Halberdier

Morning, Centennial Hall, Wrocław.

Sunligth streams in long shafts througth the hall's windows, illuminating the field of future skirmishes. The amount of spectators start to increase, they've come to witness this brutal sport. Here and there, fighters warm up, the scent of sweat grows stronger with every passing moment. Words of encouragement rise in volume while iddle chatter from audience carrying many plastic cups filles with a drink, fades into silence, as if everyone is waiting for something extraordinary.

Maks and the rest of remaining fighters approach the equipment check stand, where they receive a sticker on their weapons, certifying that they meet all safety regulations. Before the main event begins, a Pro Fight duel take place: 

Two knights face off in the center of the arena. The referee, clad in yellow and holding a long yellow stick with little flag on top, raises his voice:

"Ready? Fight."

The combatants close the distance and start clashing their swords into each other bodies, sometimes they bash the shield into each other and few times they throw low kicks. One fighter knocks his opponent to the ground, then pummels the front of his helmet with repeated blows from his shield until the fighter falls uncounscious. The referee steps forward and poke the winner's visor to step back. After that referee confirms the winning fighter to the audience.

"What will happen when I stand in that spot myself?" as Maks wonders quietly.

He approaches his team, already geared up in armor, carrying his helmet under his armpit. Eyes scanning the hall as he tries to steady his thoughts and emotions. He sinks into some small chatters with other. Meanwhile, the women's 3v3 match takes place. After few moments it's his turn. Maks put on his helmet and goes to the wooden barricade marking the arena's edge. With every step, the weigth of his armor feels heavier, his shield and mace seem to grow heavier. The closer he gets, the faster his heart pounds.

He stops at the barricade, adjust his helmet one last time and holds his breath.

"Is this really a good idea? I can do this. I believe in myself. I just can't let anyone hit the back of my helmet. That's all I need to remember, to make it through."

A cold shiver runs down his spine. He catches a glimpse of memory from that specific sound he heard the night before he fell asleep. He shakes it off, leaps over the barricade and takes his stance in the position.

In front of him and to his left he can see the presence of his allies, all being in black colors with banners sewn onto their backs. At the opposite side five foes in white await. The referees perform a final inspection, Maks hold his breath in suspense as they don't spot the missing padding in his helmet, then he grips his shield and weapon more tightly.

"Ready? Fight"

Both teams advance cautiously, polearms clashing as they attempt to break each other's formation. The hall echoes with the sound of steel, followed by yells and cheers from both teams teammates behind the barricade, whom don't participate in the fight. Suddenly, one of the whites launches a front kick, Maks notices it knowing that it has wrong technique, he charges full speed from the flank, crashing into his opponent's exposed side and knocking him to the ground. His plan gains the upper hand... but the enemies quickly counter it. A white shield-bearer clinches Maks and drives him into the barriade throwing some occasional knees onto his body. The halbderdier approaches closer and slashes the front of Maks's helmet, shoulders and legs. Meanwhile an allied black halberdier attacks the opponent's shielder. Another black shielder charges and grapples with the white halberdier letting Maks catch a breathe from powerful blows.

On the other side of the arena, the largest black armored warrior knocks down a foe and strikes the remaining enemies from behind. The balance changes  into 5v3. Before Maks make a move to free himself from a clinch, only the closest opponent remain standing. The referees steps in, tapping and pking their flags into visors of each fighter, whom remain standing, and shout: 

"Stop fight!"

Maks's team has won the first round. One more victory and they advance. This match is crucial, they're up against the strongest team and they can't afford to lose. After all they represent this city. Both sides goes back into their edges. Fighters adjust their helmets and lift up the visors. They quickly take a couple sips of water and catch some fresh air. At that moment, Maks spots his beloved standing beyond the barricade, cheering for him. She wasn't supposed to be here today, cause of her job, but she's arrived to surprise him.

He smiles, closes down his visor, turns and braces himself for the next round.

Silence falls and then:

"Ready? Fight!"

The second round begins much like the first, fighters close the distance and trade blows. Maks senses an opening and charges into his foe, but the enemy instinctively steps back and launch a punch with a hand which carres an axe, such punch is more powerful cause of hand being filled with an object. The blow caught Maks off guard and he lost his grip over the mace which made him drop it. As he is unarmed, Maks sprints back to the edge and shouts:

"Axe, now!"

Bartek throws an axe to him, Maks catches it and turns toward the enemy, but it's too late. Now it's 2v5 and opposing two shielders pushes him straigth to the barricade, trying to hold his arms away. The halberdier comes in and pummels him with many strikes, delivering some pain just to force Maks to fall down to his knees, which would make the black team losing a round. He stands bravely waiting for an opening to fight back. At that moment he hears among the cheers, his partner's voice and just right after he twists to his left, attempting to push away his enemy. That move made his side and back of the helmet exposed against the enemy. The halberdier doesn't miss the chance and lands the knockout strike, just right at the back of his helmet. A loud noise covers whole hall, the very same sound Maks heard before drifting to sleep the day before. Sudden darkness flood his vision as his body collapses.

Among disturbed shouts he could still hear "Stop fight!", he tries to move, but his limbs are laying dead cold. As slowly the crimson color begins to fulfill the floor pouring straigth from his visor. A large amount of cries of his teammates and opponents echoes through the whole hall:

"Medic! Medic!"

Teammates assist the medics as they lay him on a strecher. Maks's breaths grow fainter - then nothing happens. Dead silence. Black.

After a short while, Maks regains his senses, he can feel the warmth of nature. Birds sing overhead as he lies on his back, even tho he fell face down. Slowly, he opens his eyes. Moments ago, he felt the crushing weigth of armor and the smell of blood and sweat. Now his armor seems light and comforting and the air smells with earth and grass.

He slowly rises into sitting position, gazing at fields and some forests away in front of him, at the rigth side he could spot a distant village with some farms. As Maks look behind him, he could notice a fortified walls. This is no Centennial Hall anymore. Confused, he rubs his eyes, removes his helmet and touches the back of his head. There's no pain. As if those injuries never happened. He speaks to himself in his mind:

"Am I alive? Where am I? I remember the strike, the fall, the voices... I was at the tournament. Is this a dream? Or...?"