At opposite ends of the battle field something miraculous was happening.

On one end was the leader of the Demacian forces, striking down the enemies that stood in his way, bringing fear into the hearts of those who bothered to watch. The spread of his justice, his judgment, would bring down the true guiding light for Valoran. Countless bodies feel to his might. Garen roared as he hit a half dozen men in a single stroke – his aim true, his strength grand.

The other side also roared, this time with laughter as the most sinister of woman called out. Her yell, her victory cry, was nearly as loud, and equally as strong. Swift strokes flew as one by one Demacian forces fell beneath her. Blood covered her and her victims. She had no allies near – she needed no support. For she was the sinister blade, the pride of her land. The Noxian woman flew through the crowd, piercing at the heart of every man that dare stand against her. She smiled her twisted grin; in a man's world, she could destroy them all, and look gorgeous doing it.

As men fell to blades, gurgled their last goodbyes through pouring blood, or put their tails between their legs and ran, three weapons met; two belonging to Katarina, one possessed by Garen. There was a wave of silence as the crowd was stunned. The two greatest champions of their own lands had hit. The outcome of this could turn the war.

There was a moment when they both looked at each other. The tension grew higher and higher to the point where it was producing sweat on their brows. Neither dared to wipe it, for to do so would mean to lose this power struggle.

Not a single inhale happened in what felt like hours. The world seemed to stop for everyone watching. For Garen and Katarina, the world ceased to exist. Katarina was sizing him up. His armor was well-made with few flaws, and his strength was immense. Garen examined the woman with disdain. She, a woman, was capable of, at the moment, matching him. Yet she wore no armor. Her body with lithe, and scantily clad.

She saw it there, as he started to scowl in disapproval. She knew he'd not be able to catch her in time. She pulled down her blades, crossing them at the spot where the breast plate met the armor of his lower half. He was more prepared than she had thought. Not more prepared than she could handle, just more than she had thought.

She swung down, hit him hard, but he slashed his sword down, no longer held by her twin blades. It cut her face, slicing straight down her left eye. She grabbed at it with her hands, stepping back, and he held on to his mid-section.

The crowd inhaled. How long would it be before they let go of their breath?

Each could only spare a moment – both were battle honed and knew the cost of hesitation. Again, their blades met, and there were sparks. They pulled away from each other and began to circle one another, looking for weaknesses. But both fighters were nearly perfect. No move Garen could make wouldn't emphasis a weak spot and give her an opportunity. No action Katarina could take would guarantee she'd come out of the encounter alive.

Blood trickled down her face. She stuck out her tongue to lick it. In this game, at this moment, it was more about mental games, for they were on equal playing grounds.

A twitch in Garen's legs told Katarina to move. She was just fast enough to only allow him a small shred of her pink hair, and in return, she swiped at him, aiming for the back of his neck. She also missed, and struck her blade against his armor. Again, sparks brightened the scene.

No one was surprised that the two were equally matched, and no one was surprised that after ten minutes – which no one could honestly say was ten minutes, but rather stories would go on to tell the tale as a century – both were tired. Neither wanted to show it, but their breath was coming quickly, sweat poured down their temples, each had lost a lot of blood. They still circled one another, but their intensity faltered in places where their resolve did not.

One final rush sent the two of them forward hurling at one another.

If Garen was certain of any one thing, it was that he had met his equal in battle, and there was nothing this exhilarating. There was no trophy to be won, only a good fight, for the right reasons. A small part of him honestly considered not killing her, so that he might have a match that would push him this hard again.

Katarina knew only that she wanted little else than to taste his blood. And perhaps another encounter with him – provided he survived this one, of course. She didn't intend for that to be the case, but nonetheless, it had been a very, very long time since she had been pushed this far. She wondered if he had a family.

They connected again, but both fell back from the impact. Hitting the ground hurt, they realized.

The crowd again inhaled as a group. Noxus, Demacia, it mattered not where they called home, for their champions had both been downed. Who was the victor?

A commander of each army was pushed forward to check on the fighters. The commander of Noxus stood after feeling for a pulse.

"Men, she breathes on!" There was a great roar of cheering.

The second commander stood, his eyes thin and his lips curled down in disdain. "Garen is alive." he hissed. The Demacians stomped their boots on the ground.

The two commanders stared at each other for a moment.

"For today, -" One began.

"We should call our battle -" The other one continued.

"A stalemate." They agreed.

The Demacian commander again hissed to the crowd. "Allies, and enemies. Gather your dead with dignity. We shall not fight anymore today."

The Noxus commander continued. "When you speak of this day, tell them there was a clash of two great titans, today equally matched. Tomorrow, we shall see."

The crowd split their separate ways, each side taking their wounded, their dead, and their champions closer to home.