The light at the end of a dark tunnel was waiting. In a place like this, that expression was more than mere words. It was a promise, a promise of blood and death, and it was eagerly awaited. The beat-like stomps of the crowd rumbled through the dull walls, causing the stone to tremble and fine grains to trickle out of the cracks. The shouts and clapping of the crowd blended into a greedy symphony that was a foretaste of praise. An honor that would shower the victor on this world and bid the loser farewell. “Death, death, death, death, death!”

  These shouts were all too familiar to Blood Tusk as the troll kept his gaze fixed on the barred gate at the end of the tunnel. How many times had he heard this call from the crowd? He didn’t even know himself, but he didn’t care. Even if numbers or letters had been his friends, it would have made no sense for him to memorize them. In the end, the 3 meter tall, steeled giant of an arena fighter knew that only victory made sense, because victory meant life and the knowledge of being the strongest.

  Outside the tunnel, raised above the tiers of stone benches and the roaring crowd, Nukzos announced the spectacle to come. “We’re finally getting to the main fight!” he promised the crowd in his raspy, squeaky voice. For a puck like him, this pitch was normal, as his species was barely bigger than a toddler. He had typically pointed, high-pitched ears, leathery green skin and a sharp mind that craved gold above all else. “And it’s worth seeing, like every time in our Pit of Flesh!”

  The name of the arena, which held around 1000 people and was full to capacity today, made the crowd cheer again. Most of them were pirates, mercenaries and the inhabitants of the free port of Khuwix, a shabby, lawless nest. The races were a mixed bag, but pucks, humans and roders made up the bulk of the crowd. While most of the pucks and humans were free traders and sailors, all the rough-hewn Roders were mere henchmen. They were in the service of the city or its visitors and were beasts with the face of a belligerent boar. Instead of cheering words, many of them merely grunted down into the arena and the roders bared their small but sharp tusks.

  Nukzos grinned slyly. He knew the best way to keep these beastly pigs happy. “Once again, we have a visitor from the stinking hole called Topzoz!” he announced and the booing drowned out the few cheers. For 20 years, he had been one of the leading lights of Khuwix and he had a talent for stirring up the crowd. “And Topzoz thinks they might finally win today, with a barbaric creature that knows no respect! It’s a creature that has been outcast even by its own clan for desecrating the corpses of its defeated rivals before eating them! But that is precisely why, they say, this warrior is so powerful and with every body he eats, his strength only swells! If that were true, he could become a god today, because his meal would not be of this world! I present to you Topzoz’s latest showpiece, Sorak!”

  One of the portcullis in the oval arena pit lifted ponderously and a pitch-black brute, covered in scars and with two massive battle axes in his paws, stepped onto the sand. He was particularly powerfully built, broad enough to fill three of his kind and around 2.20 tall. Spiky shoulder pads were stretched across his shoulders and only his legs were protected by reinforced leather on the front. After all, the legs supported by hooves were a roder’s weakest point.

  “What a grotesque beast!” said Nukzos with a sneer, but also a smile. “But if it’s only half as strong as it is ugly, Topzoz might actually have a tiny chance of winning!”

  Sorak looked through the rows of spectators with narrowed eyes, earning a great deal of disfavor from his peers, their disrespectful spitting on the ground, and he slammed his axes together to roar and bathe in the scorn of the crowd.

  “He’s fearless!” admitted Nukzos, who was slowly running out of breath. “But will that do him any good? Can he even begin to hope to survive? Do you all really think he could even touch our Berserker? DO YOU THINK SO?!” He used the roaring cheers of the crowd to take another breath for his announcement. “NO, NEVER! For 11 midsummers this arena has been his home, his slaughterhouse, his temple where he pays homage to blood and defies death and I ask myself - can this troll even die?! The signs say no and I tell you, here he is! Undefeated, immortal and insatiable - BLOOD TUSK!”

  While the crowd was on the edge of their seats, Nukzos almost choked from lack of breath and hastily grabbed a tankard of rum, which he downed far too quickly.

  Unaffected by everything, the speech, the deafening noise, the shaking of the ground, Bluthauer walked towards the rising portcullis. Words, so many words always, he thought. He was a stoic troll and seldom said anything but necessary words. What good would more of them have done him? No food, no females, nothing. It only reinforced his mindset that victory was the only thing that mattered, because action satisfied his needs, not endless chatter. Pucks like to talk. Annoys me. It was a problem that had been bugging him for several years. Fortunately, the pucks gave him what he wanted, so he put up with them.

  It was late afternoon and worthy of a theater, the sun’s rays poked through the sea clouds and shone down into the fighting pit to greet their combatants.

  Blood Tusk liked the warmth of the sun and the tropical jungle climate, even if he had no idea of anything beyond the arena walls, as he did of everything in the complex, unforgiving world of Primal. However, this enforced monotony, and the blessing of the Tiki, had also made him the formidable fighter he was today. He stood upright in the sun and felt the sand between his bare feet. He had three toes on each foot, with one of them sticking out stiffly from his heels. He remembered how the puck had once given him sandals, but they had been extremely uncomfortable. Trolls had highly sensitive senses, from their feet to their mouths and noses. His two fingers and thumb tensed around his bisento, a spear-like weapon. However, the bisento did not have a spearhead for a head, but a large blade and, together with the pole, was actually a little longer than Blood Tusk.

