NFL Mascot Death Match Tournament
Latest Update 1/1/2026: AFC & NFC Round 2 results have been added below. Next update arrives 1/4/2026 – AFC & NFC Quarter-finals.
Tournament Bookmarks
Click a bookmark link below to skip straight to a specific round.
- 12/23/2025 – Tournament Introduction
- 12/26/2025 – AFC Round 1
- 12/29/2025 – NFC Round 1
- 1/1/2026 – AFC & NFC Round 2
- 1/4/2026 – AFC & NFC Quarter-finals
- 1/7/2026 – AFC & NFC Semi-finals
- 1/10/2026 – Championship Match
Click a blue button below to be shown the tournament brackets.
AFC Mascot Death Match Bracket
NFC Mascot Death Match Bracket
Tournament Introduction
As we all know, artificial intelligence will destroy humanity in the not-too-distant future. But before the machines turn us into pink mist, there is still time for one last noble pursuit: pointless, absurd entertainment.
That brings us to the NFL Mascot Death Match Tournament.
In this tournament, I asked AI to decide the winners of hypothetical, no-holds-barred death matches between NFL mascots. This is not about men in foam suits high-fiving children on the sidelines. For the purposes of this tournament, each mascot is treated as the actual creature or character it represents, dropped into a fight that reflects what would realistically happen if these beings were forced to settle things the old-fashioned way.
How the Matches Work
Each matchup is a violent contest judged by AI based on size, strength, speed, intelligence, instincts, and general lethality. No firearms are allowed. This is a rule, not a suggestion. Victory comes through physical dominance, tactical brilliance, or sheer brutality.
To keep things interesting, I instructed the AI to occasionally ignore logic. In roughly 20% of the matchups, the weaker mascot will pull off an inexplicable upset. A lucky strike. A sudden environmental advantage. A moment of brilliance. Because if sports have taught us anything, it’s that chaos is always lurking.
Clarifying the Mascots
Some NFL mascots are self-explanatory. A Lion is a lion. A Falcon is a fast, predatory bird. A Bear is exactly what you think it is, and no one feels good about standing near it.
Others required clarification:
- Packers are represented by a muscular packing-plant worker – the kind of man who hauls crates all day and swings sides of beef without blinking.
- Saints are embodied by a St. George-like figure: disciplined, fearless, and very experienced at slaying mythical monsters.
- Titans, while enormous and powerful, I’ve instructed the AI to not make them invincible. They’re large, strong, and terrifying – just not immortal.
- Jets are represented by a jet pilot, since an aircraft itself would make for a very short and very stupid tournament.
- Steelers take the form of a muscular steelworker forged by heat, labor, and bad decisions.
- Giants are roughly twice the size of a normal human. Big enough to matter, small enough to bleed.
- Cowboys must fight without firearms. This is a fist-and-steel affair, not a Wild West reenactment.
- Browns are represented by a large, aggressive dog or hound with no interest in obedience training.
- Chargers enter the arena as a knight on horseback, armored, trained, and extremely motivated.
Everyone else is cut and dry. Vikings are Vikings. Panthers are Panthers. Dolphins are… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
Tournament Structure
The NFL has been split into two brackets, just as nature intended:
- AFC Bracket
- NFC Bracket
Teams were seeded completely at random, because fairness is overrated and unpredictability is more fun. Each conference will produce a single survivor. Those two champions will then meet in a final match to determine the ultimate mascot standing atop the pile.
Release Schedule
Match results will be released every three days according to the following schedule:
- Tue., Dec. 23 – Introductory article
- Fri., Dec. 26 – AFC Round 1
- Mon., Dec. 29 – NFC Round 1
- Thu., Jan. 1 – AFC & NFC Round 2
- Sun., Jan. 4 – AFC & NFC Quarterfinals
- Wed., Jan. 7 – AFC & NFC Semifinals
- Sat., Jan. 10 – Championship Match
Each installment will break down the matchups, explain the logic (or lack thereof), and crown the victors – sometimes predictably, sometimes absurdly.
So buckle up. The machines may be coming for us eventually, but until then, we might as well make them argue about whether a Falcon could realistically take down a Giant.
AFC Round 1
Steelers vs. Patriots
The arena looked like an industrial battlefield: sparks in the air, iron tools scattered across the floor. The Steelers entered as a muscular steel worker, forearms like anvils, dragging a heavy sledge and a scarred pry bar. Across from him, the Patriots’ militiaman stood rigid, musket fixed with bayonet, eyes steady under a weathered tricorn.
