Killing The Wicked Goddess: Revenge Of The Dimwit Genius

In the evening, two city knights were standing in front of a small side gate leading inside the walls of a city.

Their heavily armored bodies were slumped against a thick weathered stone wall, and their hands rested against the pommels of their sheathed swords. They were talking to each other.

"Have you ever wondered what the snow is like in the north? In the land of giants, I mean."

"There you said it, the land of giants. No one wants to venture there. Those men are beasts with the ability to tear us normal folk apart with a mere motion from their two hands."

"Then maybe the hinterlands where snow falls in the winter…"

"Stop dreaming of snow. Why don't you go ask a tower mage for an ice spike and then chop it up with your sword. You could make snow that way!"

He started laughing, while the other knight was silent. He was looking off to the side, distracted. 

As the man stopped laughing, and turned with his comrade, he saw a giant man with tattered leather clothing that had been stretched and worn for far too long. 

The man towered above the knights at nine feet tall. Rather than looking skinny with his ridiculous height, he looked blocky. His muscles bulged and rippled everywhere. 

There was a sword on his back wrapped in animal hides that had been crudely tied together. The sword was nearly longer than he was tall and it likely weighed half as much as he did.

His green eyes glinted in the sun as he tilted his eyes downwards in seeming disdain. 

He spoke in a thick and guttural tone. "I'm here for the Tournament."

The knights' mouths opened and closed like guppies. The first knight took a deep breath. "Okay… For entry, give your identification or family name."

The man sighed. "My name is Gore."

"... Your name isn't in our registry. You aren't a noble. Do you have a pass?"

Gore looked at the knights and then rubbed his eyes with fingers that could span their faces. "Let me through."

They looked at each other, and then back at the man. "You know what? Thank you for showing us your identification. You can pass."

The knights both opened the large gate for Gore. 

As Gore walked through the gate, his oily black hair brushed against the well masoned stones that formed the top of the arched side gate. He walked slowly with his arms slightly swinging at his sides.

The city had dirt roads that had recently been turned to mud by a sudden summer storm. Gore's hide wrapped feet became engulfed in the mud. 

With each step he took, his legs sank down and then were pulled back up in a disgusting sound. 

There were merchants, peddlers, and serfs alike that stared at the man with awe at first and then disgust. 

If Gore had good hearing, and the wind had been blowing in the right direction, then perhaps he could have heard the two knights' hushed voices behind him.

"That man… He's a giant, isn't he?"

"He is. I hope he doesn't make trouble."

Gore moved through the large city grounds, ignoring every single person that stared at him. He had seen it all before, just in different cities. 

He walked down the street until he came to the city's huge stone brick coliseum. He walked through a shadowed passageway that led to the noise of wood slamming dully against wood. 

As he walked out into the sun again, he saw sweaty men fighting each other with no shirts. 

His gaze flicked from the small wooden sticks to their muscles. He frowned, and muttered quite loudly. "That old man suggested I come here. His answer to my question, was it a lie?"

A steely voice spoke up behind him. "Why are you here giant?"

Gore whirled around. There was a man there, with full armor. He stood at seven feet with added height from the armor. Gore grinned. "So it was not a lie!"

Gore stooped down to the slit in the knight's red plumed helmet. "What is your name?"

"I am Alfred, Dane's son."

"Mine is Gore. I want to fight you!"

Alfred cocked his helmeted head slightly to the side. "And why would that be? You can't just burst into the arena during training hours…"

Gore frowned and then straightened up. "I've been traveling across the land of you small folk looking for someone strong."

Gore tapped his head three times. "My father booted me out of the house, you know? He told me that I stunk and that I needed to make a name for myself. He must have been drunk though because he gave me such an easy assignment…"

Alfred rested one hand on the jeweled pommel of his sheathed sword, and his other on the crook of his armored hip. "I actually want to know more now… Who is your father?"

Gore grinned. "I am Gore, Fury's son."

Alfred's grip tightened around the pommel of his sword. "Brother to Doom, slayer of Zell?"

Gore opened his mouth in a disgusted look. "He just slayed a single black dragon and now everyone is praising him, even in the human kingdom…"

Alfred sighed. "I'll fight you. Upon my honor as a knight, I vow no treachery."

Gore ran his hand through his oily hair. "What a pretty line, but I won't say the same. I'm no knight. Now, Let's fight!"

Gore pulled his sword from the hide sling he had secured it with. The blade did not shine, as if it had been forged from stone instead of steel.

Alfred unsheathed his sword. In stark contrast, the blade shimmered brightly, and the clear ruby inlaid at the pommel caught the sun's beams, casting crimson rays of light to the muddy ground.

The two men ran at each other. Civilized man against barbarian. Steel slammed and sparked against steel in a mock dance of death. 

Gore's blows began to push Alfred further and further towards the stone brick wall of the coliseum. 

Behind Gore, the bare chested men who had been training were cheering for Alfred, but their cries of encouragement quickly turned to cries of horror.

Gore was huffing and puffing, but he had a smile on his face as he turned his blade to its flat. He swung it hard and pushed through Alfred's sword and to his chest. 

Alfred's wrist twisted and snapped as his sword spun off to the side. Gore's sword slammed bluntly against Alfred's armored chest and it hurled him straight into the wall with a resounding thud. 

As Alfred fell from the wall to the ground, his helmet slid off. His eyes were blue, and they rolled backwards in their sockets as he lost consciousness. His blonde hair was matted with sweat, for the day was hot. 

Gore shrugged. "Well, that was easy."

He slung his sword back into its hide sheath and then walked beside the man. As the bare chested men rushed up to Alfred, trying to get him to come to, Gore just sat down on the slightly grassy, but very muddy ground and yawned deeply.