The Crejak struggled to get off the ground. The repeated hits had obviously resulted in severe bruising beneath the plating, and tiny hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the chest plate, even though the pellets had not penetrated its thick armor. It snatched the powered battleaxe from the clamp on its back with one of its lower arms and threw it end-over-end with unexpected force straight at the charging Kieran, ignoring the obvious pain with characteristic Crejak stoicism. The sudden projectile attack caught Kieran completely off guard, and he responded only instinctively. Not quickly enough, he twisted sideways. His right torso was clipped by the spinning axe head, which struck exactly where his chest plate and upper abdominal plating joined. He was knocked sprawling to the ground as the force of the blow tore through the reinforced joint, leaving a ten-inch, bloody gash along his ribs. Almost instantly, he sprang back to his feet, clenching his jaw against the burning pain of the new wound and bringing his sword up defensively in anticipation of the inevitable follow-up from the Crejak. However, it appeared that his opponent had retrieved a second heavy machine gun from somewhere and was now stumbling in Kieran's direction while simultaneously letting out ferocious torrents of fire from both weapons. Kieran's thick magnesium-alloy armor was pounded by the heavy slugs, which failed to penetrate but left shallow impact craters and scored the surface. Kieran quickly sidestepped in an attempt to give a more condensed profile of the target while simultaneously drawing his hefty.45 caliber pistol with his left hand and aiming it at the approaching Crejak. Aiming for joints and visor slits, he fired a steady stream of shots from the pistol's ten-round magazine. His aim remained steady in spite of the strong recoil, but only one round managed to find a weak spot in the armor close to the shoulder joint due to the Crejak's surprisingly quick movements and shield placement. They were now well within close combat range after the brief exchange. Kieran threw away the empty pistol and clenched his sword in both hands once more, preparing for the impending assault. He was reminded by a sharp, grinding pain as he repositioned his stance that the Crejak's earlier machine gun burst had not been completely ineffectual. He could feel the telltale agony of impacts near his right elbow and shoulder, which seemed to have forced bullet fragments into his own armor joints. Although the localized pain was severe, Kieran had the mental fortitude and a hardened pain threshold necessary to ignore the wounds and concentrate only on the immediate danger. Evidently expecting Kieran to attack, the Crejak dropped its now-empty machine guns and kept its heavy shield and remaining broadsword ready.
Starting the fight, the Crejak swung its heavy broadsword in a strong horizontal arc toward Kieran's midsection. The impact startled Kieran's already wounded arms as he countered the blow with a two-handed block with the flat of his own blade. He immediately dropped his left hand from the hilt of the sword, turned, and punched the Crejak's helmeted head in the side with a strong, armor-reinforced blow. After the unexpected blow, his opponent stumbled back against the trunk of a nearby tree, instinctively putting one of its upper hands to its head. Kieran rushed forward, trying to close for a grapple or lock, pressing his advantage. But the Crejak bounced back fast. Two of the alien's strong lower arms protruded as Kieran approached, ensnaring him in his own arms. Kieran was thrown over the Crejak's head and slammed backward into the same tree trunk after being lifted bodily by the creature with amazing strength. With bone-jarring force, Kieran struck the tree, his spine exploding with pain. For a moment, he was dazed and slid to the ground, but he quickly raised himself back up and launched a fierce counterattack, swinging his sword with frantic vigor. Before the Crejak used its superior leverage from multiple arms to violently twist Kieran's sword and rip it from his grasp during another blade lock, they traded a few more heavy blows. Despite being disarmed, Kieran reacted immediately, dropping low and advancing in a forceful tackle. He put his arms around the Crejak's thick waist and used his momentum to throw the startled alien off its feet, sending it crashing to the ground. Kieran scrambled on top of the fallen Crejak, quickly pulled out his combat knife, and drove the point hard into the softer material that sealed the alien's neck joint.