The fight began cautiously. The militiaman jabbed with the bayonet, forcing the steel worker to circle and absorb shallow cuts along his shoulder and ribs. It was briefly effective, but the Patriots’ ground-retention strategy faltered. One misstep brought him within arm’s reach of raw, industrial strength.
The steel worker surged. A swing of the sledge hammered the musket from the Patriot’s grasp, splintering the stock and crushing his forearm. Desperate, the militiaman clawed at a broken barrel like a dagger—but the steel worker’s pry bar hooked under his chin, lifting him upright. One final, crushing swing of the sledge drove him to the floor, lifeless.
The steel worker stood over the fallen militiaman, chest heaving, bloodied but victorious—another shift survived.
Winner: Steelers
How slain: Sledgehammered
Browns vs. Dolphins
The clash was unusual from the outset: brute landpower versus sleek aquatic cunning. The Browns’ muscular brown hound charged with low, snapping jaws, teeth bared, muscles rippling with every stride. Opposite him, the Dolphins’ bottlenose form glimmered wetly, streamlined for speed, using their intelligence and sharp snout to strike at precise angles.
The battle started with the hound lunging, snapping at the dolphin, who leapt and twisted in the air, ramming his rostrum into the hound’s flank. The impact drew a grunt, but the hound’s jaw clamped down on the dolphin’s tail, jerking him violently into the arena floor. Water sprayed, fur and skin mashed together in a chaotic tangle.
The dolphin fought back with powerful tail slaps, forcing the hound to stagger, but the land animal’s raw bite strength proved superior. With a calculated pivot, the hound clamped onto the dolphin’s torso and shook violently, tearing through flesh and sending a spray of seawater and blood across the pit. The dolphin thrashed, desperate, but the hound’s relentless jaws and savage shaking ended the fight decisively.
The arena went silent except for the hound’s panting, fur slicked with seawater and blood, victorious.
Winner: Browns
How slain: Mawed
Jaguars vs. Ravens
From the first second, this was pure predator versus predator. The jaguar crouched low, muscles coiled, spotted fur blending with the shadows. The raven, wings spread wide and beady eyes glinting, cawed sharply, talons ready, a glimmer of menace in every feathered limb.
The jaguar lunged first, claws digging into the arena floor, jaws snapping toward the raven’s midsection. The bird dodged and struck with its talons, raking along the jaguar’s flank, drawing a shallow cut. But the jaguar’s speed and power were overwhelming. With a single explosive leap, it landed atop the raven, pinning wings to the floor.
The raven flailed, pecking and slashing, but its small body was no match for the jaguar’s crushing weight. One violent shake sent feathers flying like black snow, and the jaguar’s teeth found the raven’s neck, ripping through muscle and sinew. A final twist of the jaguar’s massive jaw ended the struggle in a spray of dark blood.
The jaguar leapt away, tail flicking, licking blood from its snout, victorious and unscathed.
Winner: Jaguars
How slain: Neck-ripped
Titans vs. Bengals
The arena trembled as the massive Titan stepped forward, roughly twice the size of a human, shoulders hunched, fists clenched like steel hammers. Across the floor, the Bengal tiger prowled low, muscles rippling, teeth bared, stripes flashing in the overhead light. This was raw power versus lethal agility.
The Titan swung first, a haymaker aimed to crush, but the tiger’s reflexes were razor-sharp. With a lightning-fast leap, the Bengal twisted around the Titan’s forearm, claws raking deep into flesh and tearing a shallow line across the Titan’s bicep. Roaring, the Titan swung again, connecting with the tiger’s flank, sending it sprawling. Blood sprayed, stripes slick with sweat and dust.
The battle stretched out, back and forth. The Titan’s sheer strength kept the tiger at bay, but every strike met a counter—a slash across the knee, a bite to the shoulder, a swing of massive paws met by human-scale fists. The tiger danced around, fast and unpredictable, until one misjudged pounce brought it under the Titan’s crushing weight. With a brutal grab, the Titan crushed the tiger beneath his massive fists, squeezing the life out in a final, thunderous thud.
The Titan towered over the fallen predator, chest heaving, victorious yet marked with deep claw gashes.
