Bred For Extinction

Confrontation at Last

Mochan's expedition through the catacombs has been a blur as he has streaked the whole passage with lust, yearning for the final stop of the voyage. The light that finally shows at the end of the tunnel gives a sense of relief, yet as he sneaks through the slit in the rocky wall, immediately it is known that he is not alone.

The servant's voice comes hard, yet with respect, "Lord Penduran is awaiting you.

Come, please."

The blood from Mochan's recent feeding still drips from his burly chin as clothes are still wet with stains of a dark cherry color. The grimace that floods over his expression is one of both surprise and disappointment, yet his talk plays off emotions, "Well, at least I won't have to search all night." Shrugging shoulders, he agrees to follow the servant as the walk begins, through hallway after hallway, until they arrive at the door that leads into where Penduran awaits, the Great Trophy Hall.

The servant heaves open the door, and as they both enter, their footsteps quickly catch the attention of Penduran as he slowly gaits around the hall, admiring his great conquests with hands behind his back, dreaming of past victories. Features beam, as Penduran knows the time has come for another trophy. "So this is the next in line of the great wolf lineage? I guess I should be more impressed, but I am not. You appear ragged, barbaric even to be in my sight, but I'm sure in the end your head will show nicely next to the rest."

Mochan stares hard at the massive Penduran, knowing now why he has the respect all grant him, "I didn't come here to talk."

"No, I am sure of that," Penduran begins his approach, walking closer, "But first, a question? Are you a sporting man or just a beast? What shall be our rules for this night? After all, you are my guest. It should be your choice. Please, choose our weapons."

Mochan slowly stares at the assortment of armament that is contained all about the enormous chamber, "I am my own weapon. As far as I am concerned, anything goes."

Penduran graces a wicked smile, "Then let no one cry foul." His hand tenses as it waves, sending the servant away with a savage command, "You have saved yourself, but gather the others...for when I have finished here, I will be hungry, and they will provide for my appetite." His attention flies back to Mochan, "Killing is hungry work."

"I am always hungry," Mochan begins to crack neck bones, preparing for the onslaught.

"Good, then let us begin, yes?" The strength of Penduran shows as he too begins to loosen his frame.

They approach each other, special stances in this battle do not exist... just two titans peering deep into the other's soul. There is no circling of footsteps, no waving of hands...all is pure strength of statue as each stands hard, mere inches from the other. Each breath slaps strong to his opponent's palette.

"Have you ever stood so close to death," Penduran smiles, seemingly knowing the answer.

"Death? Is that what that smell is? For a moment, I thought I was whiffing the breath of a diseased goat."

Penduran lets a chuckle slip, "Let's begin?"

"Agreed"

Each man takes a step backward, heads tilting as they stare deep at the other, then the rush comes fast. Both streak; slamming into each other as if two worlds collided, blow after blow heavily pounding upon each other. They rain down fists, strike after strike, tensed muscles absorbing blows from clenched and knotted knuckles, yet as both do drive pummeling wallops into the other, each man is able to fend of the other's attack with less than a strenuous exertion. Here, the first stalemate is reached, and slowly do they back away, wondering what exists in the other's mind.