I’ll admit, I was giddy to get my hands on some of the contestants. Last year, I was tasked with writing a faux-fight between Kahlen Amnell vs. Drizzt Do’Urden and Kvothe vs. Garet Jax, four characters I was very familiar with. This time around, I was given Severus Snape, Corvis Rebaine, Allanon and Paul Atreides. Awesome, right? Two classic badasses; a superstar Wizard; and an up-and-coming Warlord. But, wait. I was only familiar with two of them, one in each cage match.
What was I to do?
Well, several hours of research (and two skimmed novels) later, I felt mildly prepared to approach these characters and pit them against two familiar opponents. It was a challenge, I’ll admit, but I feel confident that even if I wasn’t able to nail them perfectly, I would be able to at least fool some of the readers into thinking I knew what I was writing about. One of them won their match, the other lost. I’ll let you decide who I was familiar with and who I worked with from scratch.
The Warlord swung his giant axe in the direction of the black shape, but the attack crawled through the air like it was cutting through water. Not a vicious charge on horseback, but a slow stroll through the park with a baby carriage.
Suddenly Snape was gone. The black shape disappeared and Sunder slammed heavily into the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, cutting through the ageless stone like it was nothing. Gradually, the spell slowing him lessened, until finally, it broke. The mobility in his arms returned. He spun, eyes searching the courtyard.
/Your grandmother could swing harder than that!/
“And that’s my fault? Counterspell, you useless thing!” Corvis raised a hand, gauntleted fist clenched tightly.
An eruption of blue flame engulfed the head of the enormous sandworm and tore the dunes apart around the beast. Endless sand was sucked into the superheated air, a vacuum of shredding, swirling madness. Paul was thrown violently from the back of his enormous steed. He fell heavily to the earth. Heated sand and melted globules of glass rained down on him. The acid smell of burning Spice and the sweet smell of charred Sandworm flesh filled the air, reminiscent of war.
Allanon tumbled from high above, shielded still by Druid Fire. He rolled as he hit the ground, came lightly to his feet, black cloaked billowing behind him. His dark face was grim, unharmed.
Not even this miraculous turn of events could shake Muad’Dib. He picked himself up off the ground so gracefully that one would never have thought he’d just been thrown so unceremoniously from the back of his blasted, dying, and—until recently—thought near-invincible steed.
“Impressive,” Paul said. “An army couldn’t defeat a sandworm so handily.”
The Druid stared back impassively. His Druid Fire shield had dropped, but his hands were still sheathed in cerulean flame.
So, go read the two matches, vote and let me know who you think would win in a fight to the death. After you’re done with my stories, check out the rest of the matches and make sure your favourites win!