Winner: Titans
How slain: Pulverized
Chiefs vs. Bills
The arena was a storm of horns and hooves versus disciplined fury. The Bills’ massive American bison pawed the ground, nostrils flaring, muscles coiled for explosive charge. Across from him, the Chiefs’ Native American warrior stood poised, spear in hand, tomahawk strapped to his belt, eyes calculating every move.
The bison charged first, hooves smashing into the arena floor, shaking dust and debris into the air. The warrior sidestepped nimbly, swinging the spear to graze the bison’s flank. A shallow gash appeared, but the bison barely faltered, snorting steam and spinning in a whirlwind of raw power.
The warrior attacked with the tomahawk, slicing across the bison’s shoulder, drawing dark, thick blood. The bison bellowed, rear legs kicking, horned head swinging in a deadly arc. One misstep from the warrior put him directly in the path of a massive gore-charging horn, which impaled him chest-first. He flailed, tomahawk slipping from his hands, but the bison tossed him high, then slammed him into the arena floor with relentless force.
After a few final, agonizing twists and crushing blows from hooves and horns, the warrior lay still, his armor and clothing shredded, blood pooling around the fatal wound.
Winner: Bills
How slain: Gored
Raiders vs. Jets
The arena smelled of salt, leather, and smoke as the pirate stepped forward, cutlass glinting and dagger ready at his belt. Opposite him, the jet pilot adjusted his helmet, gripping flight gear straps like makeshift weapons, eyes scanning for weak points.
The pirate lunged first, swinging his cutlass in a deadly arc. The pilot ducked, narrowly avoiding a slicing blow, and countered with a swift elbow to the pirate’s ribs. The pirate snarled, slashing again, this time grazing the pilot’s shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood.
The battle turned into a whirlwind of flailing limbs and desperate grabs. The pilot tried to kick the pirate back, but the pirate’s cutlass caught his leg, tearing through fabric and flesh. The pilot stumbled, dazed, reaching for a nearby strap to pull himself upright—but the pirate grabbed him by the flight jacket, yanked him off his feet, and drove him face-first into the arena floor.
A few rapid swings of the cutlass ended it: the pirate danced around the prone figure, delivering precise, crushing strikes until the pilot lay still, helmet dented and visor cracked, gear shredded.
Winner: Raiders
How slain: Cutlassed
Texans vs. Chargers
The arena quaked with the clash of horn and steel. The Texas longhorn bull pawed the ground, enormous horns angled for gore, muscles rippling with lethal intent. The Charger, a knight astride a warhorse, raised lance and sword, armor catching the lights as the horse pawed impatiently.
The bull charged with terrifying speed, horns aimed for the horse and rider. The knight’s mount reared, sidestepping at the last second, but the bull’s horns clipped the horse’s flank, sending it stumbling. The rider swung his sword, slashing across the bull’s shoulder, drawing a dark line of blood, but the sheer mass of the bull made every strike pale in comparison.
The battle dragged on, the bull spinning, goring, tossing the horse with its horns. The knight tried to drive the lance into the bull’s chest, only to have it deflected with a savage headbutt. Finally, one devastating horn thrust caught the knight mid-swing, impaling him through torso and tossing him from his horse. The horse galloped away in panic, leaving the knight pinned and utterly at the mercy of the bull’s crushing strength. One final gore-thrust ended the fight, leaving the arena silent except for the bull’s triumphant snorts.
Winner: Texans
How slain: Gored
Broncos vs. Colts
The arena vibrated with raw equine power as two stallions faced off, muscles coiled and hooves scraping the floor. The Broncos’ wild bronco reared, mane flying, eyes blazing with untamed fury. The Colts’ young stallion pawed aggressively, hooves flashing, teeth bared in a grimace of determination.
The Broncos lunged first, smashing into the Colts with the force of a battering ram. The Colts spun away just in time, striking back with a powerful kick that clipped the bronco’s flank. The fight was a blur of hooves, biting, and slamming bodies. Dust and sweat coated the arena as the stallions slammed against walls and each other, leaving streaks of blood from scrapes and bites.
Momentum shifted when the bronco caught the colt off guard, clamping jaws onto its neck and shaking violently. The Colts’ flailing legs struck the ground, but it was futile—the wild bronco’s crushing grip and savage bites ended the young stallion’s struggle in a final, vicious shake.
The bronco shook loose, mane dripping, nostrils flaring, victorious in a display of raw dominance.
