CYOA

In an underground arena, at which the greatest, yet utmost private gladiators duel, you were thrown in the rink, clad in tight apparel that also itched. It was stifling here as well, due to the plethoras of chanting patrons and the real necessity for air conditioning. Suddenly, a pinnacle of a man enters the rink, and the announcer calls him, the Demolisher. He is tanned and stands in haughty grandeur, adorned in muscularature. He approached you, with a sardonic grin. "A non-bender? Really?"