The battle is about to begin.
I am the Knight, he is the Gladiator—
and this is a battle of Truth.

Steel rang upon steel,
and the air was thick with the scent of iron and sweat.
Two warriors met beneath the gaze of eternity—
one, a mountain of muscle,
skin bronzed by a thousand suns,
eyes burning with the fire of the arena.
The other, a shadow of polished steel,
clad in the silence of the forge,
her form hidden beneath the will of the gods.

The gladiator struck first—
blades flashing like lightning,
each blow a hymn of war.
The knight staggered beneath the weight,
but the steel did not break,
the throat did not bleed,
the heart did not yield.

Again, the gladiator’s sword bit,
but the bite found no flesh—
only the cold, unyielding kiss of armor.
The crowd of unseen spirits roared in the heavens,
for the gods had wrapped the knight in their own breastplate,
as it is written: no arrow shall pierce her,
no sword shall drink of her blood.

Breathless, the giant faltered—
skin bare, throat bared to the wind,
heart beating unguarded beneath mortal ribs.
The knight saw the opening
and drove the steel deep into the center of that beating drum.
The earth drank the gladiator’s strength,
and silence fell like a veil.

The knight stood,
not by strength alone,
but by the shield of the unseen—
the armor of the gods,
which guards the throat,
guards the heart,
and delivers victory to the one the gods have chosen.

...