The Marshal's Road: The Last of the Strongmen - 2.

This lingering vision distracted him a little as it crossed his mind, the weapon of the black man he was currently fighting catching him broad against his loosely gripped shield; the thunder of metal clanging jolting him back to attention. The crowd screamed in disappointment, cursing at the darker man as he advanced on the distracted Serg, shield still hanging low and heavy. He grunted, swinging his heavy sword in defense; the wild, powerful swings forcing his assailant back as he regrouped, damning his distracted mind. They parried a bit now, his predator eyes watching the man's erratic style; his thin, short blade swinging wildly as he defended against the knight's heavy swings. 

His refocus drew the spectators in, slowly chanting his name as they stomped on the dusty ground. It fueled him on, their voices growing with every swing. He threw up a haymaker, heavy blade cutting the air as it drew up violently, catching the dark man's blade with a hard clang. It jumped from his hand, the blade falling with a thud next to them. The man cursed as he dove to retrieve it, Serg's blade cutting him off as it swung down hard at the dirt. He moved over closer to the sword, kicking the blade out of the space. The dark man reeled away from Serg, getting to his feet as he got safely away from his strikes. He stood up, hands balled tightly as he kept himself at bay, contemplating his next move. 

"We go knuckles now, boy?" Serg yelled, more for effect that desire, knowing above all a good show was all that mattered. He disengaged from the man, taking a step back before he drove his sword hard into the ground. He then quickly undid his armor, letting the heavy steel drop to the ground around him with a clang. The dark man, seeing this, did the same; the two standing before each other before long wearing nothing but their thick burlap slacks. 

And the crowd ate it up, howling Serg's name as they demanded blood. 

He smiled, watching the dark man circle him... Picking his shot. He made his move finally, lunging hard at Serg's legs in a desperate effort to get the mountain of a man off his feet. Serg stiffened, the man's arms wrapping in futilely around Serg's thick, muscular leg. He laughed as his drove his massive fist hard against his side, the gripping man whimpering a bit as his heavy hand came in with a thud. He did it again and again, heavy hands punishing his struggling victim until he loosened his grip. He then picked up the man like a doll, picking him up over his head before driving him down hard onto his bent and ready knee; his back cracking as the man went limp in Serg's powerful grip. 

Serg rolled him indifferently off his leg, two other men coming next to the broken plaything before Serg; the crowd loosing their mind at the spectacle as Serg raised his arms victoriously. 

"Your winner, ladies and gents, and still the most deadly man in all the Marshal's realm, Sir Sergen of Blackwall!!!" screamed Aaron before going to check on the dark man, laying motionless as all hell broke around him. Quickly he and two others moved him from the impromptu battleground, dragging him off to a covered wagon before the celebration turned grotesque; the crowd eager to cut themselves off a memento of the event. 


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