How we think the fight will go

This is the match-up Gregor has been waiting for. A straight fight between a killing machine as efficient as himself. He was tired of the undead, and magicians, and…well, whatever that mewling puddle of a man he had just tromped on called himself.

This thing, though…this Terminator was exactly what made the Mountain That Rides so feared. Because despite the T-800’s strengths and abilities—despite its strange weapons—this is going to be a battle of strength.

Like continents colliding.

He had heard enough about the T-800 to be wary of the projectile weapons at its disposal. The thing called a shotgun wouldn’t be too bad—his armor could handle the little metal balls it shot out. It is, oddly, the smaller weapons, the things called “handguns” that makes Gregor even pause. But if there was one thing to say about him, it’s that Ser Gregor Clegane is not one to shy from a fight.

He just needs to be smart about it.

There’s no hesitation on either combatants’ parts, and even as Gregor charges, the Terminator levels his shotgun and blasts. As the knight had predicted, his armor deflects most of the shot, although the ricochets off the plate do send a few into the crevices, causing pain, but nothing debilitating. If anything, it makes the Mountain angrier, and he moves faster to close the distance.

He knows it is imperative that he do so, because even as the buckshot bounces off his armor the Terminator drops the shotgun in favor of two handguns. The robot flips off the safeties and raises the one in his right hand to be in line with Gregor’s face. The knight roars, raising his shield as the T-800 pulls the trigger. The 9 mm automatic fires round after round into Gregor’s shield and the enameled wood begins to rapidly disintegrate under the onslaught.

But it is enough.

Because though a few bullets get through the shield and penetrate the Mountain’s armor, they were slowed enough to not cause any lasting damage and—more importantly—the ground between the two had been covered.

Throwing down his shield, Gregor slashes downwards with his giant sword, no grace or finesse marring the sheer savagery of the attack. The blade cuts a deep gouge in the skin of the T-800, but its extra-strong combat chassis prevents the blow from doing any further damage. It does, however, cause the robot to drop one of its guns.

It also seems to piss the thing off, a reaction nut unlike Ser Clegane’s.

Putting the other gun up against a seam in Gregor’s armor, it holds down the trigger until the magazine is empty. At point-blank range, no amount of metal is going to stop a bullet, even a small caliber weapon like a 9 mm. The knight groans as the bullets pierce his flesh, happy when the fire biting into him is replaced with a dull throbbing when the gun goes CLICK.

Luckily for the Mountain, a combination of his armor, thickly-padded undergarments, and his own massive size kept the damage to a relative minimum. Too, the fact that the T-800 never had a chance to reload meant there wasn’t a full clip pumped into him. Even still, he isn’t at one-hundred percent now, and any chance to end this early would be just fine with him. He grabs his sword with two hands and makes to end any connection the robot’s head has with its neck.

The Terminator has other plans, though, and puts up its arm to catch the sword. It seems a little surprised when its severed hand falls to the ground, not having anticipated a human with enough strength to shear through its chassis. Processor kicking into overdrive, it calculates that the thing attacking it is very much more than simply a man, much like its previous opponent, Fenris. And now, without its other hand, reloading the gun will be impossible. It drops it.

Gregor smiles, a grim smile not so much of happiness or even satisfaction, but rather one of determination and, somehow, anger. He raises the sword again, but this time, instead of slashing, he sets his shoulder and looks to impale the T-800 with two yards of steel.

The problem is that, unlike a man who had lost his hand, the Terminator is not at all diminished except for the lack of an appendage. So it is still incredibly strong and—unlike a warrior whose life is draining from his elbow—able to react incredibly fast. As the Mountain’s sword comes close to the cyborg’s chest, its now empty hand simply pushes the blade aside, disregarding the edge as it slices open its palm. The maneuver throws Gregor off balance and he stumbles.

And when a large man in full plate gets thrown off balance, it’s a rare moment that they keep to their feet.

Crashing into the ground, the knight quickly rolls onto his back only to find a foot on his chest—a foot far heavier and exerting far more pressure than any man could. Even as he struggles to shake the robot off of him, the foot keeps pressing further and further down…as does his plate armor. The sound of crushing metal grates on the Mountain’s ears and he can envision that sound changing to the crushing of his own ribs. Even now it is getting harder for the knight to breathe.

The robot says nothing—no words seem necessary. It can see the knight’s eyes through the slit in his helm and knows that as they widen in fear this battle will be soon over.

Yet…the eyes do not show fear. As it processes the information, the T-800 is once again surprised by this man, because his expression isn’t one of resignation but rather…

Anger.

Gregor quits trying to roll the robot off his chest or reaching for his sword, and instead grabs the calf of the T-800. And, rather than grabbing it to pull the leg away, he begins to pull up the pants to reveal the cyborg’s skin. Without hesitation, he digs his fingers into the flesh. The robot doesn’t appear to be affected by the knight’s actions, even as Gregor creates enough room with his fingers to reach inside the skin and tear it off.

The foot keeps pressing down.

A bit more urgently—but with no frantic gleam in his eyes—the Mountain exposes the robot’s skeleton. Not knowing what he’s grabbing—and not caring—he starts pulling at what would be a man’s tendons, veins, and muscles.

The T-800 is alarmed…or alarmed enough to want to stop the knight from doing what he’s doing. So, never relenting pressure, it bends over at the waist and does the only thing available to it.

It punches Gregor in the head.

The Mountain grunts…and continues ripping things out of the robot’s leg.

It punches Gregor again.

He continues pulling.

This back and forth looks to continue as the Terminator gets ready to deliver another punch, but it suddenly feels itself falling backwards, hydraulic fluid spraying all over the chest of the now-freed knight. It falls down, and when it tries to get back up, the T-800’s damaged leg can do nothing to support it. It lies on the ground, watching as the knight slowly raises himself from the ground. The Mountain’s breath is coming shallowly—the crushed breastplate severely constricting his diaphragms ability to completely replenish his air supply.

It doesn’t seem to do anything to diminish his determination.

The knight walks over to his sword, and once again grunting, he reaches down to pick it up off the ground. Firmly in his grasp, he goes to stand over the Terminator.

“Ugly bloody thing,” he mutters. Reversing the sword in a smooth motion so that the blade is pointed down, he grabs the hilt with both hands. Without pausing, he plunges the sword into the face of the Terminator, pulls it out, and stabs again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, the red glow in the Terminator’s eyes goes out, and its face is a mess of blood and circuitry.

The Mountain rips off his helmet, panting, and looks at his sword, disgusted to find it scratched, gouged, and chipped—the Terminator’s battle chassis enacting a bit of revenge on its vanquisher. Gregor spits on the robot and drops the sword on top of the T-800.

He walks away, wondering which knight he should murder in order to get a new blade.

Predicted Winner: The Mountain That Rides