A blue scarf flapped in the wind in time with the field's grass. The mauve man wearing it stood with one foot on a rock, staring out into the distance. His face, fixed in a permanent glare, remained turned to the side, not giving the camera the dignity of seeing its true form.
"Brash. Stylish. Intense."
Only then did he face the camera.
"Nhazul."
"Leader of Zetabrand, seasoned gladiator, unashamedly cool. Fought my way to the top and too awesome to fall. Though I strategically withdrew from the last two tournaments, this time I'm ready to rock. Not to mention I'm bringing along a little friend."
He dramatically whipped out a katana previously hidden by his body and spun it before posing with it behind his head.
"The Nhazul blade!" He relaxed the pose and held it normally. "Unfortunately, the full cross is too bulky, so I'll be leaving my daggers at home. Good thing I won't need them."
His sword plunged into the stone and he backflipped off, stamping the ground as he landed. His scarf kept waving as he walked closer.
"With my skills and drive at full power this time, I'm sure to succeed. And the men back home at Zetabrand are counting on me to return with the glory of a winner. On my honor, I will not let them down."
"As for everyone else? Well, it'll be up to them to decide whether they want to face Zeta power or be smart and run away. For those that don't?" He lifted the camera over his head. "It'll be over before they know it.
"NHAZUL SLAM!"
Suddenly the picture swung around. Everything blurred. The man's yell rose as the spinning got faster until it stopped and the ground rapidly approached.
KKKSSSSHHH!
End tape.