From behind his mask, muffled but voluminous words rang forth, "Fickle little things, gods are, don't you think?" For the first time in this entire tournament he had spoken, thirty one matches consecutively in dead silence. Until now. This was their final round, and his opponent had proven to be as tactful and skillful a combatant as he was. They had fought a total gauntlet every day for a month. Each match harder than the last, but this was the thirty second, the first day of the next month. The two had finally met on the field of battle as equals, thus far none of the other competitors had been worthy of conversation. The only thing that had given them worth was the sweet release of their death. 

This man, however, was worth conversation. Thirty one days of combat hadn't slowed his senses, the others never rested or intentionally sabotaged their competition. Corban and Shin had managed to avoid restless nights. Together they had managed to reach the end of their long trial, and this was the final hurdle. 

The assassin had some degree of respect for the warrior Corban, an honor not so easily handed out. So, for the first time in a month, he spoke to his opponent. "Forcing their servants and unfortunate subjects to dance like monkeys. My question is, which are you?" There was a subtle tone of malice in his voice, already he was toying with egos. The two hadn't even engaged in combat yet, and he was already insinuating superiority.

The pair had already exited their opposing gateways, entering the circular arena and watching the walls rise around them. Giving them a large locale with much in the way of cover, pillars and walls were interspersed around the arena with overlapping and random patterns. Shin stood near the north end, and Corban near the south. A clear line was between them with a circle of room in the middle. Their voices carried quite well in the circular chamber, and communication would be possible from anywhere despite the size. 

Shin stood with his right hand clenched tightly around the shrunken black staff. Holding it in its smallest form, ready to adapt once combat had begun. Despite the constant combat, however, neither of them had any injuries or wear on their outfits. Shin's conservative clothes had repaired themselves after every battle, and Corban's outfit had as well. Every wound they had taken had healed in the night after each battle.

They were at their peaks and in an Arena designed to cater to both of their needs, it would be an even and interesting bout.