[Day 2] Epee Round 1: Moreno vs. Speare

Day two had started, the air of District Four showering him in a sense of calm before the storm of events for Day two of the olympics. Epee, Foil, and Boxing. The three events he had to compete in for the gold. THe world spun at his fingertips just like every failure before him. Anastatia. Dino. He had failed them, but he would prove that he was no failure in the world of mistakes that terrorize the people. Remo Moreno wasn't a failure. He was a man with so much potential and so much strength. No one would stand in his way from the medal he so rightly deserved. No even Hamlet Speare.

Stepping upon the mat that would be his battleground of emotions pulling at his chest. When the event began, the boy known as Hamlet lunged at his body. The hit was a great hit, putting a fear of another round like Torka Hammerfell demolishing Remo. The voice inside his head tells him to stand his ground. To stand and fight against the other male. Everything inside of him bursts to light. The emotion, the adrenaline, the calm mindset. Remo Moreno strikes swiftly, with his mistakes pushing him forward. Hamlet versus Remo would be a match of the ages, with the clear winner being the stronger one.


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Never underestimate Remo. He could tell by the movement of the guy. The way he looked so high and mighty, but the battle wasn't over. Remo wouldn't lose to the punk known as Hamlet. Hamlet was nothing, but a name in the confines of District One. Moreno was more popular than he was. Even if they truly haven't done anything to make their name great. Moreno's were strong. Rory was strong. Dino had been strong. Reyes. There were so many others that were strong. Remo would be like them. Be strong in the face of overwhelming odds. There was no reason to give up. There was no reason to not fight without his full strength. Remo Moreno was strong and no one could take that away from him.

The blow was weak. A slight hit upon his body. Remo had been blocked the first time easily. A swift sword pushing him away. Blocking the hit that could have save Remo from the odds of overwhelming numbers. This was his moment. Not Hamlet's. Remo Moreno didn't like people who stole his spotlight. He would make sure Hamlet would pay with a defeat. Remo doesn't speak like he's dying to do. Instead he focuses on the man in front of him. Blade clashing against blade. This is where Remo truly shined. His blood pumped with adrenaline. His body felt like it was swelling. It was time for a counterstrike. And he struck like Rory had dived, with confidence.


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The competition was going to be hard. He knew it would have been much harder than he would want. The world watching him and his sword, ready to strike opponents down. The other people had other plans. They wanted nothing more than to humiliate him in front of everyone that was watching. Rory could be out there somewhere, watching him break from the pressure and from the skill that Hamlet had that Remo didn't. The world was changing and Remo wasn't catching up. Moreno was old news left behind in the sixtieth games. The world was bringing new families to light. Hamlet was not one. Hamlet would never be as great as the Moreno family was and still is. Remo wouldn't let him disgrace their name. Remo couldn't let him. There was no coming back from the loss, but he wouldn't be defeated with such a low number.

Hamlet's blade strikes him perfectly again and Remo is getting frustrated with the movement. Instead of angrily saying something, Remo calms himself and prepares to strike again. Eyes studying the form of the Speare. His body movement. The way he carries the blade. How he would step with a certain foot before attacking. Which hand he preferred. Remo had seen it all. He was ready to take down another threat to his own ego. Remo strikes.


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The attack had been good, but not good enough to catch up. Remo was behind by so much, he needed to catch up. Stepping up his game, he parries that blade that Hamlet had attacked with. A weak hit, this was his chance to get caught up. This was his only chance. Failing now would mean his ultimate doom. There was a moment when everything that mattered counted on one hit. One hit. One match. Round one. The world needed him to make it up and get a perfect hit. The crowd's cheer echoes as he watched Speare with his eyes that are calculating every movement he could manage to see. Failing meant that he would be knocked out first round like Torka Hammerfell had done with Sabre, a pathetic fight that made his skin crawl in defeat. Remo needed to take out Hamlet like he had taken Tommen out of the running. This was his moment. His fame. His win.

As he prepares his attack, all he can do is think of the enemies and friends he's made over the years. Anastasia would have told him to man up and end the match. Francesca would have told him to keep balanced, focus on the dance of the match. Scout would have told him that she could have taken Hamlet out faster than Remo had. That's when he thought of Leo and Rory. They wouldn't give up. They would have faced winning or losing with a smile upon their faces. That's why they were winners and he was a loser. A loser with a name that meant something. So he strikes with their smiles fresh in his brain. Striking for the sake of his own life.


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Another decent strike. Another block and a pathetic hit by Hamlet. This was his match, not Hamlet's. Winning was what he needed to do. Hamlet was choking only for a second. Soon enough the guy would catch his movements and take him out within a second. Leo Pine and Rory Moreno would be screaming like the crowd was. The world was watching and he needed to end the match quickly or face the torture of being knocked out round one. Reyes Moreno had come so close and failed. Remo wouldn't follow in his footsteps. Remo would win if he could. The match only grew intense with every second and movement. Weaknesses and strengths shown to both contestants. The world was following them with every eye upon their body. The world knew of the Moreno, but Hamlet was gaining fame from this match, he couldn't let Hamlet get that power.

As eyes watch their movements, Remo could feel his blood pumping, his heartbeat calming him as he watches him like he had watched the Little Lyon Man. This was different. The match was tougher, harder, and close. There was a leap of faith. Remo was a loser in his own mind, even though he had destroyed Tommen Lyon. There was more to come, no matter what happened. Remo Moreno had tried his best. All he could do was strike for Tommen Lyon. Strike for the boy who had told him that the person he had taken out was nothing but a weakling, but that was a lie. Tommen was stronger than Remo could ever be. Remo strikes for Tommen.


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