The Pride's First Fight

The crowd erupted into cheers as her opponent entered the arena. He must've had some connection to The Legion, or maybe he was famous somehow. Regardless, to the Pride, it was strange—for she had not the slightest clue who he was. To top the fame of someone known across the city of Axrigh, he must've been quite the big shot, but she couldn't figure it out—and trying to decipher his name in the cacophony of screams was no simple task.   The Pride groaned, noting it as not worth the effort before adjusting the uniform she received beforehand, undoing the top button to free her neck from its constraint.   As if in reaction to her indifference, the man encouraged the audience's uproar. He raised his sword to the cloudless skies, invigorating his unruly mob, much to the displeasure of the observers.   A referee of sorts cleared his throat, signaling the end of the exaggerated enthusiasm, and started counting down.   Five.   The Pride briefly stretched, making eye contact with the peacocking man.   Four.   He squinted back at her. He was at least half a foot taller than her, likely finding himself satisfied by the fact.   Three. Two.   With a deep breath, she allowed the moments of her lowest point to fog her mind. At "two," she dispelled them.   One.   "I've oughta go easy on Axrigh's Pride, yeah? Don't wanna send you home in pieces."   Begin.   With an audacious battle cry, the man charged toward her, swinging a sheathed blade wildly in her direction as if to remind everyone of his arrogance.   All he got in response to his taunt was a smirk that screamed up to no good. As he swung nearer and threw a jab at the Pride's head, she dodged as effortlessly as she breathed. Her smirk remained unchanged as she returned with a swing to his gut. Pleased by his expression contorted with pain, she jeered. "Don't you think it's time you do a little more than bark?"   He scowled, only to receive a kick that sent him back to his starting point.   "Unsheathe your knife if you even want me to take you seriously. If you don't, I'll beat you so bad you won't be training anywhere but with the mediocre."   Her challenge met with eager ears. The man tore the scabbard from his blade, pointing it towards the Pride with rage exuding from his eyes.   "That looks better—almost can't see the conceit. Now," the Pride paused, taking a deep breath and taking a stance that put her lower to the ground, "let's get started."