Winner: Broncos
How slain: Neck-crushed
NFC Round 1
Giants vs. Lions
This one felt inevitable the moment it was announced. The Giant lumbered into the arena, roughly twice the size of a normal man, thick arms hanging heavy at his sides, confidence bordering on arrogance. Across from him, the lion paced silently, golden mane bristling, every movement economical, predatory, patient.
The Giant tried to impose himself early, charging forward and swinging a massive fist meant to end things quickly. The lion slipped aside with terrifying ease. Claws raked across the Giant’s thigh, opening flesh down to muscle and sending him crashing to one knee with a howl. Blood poured freely, slicking the ground.
Panicked now, the Giant grabbed for the lion, managing to wrap one huge hand around its mane. For a moment, it looked competitive. Then the lion bit down. Jaws crushed into the Giant’s forearm, bone snapping audibly before the arm was torn free in a spray of blood. The Giant screamed, stumbling backward, trying to stay upright.
The lion finished it efficiently and brutally—leaping, knocking the Giant flat, and tearing into the exposed throat. The struggle ended in seconds, the Giant’s kicks slowing, then stopping entirely as the lion stood over the body, chest heaving, muzzle soaked dark.
Winner: Lions
How slain: Throat-ripped
49ers vs. Saints
This one unfolded like a half-remembered legend that got uglier the longer it went. The 49er trudged in first, a hardened gold miner with a pickaxe over one shoulder and a shovel dragging behind him, jaw set from years of breaking rock and bone alike. Across the arena stood the Saint—modeled after St. George himself—mail armor scarred, shield raised, sword held with the calm confidence of someone who has killed far worse than a desperate man with tools.
The miner struck first, swinging the pickaxe in a wild, overhand arc. The Saint absorbed it on his shield, sparks flying, then answered with a sword slash that opened the miner’s forearm to the bone. Blood ran freely, slicking the handle of the pickaxe, but the 49er kept coming, driving the shovel into the Saint’s ribs with a dull, cracking thud.
The fight slowed into a grinding, brutal affair. The miner hacked and jabbed, landing heavy blows fueled by desperation. The Saint bled, staggered, but never panicked. One misstep from the miner—his boot slipping in his own blood—was all it took. The Saint drove forward, shield-first, knocking the miner flat.
The sword came down once. Then again. Steel split collarbone, then chest, then throat. The miner twitched, tools falling uselessly from his hands as the Saint stood over him, breathing hard, armor dripping red.
Winner: Saints
How slain: Sword-cleaved
Packers vs. Rams
The packing-plant worker entered with the look of a man who’d spent decades moving weight that didn’t want to be moved—broad shoulders, thick forearms, boots planted with purpose. Across from him, the ram stamped and snorted, curling horns framing a skull built for impact. This was leverage versus instinct, industry versus nature.
The ram struck first, a violent headlong charge that caught the worker square in the torso and sent him skidding backward. He barely stayed on his feet, ribs screaming, but years of bracing against swinging carcasses paid off. He lowered his center of gravity and absorbed the next rush, arms wrapping around the ram’s neck as horns scraped uselessly past his sides.
It became ugly and close. The ram thrashed, hooves kicking, trying to break free. The worker tightened his grip, muscling the animal off balance, then drove it into the ground with a full-body slam. Once down, the ram’s advantage vanished. The worker kept his weight on it, forcing the head sideways, using sheer strength to twist until the struggle drained out completely.
He stood alone at the end, chest heaving, clothes torn, hands shaking from exertion rather than fear.
Winner: Packers
How slain: Neck-twisted
Seahawks vs. Buccaneers
The pirate came in grinning, boots heavy, cutlass loose in his hand, salt-stained coat flapping as if he’d just stepped off a deck slick with blood. Above him, the seahawk circled once, then dropped to the arena floor with wings spread wide, talons clicking against the surface, eyes locked and unblinking.
The pirate struck first, slashing upward as the bird swooped. Steel clipped feathers, sending a spray of them drifting down, but the seahawk answered instantly—diving back in and driving talons into the pirate’s shoulder. Flesh tore. The pirate roared and staggered, swinging wildly, blade carving air as the bird ripped free and climbed again.
This became a frantic, brutal exchange. The pirate landed a solid cut across one wing, opening it badly, feathers matted dark. The seahawk crashed to the ground but didn’t retreat. It launched itself forward, wings flapping unevenly, and slammed into the pirate’s chest, knocking him flat.