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  This did not frighten Sorak and he gave his opponent several grunts. “They didnt′t exaggerate!” he said, opening his mouth full of edged teeth. He could crush certain things with them and he sharpened his axes repeatedly, a snort interrupting his sentences again and again. “When I’ve eaten you, I’ll be a demigod!”

  Maybe it’s two females again today, Blood Tusk thought. Nevertheless, his concentration was fully focused on the upcoming fight, for which he wore only a leather apron, metal knee pads and a leather pad on his right shoulder.

  “Hey, i′m talking to you!” Sorak barked sourly and he scraped his hooves.

  Blood Tusk made no reply to these words and looked at his opponent impassively through the slits of his wooden war mask, which was decorated with aggressive markings. His enormous, forward-curved troll tusks jutted out from underneath. The wind blew his black mohawked mane and it stroked the short, thin plume of fur of the giant. It covered his body and matched the color of his skin, which was a charcoal-like dark blue.

  “This cold-bloodedness!” exclaimed Nukzos with a broad grin. “Do you see how little Blood Tusk cares about his opponent? Anyone who bets against him must be truly mad ... or will make a fortune? In the unlikely event that this berserker of the arena falls victim to this cannibal’s axes, you’ll be set for life, or until you get mugged, hahaha! And now, let’s wait no longer - let the battle begin!”

  No one was left on the stone seats and pucks everywhere were still taking new bets before bass emphasized horns thundered through the arena and let the fight begin.

  True to his nature, marked by his own spirit and people, Sorak charged forward. His mass did not prevent him from building up a considerable pace.

  For a troll of his stature, Bluood Tusk could also shine with agility. He wasn’t the cleverest, but he was smart enough not to throw blade after blade at such a large brute at the first attack. However, he could have done it with ease. The fact that Blood Tusk let him and his axe swings come to nothing with a roll to the side had both strategic and calculating reasons.

  The better the fight, the better the reward of the pucks, and this start caused the crowd to gasp in amazement. “Uhhh!”

  Slowing down and turning around took a lot out of Sorak and kicked up a lot of dust in the sand. He approached the troll and attacked him with staggered axe blows, so that he could always react with the following swing if he had to parry.

  Blood Tusk’s every step was like a dance with his opponent as he held his bisento with both hands. He didn’t need two weapons and was one with his. The sword head was just as excellent for deflecting axes as the pointed, steel end of his polearm or the pole itself.

  Suddenly Sorak changed the pattern of his attacks and thrust both axes outwards at the same time with an X-swing. Though the steel of the weapons clanged against the bisento’s protective pole, Sorak broke the parry with his body mass and bulging belly first.

  However, Blood Tusk’s size and heavy muscles kept him from being pushed too far or even to the ground. “This brute really is hungry!” commented Nukzos. “I wonder if Blood Tusk can stand up to such ruthless offensives!” The Berserker didn’t even hear these words and even the thunderous roar of the crowd was as if he were underwater. For him, there was only this battle right now and the X-swing wasn’t over yet!

  After Sorak’s axes thrust outwards, they flew back inwards in the same swing.

  To the many laymen in the stands, it truly looked like the brute had the troll on the run and was about to land a killing blow.

  With a loud animalistic roar and refusing to fall so foolishly, Blood Tusk braced himself firmly in the sand and heaved his bisento high above him, gripped in the middle. This caused the axe heads to slide over the top of the pole ends. They ground dangerously close to the holding fingers and towards the troll’s head! Only millimeters away from a fatal hit, and with a lunge forward, Blood Tusk threw the axe steel and his opponent back! It was a demonstration of pure strength and was exactly what Blood Tusk wanted. His opponent was powerful, there was no doubt about that for him. But he had studied his pattern and recognized a weakness: Sorak could only defend as long as he was attacking.

  It was true, for in each of his duels or mass battles, Sorak had always followed an aggressive mantra. Without pause, without backing up, swing after swing and always forwards. Moreover, he had rarely met an opponent who could stand up to him and his brute strength, but this realization was his last. Even as he staggered back on his hooves, all he could see was Blood Tusk’s head rushing towards him. He received a headbutt on his sensitive pig snout. This not only caused a lot of blood to spurt, but also threw Sorak off balance and he fell onto his back.

  “You see?! YOU SEE?!” Nukzos cheered the crowd. Everyone was enthralled by the spectacle. Even those who had bet against Bluthauer in their greed didn’t realize how the troll had apparently forced the brute onto his back and so the spectators demanded a punishment for this weakness. “Death, death, death, death, death!”

  Death. It was a word that evoked neither pity nor hatred in Bluthauer for his opponent. When he heard it, it meant: Soon there would be dinner and something to fuck. That was all this troll had to worry about as he planted his foot triumphantly on Sorak’s belly. For the first time since he had entered the arena today, Blood Tuskgave the crowd a long look and took note of them.

  It was a spectacle that had been repeated countless times in this arena, with this fighter and others. The best knew what the crowd wanted because they had survived long enough to learn.

  Only when the cries for death became almost threatening towards the victor did Blood Tusk turn his eyes to Sorak, still dazed and covered in blood. With a cry of triumph, Blood Tusk plunged the blade into the brute’s chest, silencing his bubbling blood grunts forever.