“It’s hard to even pity you, mutt.” Grilse said beneath his breath to me, the metal of his glaive grazing against my neck.

I said nothing, not because I didn’t want to, but because losing blood when I was already starving had enraged the hunger inside me. To say I was seeing blood red was an understatement as thoughts of slaughter and fury festered in the forefront of my mind.

“Well well, it seems the first round goes to the talented Sanguine. An impressive showing too, being able to not only capitalize on a moment of hesitation but also cross such a distance. A fine specimen, shame he isn’t up for barter, right Lady Velkren?” the announcer said, all those in the stands visibly turning their heads to one of the nine patios I assumed were reserved for the richest of undead.

Needing a distraction, I too swivelled my head in that direction, seeing the quite attractive woman that Grisile had bowed to only moments after beating me. The way she looked at Grisile and me though… to say it was disturbing didn't give her enough credit. It was the same way my mother looked when she watched my sibling fight, yet the implications in this setting made my blood run cold.

I felt sick to my stomach, almost falling to my knees.

These people were monsters, I had know that much for a while, but to see them cheering and screaming for bloody murder. They drowned out any sense of reason, worst of all the humanity some of them should have had within the stands. I found it so enshrouding, like a thick mist of anarchy that permeated throughout this place. Revolting.

All these people had thrown away their reason to indulge in “Entertainment”.

Am I… to be reduced to nothing but an entertaining massacre.

My legs shook under the gravity of that thought.

The ground beneath me pulsed with crimson light, the weight of the air around me turning heavier and stiff. Grisile again started to stalk the ring's edge slowly drawing inward. This time though, I actively made my way towards the centre of the ring.

If I keep doing the same thing, I’m dead.

The first week and a half of my second life had been preparing for this moment, so even under the sinking feeling in my gut I still kept a level of clarity. My opponent didn’t change his degree of movement but he did lower his stance closer to the ground and motioned his glaive into a guard. Grisile unwillingness to give into my shift highlighted a certain hesitation I didn’t think he’d have and gave me time to think.

From a matter of fact standpoint, my weapon wasn’t suitable for combating Grisiles in such an open environment. His spears shaft had full advantage in defence because the shaft was long and sturdy enough that my one-handed shortsword even with Ichor couldn’t surmount his two-handed grip, that was spread out enough to distribute any force I might muster. With the open area Grisile would be able to enforce its full range of motion from any angle because even as a Fangless, he would have enough strength the same as myself to thrust from almost any position. Not even factoring in the reach advantage

His training completely surmounted mine in every fashion and I knew given a chance he would pounce the moment my concentration wavered. There was no feasible way to beat him in pure unadulterated skill or in a fair encounter.

But you aren’t scared, are you… no, I know you aren’t scared.

Surveying his every movement like a hawk originally had me befuddled as to why he stayed on the defensive. But then it clicked. He was a Sanguine from the Zelkren clan, same as Zena. They may have fought with different styles and levels of aggression but their one flaw remained the same, the one thing Vale had pointed out yesterday that I could use.

Grisile would only attack if there was an opening. Not even the confidence gained from the last round was enough for him to get impatient. No, that confidence as a warrior would enforce his bad habit.

From your perspective, you beat me in every single category. Why would you charge? Just waiting there guarantees not only a fair fight of sword against spear, but one you control.

I understood, just a little, why Vale called this a flaw. Something that was meant to help in duels and very much would if the opponent always attacked and defended in an orthodox manner would become a crippling weakness in other forms of combat. Ones where the way of battle was not linear, points in time when you couldn’t control the flow of battle, nor could you read it.

These people wanted anarchy and disgusted as I was, it too was what I desired to bring in that moment. Enough to shake him, enough to make a gap in his armour, a chink in his defence.

So I walked towards him, knowing from experience naught but seconds ago how quick he could move. My body was still shaking from the anxiety and hunger but that too could work in my favour. By no means was I confident though. All of this could fall apart if I took one wrong step, not to mention that I couldn’t even… kill him.

If I let him get confidence from two round wins… he’ll be unpredictable. I need him shaken, so much so that he falls back on his teachings, something I can exploit.

One step, two steps, five steps and he still hadn’t struck. That was a problem. His reaction speed was far greater than my own so the closer I was before he attacked, the more likely he was to hit me even with my Ichor. I had to do something. Quick thinking led me to fumble my grip a little, letting the short sword drop not only out of my guard but my hand as well.

That was a chance he couldn’t avoid.

I saw the deadly focus in his cold gaze as he pounced forward again, glaive arcing from the left of me. Roars and screams resounded around us again, wanting nothing more than carnage and blood.

Then, like a game of chess, the tide switched. In one moment I used my crude control of the Ichor that could barely form the most basic Arcanes now to enhance the strength and bursting power of my arms and legs. My left arm snatched the short sword to meet the glaives edge while my stride pushed me even closer to him, arm stretched out with claws that extended like razors, scraping his neck before retracting back.

