with relentless fury. Scooping up a discarded mace, she came at him with a barrage of attacks, putting him on his heels and reeling backwards away from her. Struggling to regain both his physical and emotional balance, he floundered as he fought to keep up a defense against her.

Just as he was reaching a point of finally getting his equilibrium back, Leita heard Kalder cry out in pain behind her. In the next instant, he shouted. "Leita!! Dalgo!"

Throwing her full weight forward into her next swing, she slammed the mace, two-fisted, into Luthor's shield harder than she'd ever hit anything in her whole life. The impact sent him stumbling backwards several steps, giving her less than two seconds of space. In that space, she spun around to see the large warrior rushing towards her, his thick dark hair wild, greatsword raised over his head.

Throwing the mace into her left hand, she drew the damaged dagger from the sheath strapped to her left forearm. She had only a single heartbeat to aim.

The knife flew backwards through the air, the pummel of it striking Dalgo square between his eyes with enough force to stir his brain into oatmeal. His eye crossed and he stumbled in his headlong run before taking a painful header, face first, into the ground, only barely conscious.

However, she never saw him land, trusting her aim and throw enough to spin around to meet the oncoming charge of Luthor, coming in at her with a thrust of his sword. His attack was fueled by the need to end this, possibly an ounce of concern for his partner, and all the agitation she'd built up in him over the last several minutes. The usually perfect fighter's attack was so sloppy that Leita sidestepped it with such ease that it was as if the world slowed to a crawl.

As he stepped past her, she brought the mace around into the back of his helmet, hitting it hard enough to whip his head forward and scramble his wits as thoroughly as she'd done to Dalgo. He went down one last time to the sand, this time not rising again. She could see Dalgo struggling to rise up, his eyes still crossed, as if staring at the runnel of blood streaming down the bridge of his nose. She moved up to him and kicked him in the face and into unconsciousness.

Moving towards Kalder to check on him, she suddenly pulled up short as someone stepped into her path. "Guess it's me and you now." Trippart said to her with a sigh.

Leita could feel the last flutters of her second wind dying away, her limbs once again feeling like so much heavy and useless meat. Breathing out a long breath, she asked him the only question she really need an answer to. "Are you still more worried about winning the Melee than killing me?"

A sly grin crossed his face and he gave a little shrug. "Well, as I understand it, the deal is that I needed to kill you DURING the Grand Melee. However, the moment one of the two of us 'wins', the event ends. So, there'd no longer be a point in killing you." He cocked an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Leita released a long breath and smiled before making a show of dropping the mace to the ground. "Then I cede. Congratulation on your win." She said breathlessly. "I have nothing left." He gave her a sagely nod of respect.

"Thank the gods." He said with a smirk. "I wasn't sure I could beat you." He gave a meaningful glance around at all the fallen people who had thought they could. As Trippart strode past her, raising his weapon in triumph to the explosive roar of the audience above them, she went to go check on Kalder. She'd won her battle today. Trippart could have the war and the glory.