From a distance, my island looked serene, almost heavenly. A golden halo of sparkling sand ringed the dense jungle, distance reducing those clawed branches and strangulating vines to a green and brown blur. A few gulls circled and swooped above the beach where so much blood had been spilled, hoping for a free meal. They had learned to anticipate the carnage, and I didn't like that. I didn't like anyone predicting my actions, not even a flock of harmless scavenging birds.

I treaded water in the open ocean, half way between my island and the much larger land mass called Scara Brae. I knew the route the enchanted rowboat that delivered my opponents followed, had watched countless times as it cut the wavy waters to bring me my next victim. Nowhere in the Pagoda rules did it say I could not ambush the enemy before they arrived. That was one of the few good things about the Dajas Pagoda; there were no rules.

Invisible currents tugged at my bare limbs and the heavy swim trunks I wore, trying to lead me every which way. I refused to budge, floating as best I could with only my eyes and soaked hair above the waterline, tilting my head back whenever I needed to breathe.

It was not only a desire to break routine that guided me to pitch this challenger a curveball. I had heard from a number of sources that this man was a mountain, the largest fighter to ever enter the Pagoda. While that may or may not have been true, he had defeated a Warrior with alarming alacrity. Beyond his physical size and prowess, I knew nothing about the giant, save for a name I needed a calculator to pronounce.

So I took the safe route, became a sea monster for the day, and waited amidst the water that shone like a thousand shattered mirrors in the day's bright sunlight.

Today, I realized, tasting the salt water as my lips spread into a small smile, I'll feed the fish instead of the birds.