(mood: an old NFL Film Highlight reel. lots of booming drums and military marching music.)

It was a stirring day. The kind of day where a man looks death in the eye and doesn't blink. It was on this day that Ahnuld...C9 visited the frozen cyberspace tundra of Kitty1 and found his Destiny. It was on this day that Ahnuld not only lived up to his own expectations, but also the expectations of the screaming throngs that had endured what seemed a lifetime of pain for this one joyous moment.

The enemy: formidable.

His name was XP·WhiteDragon. His record of destruction and mayhem wreaked upon opposing players was legendary. His unpredictable nature had caused him to not only change Clans, but also his name. In reality, he was nameless, he was alone, he was... Death.

The battle began on that old stomping ground known as "Castle of the Damned". Many battles had been won and lost here; much blood had been bravely shed. Ten players convened here, but only two knew that they had any chance of walking out alive.

WhiteDragon roared in front with wave after wave of relentless offense. He covered the map with skill and dexterity rarely seen in modern times. Players feared WhiteDragon, they cowered, they left the battle. Ahnuld was among them. This was turning into his worst defeat. His head was lowered, his spirit broken.

The score was 23 to 7 as the other players in the match started pleading for mercy. WhiteDragon, showing a glimmer of humanity, relented. He promised that this would be the last level that they, the other players, would have to endure. He promised it would be over quickly. Suddenly, Ahnuld felt a surge of rage well up from inside his cavernous chest. WhiteDragon was insulting him. To his face. On his home turf. Ahnuld was determined to make one final stand, if only to defend his honor.

And then, the break! WhiteDragon -- lazy? overconfident? -- had neglected to protect that most sacred of resources, the Quad. And now he was going to pay. With one shot from Ahnuld, WhiteDragon's view had drastically changed. He was now looking up through the eyes of a head that was lying on its side, on the ground, separated from its body, while a glowing figure passed by.

The match was on.

The mere loss of Quad was not enough to deter WhiteDragon. At first, it seemed a minor setback at best. While Ahnuld carved a path of gore through the other players, WhiteDragon fell back to resupply, collecting weapons, a few frags, and finally the all-important Rocket Launcher. Now he was prepared to face this sudden challenge. Through the tunnel of spikes he sped, anxious for the yellow armor that would complete his recovery. But what was this? Ahnuld, his newly created nemesis, bounding up the steps toward the armor. A hail of rockets from WhiteDragon finally found their mark just as Ahnuld reached the top, but simultaneously return fire from the Bavarian Barbarian laid WhiteDragon low as well. A race for the backpacks ensued. As WhiteDragon rounded the last corner on his way to the precious cache of weaponry, there was Ahnuld, collecting the backpacks as well as the armor! And there, too, was a rocket in flight. WhiteDragon fell again. Ahnuld passed out of view up the spiralling staircase. Shortly the sound of Quad echoed through the castle once more. For the first time, WhiteDragon felt a twinge of concern. Was his victory in jeopardy?

Slowly, the other players began to realize that a struggle of epic proportions was in the offing. Cries of "XP vs. C9!" began, and were taken up and echoed through the halls. The foes exhanged blow after blow, almost incidentally gathering frags from the other competitors as they pursued their private vendetta. Ahnuld felt inspired to heights of virtuosity he had rarely before attained. He was... dare we say?... en fuego. But WhiteDragon was still the leader, still an opponent to be reckoned with, still The Man. Rising up in wrath, he finally struck down Ahnuld with a mighty rocket blast and gathered the Quad. Ahnuld respawned in WhiteDragon's path, only a grenade launcher at hand. Quickly Ahnuld fled, leaving a trail of explosives as Quad rockets from WhiteDragon battered the walls around him. But what was this? The third-place contender, arriving on the scene, harassing WhiteDragon from the side! A moment of distraction, and both wandered into Ahnuld's minefield to a messy end. The momentum was shifting...

Back and forth the tide of death rolled, WhiteDragon edging ever closer to the victorious score of 40, but Ahnuld closing the gap. The cheers and exhortations were now near-deafening. Ahnuld knew that he had to come through, for himself, and for the fans. He knew this was his moment. And he knew that this would be his game. The rockets flew! The gibs mounted! WhiteDragon reached 37... 38... but he could not shake the ever-closer pursuit of his challenger! Suddenly, it was over. One last scream echoed as silence fell, and the view cut to the scoreboard and the final standings. 40 to 39. At the top: Ahnuld...C9.

There is only room for one king in the Castle. And on this day, this man -- Ahnuld...C9 -- was King.