Throw. Swoosh. Kaboom.
The battle ring.
Several spectators gathered around the open space meant for duels.
Sounds of cheers.
Calling names and curses.
This was the atmosphere Kilaba had found himself in when he stepped out of his palace. His usual Tuesday. He was walking towards the battle ring with a pep in his step and a smile on his face. This smile told everyone looking at him about his confidence in winning this challenge.
The challenge of mortal combat was hurled at him. This challenger was the tribe's ex-chieftain whom he had to regretfully spare. Sometimes, Kilaba hated Orc customs because of rules like these.
Kilaba saw the challenger soon enough. He was the same old, haggard Orc Lord that he had defeated not too long ago. He looked even weaker than before. There was a chance he might regress into his evolutionary stage if he keeps up with this streak– a rare instance of devolution among monsters.