My Adventures on the Wii Sports Isle: Part 1
Sword Fighting
The arena was a raised circle surrounded by water. It was white, but had a bright blue circle in its center and had an orange circumference. The colors were a stark contrast to the bitter horror that took place within it. Two dry men entered the arena, only one dry man left. Each match lasted three rounds, or whoever got two wins first. So far, I had never needed a third round to humiliate my opponent.
I had swung and swiped my way through all my competitors, leaving them wet and defeated as I moved up in the world. The coliseum around me slowly gathered spectators. While at first, my opponent and I seemed to be fighting alone, but soon enough, Stewie Griffin, the Joker, Scooby Doo, and many others filled the stands while they watch me beat up generic lowlifes.
Finally, I entered the upper division. My blue armor shined as I moved into the pro ranks, when it got a well-needed upgrade. My blue sword felt alive in my hand as I turned it. I was on top of the world when I saw him. Marco was his name. He had wrinkles on his face and a brown bush on his upper lip, complimenting his red armor, also upgraded. My first big boy match. He looked like he came from an office or a small retail chain off of 3rd street. I did not care where he came from, only that, right now, he was in the arena.
His looks deceived me. Before I knew it, he was coming at me with incredible zeal. His fighting style, a combination of vertical strikes and horizontal strikes, was not new to me, but I had never seen it in such force. I held up my blue sword straight up in hopes that I would knock him back so that he would be sweaty and vulnerable, but no luck. In no time, I had fallen off the circular arena and into the ocean water.
The climb up was humiliating. My rise to victory had reached a sudden halt, and I was forced to feel the saltwater rub into my wounds. In the arena, I noted his unchanging gaze, his square jaw, and those terrible round hands. I would defeat him. With the taste of salt still in my mouth, I climbed back into the arena and faced my opponent. I unleashed a flurry of sideswipes and vertical strokes, leaving him gasping for air within minutes. Clearly, I had caught him off guard.
He wised up the final round. We each attacked relentlessly, only blocking when our swings were not enough. We exchanged blows, gaining ground and losing it, until we were both drenched with sweat. But we kept fighting. We gripped our swords and swung our hands with the fury of two Native American warriors. My side was bruised and I could see him wince when I hit his shoulder, but neither of us relented. Neither of us gave in. Neither of would ever stop.
Finally, the round ended. We were both in the center blue circle. For all our quirks, we were almost perfectly evenly matched, not gaining or losing any net ground. However, this crowd wanted blood. We moved into a secret final round, the likes of which this crowd had never seen. The blue circle we were residing in rose up while the rest of the arena lowered. We were up 50 ft higher than normal on a circle that would make even the smallest person feel cramped. One hit was all it would take to send either of us flying. There was not enough room for the two of us.
I cautiously kept my sword in front of me, trying to judge Marco’s next step. The crazy old man kept moving to the edge, pacing around me and tempting fate. It was at this moment that I knew he was completely crazy. Sweat dripped down my hands as I gripped my sword, shaking as I held it up to whatever blow might be coming next. He just kept pacing around the small circle. I knew what I had to do. I swung.
His fell swiftly toward the water. His eyes gazed up and gave a dead stare, but he kept his smile. He was smiling the whole way down. As I watched him fall, 50 ft in the air and victorious, I was forced to give a smile myself.
