"Go on big guy, you can take 'em," the friendly youth said. Gormog looked down at him and a smile slowly started forming on his face, followed by a slow, pronounced nod. He looked around for Salvius and spotted him quickly enough. Smile still big on his face, he pointed at himself and then at the pit, the meaning clear: [i]Gormog fight.[/i] The big Ogryn slung his ripper gun around his torso and clambered over the small wall, dropping into the miniature Colosseum. 

The crowd roared appreciatively at Gormog and he returned their affections by baring his teeth in a vicious grin. He could already feel the adrenaline surging. Back when he was part of the Chaos warband they made him do the same thing and he developed a taste for it quickly. Fighting was in his blood. It's what he was born to do. While the Ogryn awaited his opponent, the crowd started placing their bets, and Traxel Yidara was no exception. He placed all the money he had left on the abhuman and cheered him on. 

On the battlefield it was his Imperial Guard training that dictated how Gormog would fight. Here, in the fighting pits, it was his instincts. He growled and beat his chest, an instinct so ancient that it had resurfaced in the primitive Ogryn genome. On the opposite side of the pit a large door opened, lifted up by strong, cast-iron chains, and something huge appeared. 

It was an Ork, and a big one at that. Gormog estimated that it was roughly the same size and girth as himself. [i]Worthy,[/i] he thought, and his excitement grew. This would be a good fight. The crowd went wild and the betting intensified. "BLOOD!" Gormog roared, balling his fists. "SKULLS!" The crowd laughed and repeated his abbreviated warcry with vigor. The Ork looked intensely annoyed and bellowed at the crowd, shaking its tusked head to and fro. 

Wasting no time, Gormog charged at his foe, determined to bash its ugly face in with his bare hands.