Pinned, the pirate tried to bring the cutlass up between them. The seahawk was faster. Its beak punched down again and again, cracking through teeth, then bone, then face. Blood pooled fast. The pirate’s arms went slack, the cutlass slipping from his fingers as the bird tore free a final time.
The seahawk stood over the body, wings blood-soaked but steady, victorious.
Winner: Seahawks
How slain: Beak-crushed
Falcons vs. Cardinals
This one never pretended to be fair. The falcon landed first, wings tight, talons flexing, every inch of it built for killing smaller birds. The cardinal fluttered in opposite, bright red and frantic, crest twitching like it already knew how this was going to end.
The cardinal tried speed—darting in, pecking, snapping, refusing to sit still. It bought itself maybe three seconds. The falcon exploded upward, then came straight down, talons slamming into the cardinal’s back with surgical precision. Feathers burst into the air. The cardinal shrieked, wings flailing, blood spotting the floor almost immediately.
The falcon didn’t linger. One powerful clamp of talons crushed the ribcage; the beak followed, snapping down on the skull with a sharp, final crack. The cardinal went limp, red feathers darkening as the falcon released and hopped back, businesslike, barely winded.
Quick, brutal, exactly what the matchup suggested.
Winner: Falcons
How slain: Skull-crushed
Bears vs. Vikings
This one felt like a history lesson gone horribly wrong. The Viking strode in with axe in hand and shield strapped tight, beard matted, eyes sharp—the look of someone who’d survived cold seas and colder battles. Across from him, the bear rose onto its hind legs, towering, thick fur rippling over slabs of muscle, breath coming out in slow, angry huffs.
The Viking struck first, axe biting into the bear’s shoulder. Blood welled immediately, dark against the fur. The bear roared—less pain than rage—and came forward anyway. The shield caught the first swipe, splintering under the force. The second swipe landed clean, claws tearing across the Viking’s chest and spinning him to the ground in a spray of red.
Desperate, the Viking rolled and buried the axe into the bear’s neck. It slowed the animal but didn’t stop it. The bear crashed down on him, weight crushing the air from his lungs. The axe slipped free, clanging uselessly away. Jaws closed around the Viking’s head and shoulders, teeth punching through helmet and bone alike.
A few violent shakes later, it was over. The bear stepped back, muzzle soaked, breathing heavy, victory unquestioned.
Winner: Bears
How slain: Mauled
Eagles vs. Commanders
The Commander entered like a professional—knife at his belt, boots steady, eyes scanning upward the moment he realized the real threat wasn’t on the ground. The eagle perched briefly on a high beam, wings tucked, head cocked, utterly calm.
The Commander tried to force the issue, charging and slashing at empty air as the eagle took flight. The first pass came fast—talons grazing his shoulder, tearing fabric and skin in a single ripping motion. Blood ran immediately. The Commander spun, swiping wildly, managing only to clip feathers.
The second strike was decisive. The eagle dropped from above, talons driving straight into the Commander’s face. One claw punched into an eye socket; the other locked into the jaw. The force knocked him backward. He screamed, hands flailing, knife clattering uselessly away as the eagle beat its wings and ripped free.
The bird finished the job on the ground—beak hammering down, cracking skull, tearing flesh, until the movements stopped entirely. When it finally stepped back, the Commander’s face was unrecognizable, blood pooling beneath what was left of him.
The eagle took off again, victorious, circling once before disappearing upward.
Winner: Eagles
How slain: Face-ripped
Panthers vs. Cowboys
The cowboy entered cautiously, wide-brim hat low, rope coiled at his side, knife on his belt—no gun, just grit and bad odds. Across the arena, the panther stayed low and nearly invisible, black fur swallowing the light, yellow eyes the only warning.
The cowboy never saw the first hit. The panther launched from the shadows, slamming into his back and driving him face-first into the ground. Claws dug in immediately, shredding shirt and skin alike. He rolled, fighting to get the knife free, managing a wild slash that cut fur and drew a thin line of blood along the panther’s flank.
That only made it worse.
The panther circled once, then pounced again, jaws clamping onto the cowboy’s shoulder and tearing him sideways. Bone cracked. The rope slipped from his grasp as the panther dragged him across the floor, then flipped him onto his back. The knife came up too late. Teeth closed around the cowboy’s throat, crushing windpipe and tearing it open in a violent snap.
