A dark-skinned man sat in the front row of the battle arena with one of his long daggers held in his left hand, its tip pointed towards ground. With his other hand, he held a smaller device, similar in appearance to a whetstone. He methodically passed the blade across the surface of the other object, the sound a mere whisper among the silence of the cavernous arena.
"It has been too long since this situation has been encountered, yet I welcome it nonetheless," came a voice.
The man paused to scratch at his nose, then resumed polishing his weapon.
"Some would say that at a team level, it was inevitable, with the way the tournament has flowed across iterations. I ride along the wave of patient promise, while never forgetting the aims of myself and of my dearest friends."
He lifted his head, then carefully sheathed the dagger into the scabbard mounted on his back. He drew out a second weapon, of similar size and length, looked along its surface, then began the process of polishing once more.
"Some would say this is a no-hope contest. One to be 'happy to be part of'. For indeed, the opponents that we face are mighty as a team could ever be.
"The Wizard. The Metaphysic. The man approaching a hundred thousand arena wins, Damon. The man of wings with an insane cumulative win total. The man styling himself an Avenger without actually being an Avenger."
He looked upwards.
"Hell's Demon, boundless strength yet a mind of wonder. And of course the Serpent. A behemoth of legend with a history beyond the scope of time. How can we hope to encounter them? A seven of such power and cohesion, unscratched in their five previous matches, a record untouched and certainly unattainable by any such team present or future."
His second weapon sheathed, he drew out his third legendary weapon. Again, the routine continued. He didn't even notice the set of arena lights flicker on, illuminating a small patch in the centre of the arena floor.
"Calling it David versus Goliath does a disservice to our squad. My teammates have earned the opportunity, and despite the mammoth task, will endeavour to battle hard and give no quarter. Yet, I wonder..."
More quickly this time, the polishing of the blade proved a bit haphazard, but the man noticed his attention had swayed. He slowed his strokes, deliberately pausing at the top of the hilt.
The device was tucked into a pouch on the man's belt. Standing up and looking at nobody in particular, he finally spoke, his voice firm.
"BrainChef. Hear me."
"Director Nova and BADGE, hear me."
"We challenge Weapons of Mass Destruction. We challenge them to Duels."
"Let us see the potential, the strategies, the will to win, on a stage like no other."
Sheathing his third dagger, Tri-blade turned, his black coat whirling about in silence. He strode out of the arena.