"Do you yield?" Breathing heavily, Kieran demanded. Rather than responding, the Crejak managed to gain traction with its lower legs, delivered a forceful buck, and launched Kieran into the air before stumbling back to its feet and proceeding. Fortunately, Kieran was within arm's reach of his fallen sword as he rolled with the impact. He grabbed it, but Kieran swiftly sheathed the blade across his back, shocking the Crejak, who probably anticipated an instant re-engagement. Rather, Kieran retracted his hand and unslung his shotgun. There were two rounds left, according to his internal ammo counter. Kieran lifted the weapon and fired, knowing he had little room for error. The combat shotgun's concentrated blast dealt a devastating blow at close range, less than five meters. At almost zero dispersion, the entire load of almost two hundred pellets crashed into the Crejak's chest. Kieran cycled the action right away, firing the last round into the same spot. Stunned, the Crejak stumbled back and fell heavily onto its back. Kieran wasted no time in launching himself forward once more, landing directly on the Crejak's chest. He then drew his dagger a second time and pressed its point against the weak spot on the neck. If he confuses me once more... With a grim frustration, Kieran thought. He bent toward the Crejak's hearing organs. "Do. You. Yield?"
This time, the Crejak's vocalizer produced a low, rumbling sound that sounded like rocks grinding against one another: "Rc'tkargna..." The tone of defeat was universal, even if the word was unfamiliar. Kieran took it as a sign of surrender. He put the shotgun back in its holster on his back and sheathed his dagger. Then, in a move that probably startled the audience as much as his opponent, Kieran took off his own helmet and reached down to the vanquished Crejak, offering assistance with his blood-stained right gauntlet. The Crejak paused, staring at Kieran's face for a long time with its many eyes. They had just fought bloody battle; this human, severely injured by the Crejak, was now lending a hand. Inside its helmet came a series of gentle clicks, maybe the Crejak equivalent of a smile. It took the hand that was extended. Kieran assisted in raising the ponderous extraterrestrial. Kieran kept his hold on the Crejak and gave his four-fingered hand a single, firm shake, which is his usual, subtle post-match acknowledgement. He then turned and walked without any more fanfare in the direction of the arena exit. The Crejak watched him leave, seemingly taken aback by the human's unusual show of deference. Such gestures were extremely uncommon in the fiercely competitive world of gladiatorial combat. The Crejak eventually turned and lumbered out of the arena as well, oddly pleased with the encounter despite the defeat. Both fighters had found the fight to be satisfying in its own violent way.
Five minutes later, Kieran was in the main medical bay of the arena, only wearing his briefs as a young, agitated-looking medic fussed over the cut on his side and muttered something about the innate savagery of gladiatorial combat. It was clear that the medic was new to the scene. The majority of seasoned arena medics eventually became detached professionals who even reluctantly acknowledged the fighters' tenacity; tending to gory wounds just became second nature. Kieran had a slight mistrust of medical technology that was too complicated. Kieran instinctively flinched when the anxious medic came toward him with a sleek, pen-like instrument that vaguely resembled some of Luna's more sinister implements.
"Whoa! Wait! Until you specify exactly what that... thing does, you won't touch me with it."
The medic stumbled, "P-please calm down, Mr. Ravy," and held up the device in a conciliatory manner. It is merely a typical dermal regenerator. It speeds up tissue knitting and cellular division by using targeted bio-resonant frequencies. It would only take a few hours for your wounds to heal properly—"
"To hell with your 'bio-resonant frequencies'," Kieran snapped as he interrupted. "My body handles its own repairs, thank you very much." Reaching for his abandoned clothes, he swung his legs off the examination table.
"But Mr. Ravy—" "The name is Kieran." "—Kieran, whatever!" It was obvious the medic's professionalism was eroding. "I'm just attempting to administer the usual post-combat medical care, sir! This gadget just—" Choosing to use reason, Kieran interrupted him again and held up a hand.
"Isn't it my right as a patient to refuse specific treatments?"
"Well, yes, technically, but I am the attending physician, and standard procedure—"
firmly concluded, "—is secondary to patient autonomy," Kieran said. "You see, I'm grateful for the advanced healing offer, but I'm turning it down. I just need sterile gauze pads, adhesive bandages for the gash and joint punctures, basic cleaning, and antiseptic application. You must find it easier to provide basic wound care than to argue over cellular regeneration.
After completing the necessary minor procedure to remove the bullet fragments lodged in Kieran's elbow and shoulder joints, the medic sighed in defeat and gave him the basic care he requested. Soon after, Kieran was set free. The interaction only served to confirm a widely held belief about Kieran Ravy: either people respected his unyielding independence or they found him extremely annoying. This specific medic most certainly belonged to the latter group. Kieran was patted up and made his way back to the Aantolian Sun to meet up with his companions.