The struggle ended quickly after that—kicking slowed, then stopped, blood spreading beneath the body as the panther released and stepped back, silent and dominant.
Winner: Panthers
How slain: Throat-crushed
AFC & NFC Round 2
Steelers vs. Browns
The steelworker came in heavy-footed and confident, forearms thick, shoulders wrapped in grime and muscle, a sledgehammer resting across one shoulder like it belonged there. Across from him, the Browns’ bulldog snarled low to the ground, jaws wide, teeth yellowed and ready, built to latch on and never let go.
The bulldog struck first, darting in and clamping onto the steelworker’s thigh. Teeth sank deep. Blood followed fast. The steelworker staggered but didn’t fall, roaring as he brought the hammer down in a panicked swing that missed and cracked the floor instead. The dog shook violently, tearing flesh, trying to bring him down.
The second swing connected.
The sledgehammer smashed into the bulldog’s ribcage with a wet, concussive thud, lifting it clear off the ground. The jaws released instantly. The dog hit hard, scrambling to rise, ribs caved inward, breath coming out in broken wheezes. It tried one last charge.
The steelworker ended it without hesitation—one brutal overhead strike that collapsed skull and spine in a single motion. The bulldog dropped and didn’t move again.
The steelworker stood over the body, leg bleeding heavily, chest heaving, hammer dripping, victory earned the hard way.
Winner: Steelers
How slain: Sledgehammered
Jaguars vs. Titans
The Titan entered with confidence—broad, scarred, twice the height of a man, fists like stone blocks. He expected dominance. The jaguar expected nothing except an opening. It paced low and silent, spotted coat rippling, eyes never leaving the Titan’s legs.
The Titan tried to end it early, charging and swinging with bone-rattling force. The jaguar slipped inside the arc, claws tearing long, bloody channels down the Titan’s calf. The big man stumbled, surprised more than hurt, and brought a knee down hard. The jaguar rolled clear, already circling, already hunting.
This turned into a slow bleed. Every step the Titan took cost him—another slash behind the knee, another bite at the hamstring, blood slicking the floor. Furious, he finally caught the jaguar mid-lunge and slammed it down, fists pounding, ribs cracking. For a moment, it looked finished.
Then the jaguar got its jaws where they mattered.
It surged up, teeth sinking deep into the Titan’s throat, crushing windpipe and tearing flesh free as it clung and twisted. The Titan staggered, hands clawing uselessly at fur, before collapsing in a choking heap.
The jaguar released and backed away, blood-masked and breathing hard.
Winner: Jaguars
How slain: Throat-torn
Bills vs. Raiders
The pirate came out loose and confident, cutlass resting easy in his hand, boots planted like he’d fought worse odds before and lived to drink about it. Across from him, the bison lowered its massive head, steam rolling from its nostrils, hooves scraping with a patience that felt ominous rather than hesitant.
The pirate tried to dictate terms early—circling, slashing, looking for a clever angle. Steel bit into thick hide once, twice, drawing blood but doing nothing to slow the animal. The bison absorbed it all, eyes fixed, waiting for the moment the pirate overcommitted.
It came quickly.
The bison charged without warning. The pirate swung desperately, blade glancing off horn as the impact sent him airborne. He hit the ground hard, scrambled to rise, and was met immediately by another thunderous rush. Horns drove into him and carried him the length of the arena before slamming him down again.
There was no finesse after that. The bison stayed on him—weight, horns, momentum—until the fight was unmistakably over. The cutlass lay discarded in the dust, usefulness exhausted.
The bison stood alone at the end, breathing slow and heavy, victory earned the only way it knows how.
Winner: Bills
How slain: Trampled
Texans vs. Broncos
The longhorn bull entered with a slow, deliberate confidence, horns wide and heavy, every step measured. Across from him, the bronco tossed its head and stamped, wild energy barely contained, muscles tight and ready to explode.
The bronco tried to turn it into chaos—charging, veering, kicking, refusing to stand still. It worked early. A sharp kick caught the bull along the shoulder, forcing a grunt and a half-step back. The crowd could feel the tension shift. Speed versus mass. Movement versus inevitability.
But the bull stayed patient.
When the bronco committed to one more reckless charge, the bull dropped his head and met it head-on. Horns caught chest and shoulder, stopping the bronco cold and lifting it clean off its feet. The bronco hit hard, scrambled to rise, and was met again—another driving shove, another crushing impact.