The sheer force of Grisile blow caught up to me and I in a hurry let myself be taken off my feet, knowing I’d only cause more damage if I tried to fight. The force rattled not just my sword hand but all the bones up to my shoulder, blowing me back.

Skidding across the arena hurt, but not nearly as much as my right hand that had gone numb under the strain. It twitched back and right as I writhed in pain, biting my teeth and regretting what I had just done.

Grisile kicked up a gust of ferocious wind as he charged forward, fully expecting to capitalise on my downed position. Except that the round had already been won. I couldn’t help smirking like a satisfied beast having thoroughly enjoyed leading my prey astray.

“A surprising win in the second round folks. Seems like our dark horse is quick thinking and magically inclined. Give him a cheer!” The sounds raged again, this time towards me instead of Grisile.

He looked down at me with an emotion I found hard to decipher. Hesitation, regret, guilt, envy, anger. All of these could sum up a part of it but I couldn’t find a word to describe the accumulated feeling that radiated from his eyes as he begrudgingly walked to the other side of the arena.

My back ached from the skid marks that tore off fresh skin, leaving me bloodied and even more hungry. Every part of my body burned bar my right hand which felt numb to the bone. No surprise factoring in how I’d just taken the full brunt of a grown man swinging his glaive. To make matters worse it hurts even just to breathe. My right lung and ribs probably took some bruising but I wasn’t coughing blood so it wasn’t internal bleeding, at least not the kind that needed immediate attention.

That was good. Bleeding was one of the worst ailments a Fangless could sustain because it would provoke our hunger and make our sanity far more malleable.

The pain was enough to bring tears to my eyes but I stood anyway, trying to see composed. Until a stare that originated from the patios above froze me in place. Sweat dripped down my forehead and my bones creaked as chill after chill ran up my spine like a scampering mouse escaping a cat’s iris.

The feeling fled after a brief moment. I cursed my curious nature for daring to take a slight to peek that the one who had put me in such a dire state, seeing that same woman from the patios above stare down at me.

I shivered and turned my gaze back, knowing that sending it loftily would do me no good.

The announcer did not speak again to incite the crowd, mainly because he needn’t. The final round was about to begin and they were all thirsty to see blood be spilled. Truly, this place was horrid.

But if I was going to live then I’d have to…

Stop thinking about it, you’ve k-killed before.

Grisile lined up by the edge of the hexagon and I did the same, standing opposite to him and awaiting the red aura to reappear. I knew deep down that my trick had little chance of working again. Even if Grisile didn’t know what Ichor was he would prepare for it since he was far from stupid. I had thrown my trump card in the air knowing it wouldn’t work nearly as well again, that said, I still had one thing I could bank on.

I need to draw him in, close enough to touch. By Sol, this would be so much easier if he wasn’t using a spear.

The long reach of that weapon made my idea more of a pipe dream, feasible only if I could get past it.

“Now, let it begin” the announcer signalled, making the arena light up once more.

Pressure different from the two previous iterations bared down on me, sparking, no exacerbating a…

a…

Curious.

I ripped my head back, feeling my will for just the briefest of moments intruded on by some elusive force. The red glow was brighter than ever and created a strange mirage that looked as if blood was flowing towards the centre of the hexagon.

Grisile didn’t use my momentarily daze against me, instead of looking to have become feral as his posture lowered as if he was going to run on all fours. His hands didn’t touch the ground, no matter how compromising that the leaned position must have been for his balance. He let the droop, causing a deep and ear-piercing scrap from his spear's edge against the area’s stone.

I didn’t know what he was doing but I mirrored his movements the same as before, stalking on the arena's edge slowly etching closer to its middle.

Something felt off, he felt off. The air had grown so stiff around us it felt like a coiling membrane. My eyes traced his movements and yet somehow they started to fizzle but by bit. My breath grew hotter with each step, my heart pumping faster and faster. Even my Ichor started to contract and tense around me, becoming sharper and more narrow.

What is this?

Unfortunately, I had no time to receive or even really think about my answer. Grisile charged, not in the manner I had hoped for though. He was fast but also precise, lacking a manic I had tried to invoke. His spear was raised by the end of his dash, coming down in a straight line set to bisect me.

Left with no choice but to dodge, I hastily backstepped or at least tried to. Dizziness from the heavens knows where started assaulting me, leading my footing to trip and miss. I should’ve been sent tumbling into a fall, oddly enough though, I wasn’t.

Like an inverse reaction, my body twisted all the momentum gained from attempting to move and flopping to gravity, leaving the glaive’s edge to just barely miss me. It still took a few hairs and some scraps of skin, mostly from the end of my nose that made me cringe in favour between pain and rage.

Did... I do that?