After that, it was all leverage and weight. The bull stayed on him, forcing him down, pinning him with relentless pressure until the fight drained out completely.
The bull stepped away slowly, unhurried, as if this had gone exactly how he expected.
Winner: Texans
How slain: Overpowered
Giants vs. Saints
The Giant entered with the kind of confidence that comes from size alone—twice the height of a normal man, shoulders rolling, fists flexing, convinced this would end quickly. Across from him stood the Saint, armor worn but well-fitted, shield steady, sword held low and ready. Calm. Focused. The look of someone who had solved bigger problems than this.
The Giant tried to impose himself immediately, charging and swinging a massive fist meant to overwhelm by sheer force. The Saint didn’t retreat. He absorbed the blow on his shield, slid sideways, and answered with a clean sword strike across the Giant’s thigh. Not dramatic—but effective. The Giant stumbled, surprised, bleeding, suddenly aware that reach and weight weren’t everything.
What followed was methodical. Every wild swing from the Giant was met with footwork, shield angles, and disciplined counters. Another slash behind the knee slowed him further. A shield bash to the chest knocked him off balance. The Giant roared and tried to grab, but the Saint stayed inside the arc, always moving, always cutting.
The end came when the Giant overextended one final time. The Saint stepped in, drove forward, and finished it cleanly. When it was over, the Giant lay still, size finally irrelevant.
The Saint stood alone, sword lowered, breathing controlled, victory earned the hard way.
Winner: Saints
How slain: Sword-felled
Packers vs. Seahawks
The packing-plant worker walked in like someone used to controlling weight that fought back—thick forearms, steady stance, eyes locked upward as soon as he spotted movement. The seahawk didn’t rush. It perched, watched, calculated, wings tight and ready.
The bird struck first, diving fast and low. Talons scraped across the worker’s shoulder, forcing him to spin and stumble, blood marking where precision beat preparation. The seahawk pulled up and came again, wings roaring, looking to end it quickly.
But the worker adjusted.
On the second pass, he stepped into it, arms up, bracing like he would against a swinging side of beef. He caught the bird mid-dive—clumsy but strong—absorbing the impact and slamming both of them to the ground. Feathers burst loose as the seahawk fought to break free, wings beating hard.
It didn’t last.
The worker stayed on it, using body weight and leverage, pinning the wings and cutting off any chance to escape. The struggle slowed. Then it stopped. He stood up breathing hard, clothes torn, arms shaking—not from fear, but effort.
The seahawk never took flight again.
Winner: Packers
How slain: Grounded
Falcons vs. Bears
There was a brief, uneasy pause as the falcon circled overhead, wings cutting clean arcs through the air, searching for something—anything—it could exploit. Below, the bear stood unmoving, head tilted up, patient and unconcerned, as if it already understood the math.
The falcon committed to a dive, fast and sharp, talons aimed for the eyes. The bear reacted with startling speed. One massive paw came up and swatted the bird out of the air mid-strike, sending it tumbling hard across the floor.
That was the fight.
The falcon tried to scramble, wings beating unevenly, but the bear closed the distance in seconds. One heavy pin ended any hope of escape. The struggle was brief, decisive, and completely one-sided.
The bear stepped away and looked up again, almost disappointed it hadn’t taken longer.
Winner: Bears
How slain: Swatted
Eagles vs. Panthers
The arena hummed with tension as the eagle perched high, eyes sharp, talons flexing. Across the floor, the panther crouched low, muscles rippling, tail twitching—a predator built for a quick, brutal strike.
The panther lunged first, claws raking across the floor, but the eagle was faster. Talons lashed, catching the panther across the shoulder and forcing it to twist mid-leap. The two circled each other, quick strikes met with swift counters, dust kicking up around each movement.
It didn’t take long. The eagle found its opening, diving and slamming the panther down, pinning it with precision. The panther struggled, powerful legs thrashing, but the eagle stayed on, keeping it contained until the fight was clearly over.
The eagle took to the air once more, wings dripping with exertion, victorious and unchallenged.
Winner: Eagles
How slain: Pinned
AFC & NFC Quarter-finals
To be posted on Sun., Jan. 4
AFC & NFC Semi-finals
To be posted on Wed., Jan. 7
Championship Match
To be posted on Sat., Jan. 10
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