Nic made his way towards the largest cluster of participants who’d yet to be called. A small, compactly muscular man with a triangular beard of golden curls was listening intently to two invaders. One was a blue-skinned dhampir, its flesh turned azure from lack of blood, with a bald head and a face split open by a hideous wound that lopped away its nose. The other was sweetness itself by comparison, a woman with skin the color of sea-green jade and opalescent horns of pearl emerging from her hair in a crown of spikes. She stood as tall as the cyclops, with spiked bracers around each arm and a robe of cloud patterned black silk that hung off one shoulder.

“I’m here to make a deal.” Nic announced.

The dhampir and the oni looked at him. Red and yellow eyes, both wearing an expression of skepticism, for the small, slimy blob of pink waving to them.

The dhampir at least recognized something was up, as his eyes landed on the Dao Markings that patterned Nic’s skin. The oni just snorted, waving her fingers dismissively as if she could shoo him away.

“Begone, brat. We aren’t interested in an alliance. Unless you’re going to sell off your city, we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

The blue-skinned creature was about to speak, but the bracer ignited in its hand, sending up a beam of light. With a sharp-toothed snarl, it gave the curly-bearded man a brief nod and departed to make its selection.

Nic grinned and pushed forward, addressing the man directly. “I need to trade picks. That should be possible, right? I’m willing to repay the favor…”

The man glanced between Nic and the jade-skinned Oni.

“Sorry chief. I’m selling out of this city-game, so unless you want to make a bid…”

“Begone.” The oni snapped.

Nic paused and looked back. There were two other leaders somewhere, but in the crowd, he couldn’t spot them. And there was no telling that either of them would be willing to bargain. On the other hand? This man was clearly suggestible, and open to making deals.

He just needed to get rid of the two jackals in his way.

“So they’re giving you money? What’s to stop them from killing you and taking it back?” He asked sharply.

The man just smiled. “Good catch, but already ahead of you there, chief. I’m bargaining for money and protection.” He tapped his nose with a wink.

“You really need to learn your place,” the oni growled, but Nic ignored her.

“What protection? What were the precise terms?” He insisted.

The man, well, he was catching on that something was wrong. And that was making him sweat a little. “Ah, mm. I tell the winning bidder the location, when they come and take the city, they give me the credits. They agree not to hurt me or mine for the next five years.”

“You idiot.” Nic snapped. “So only the winning bidder can’t hurt you? Think. They proposed those terms, didn’t they?”

“They did…” The man admitted, hesitant now. His eyes weren’t on Nic, but on the oni, and she was absolutely fuming.

Nic shook his head. “They’re not actually bidding against each other at all. That’s just a show. They approached you right after each other, didn’t they? Because they’re working together. The winner shares the location with the loser, the loser comes and kills you.”

He had no idea if that was actually true. But he had the momentum on his side, and it sounded true, which was enough for the man’s gaze to snap to the oni with a sudden fear and anger.

“You little-” Her fist drew back, but froze there, better sense conflicting with her anger. Little by little she lowered the hand. “You’ve made an enemy today.” She spat out, and turned away to sink into the crowd.

The man leaned back against the wall, his face a little pale. He dabbed nervously at the sweat on his neck. “Shiiiit…” He mumbled. “A second time. I nearly got gotten, a second time.”

His bracer lit up. He glanced to Nic.

“Well shit. I guess I owe you.”

Nic wasn’t shy about asking for what he was owed. “The training array. I’ll trade you my pick for it.”

The man nodded, and departed for the center stage.

“I see you make friends easily.”

Nic turned and found himself in the presence of the ogre-blood he’d met in Makepeace’s jail. The man wore heavy black beads of onyx, cast around his neck on strings, and a long saffron robe banded by a metallic red belt.

“The problem with making friends is, you make as many enemies. And you never know which is going to last longer, the friend, or the enemy…”

Nic lifted an eyebrow. “Going by the fact you’re giving me advice I didn’t ask for, I’d say you’re making a try for friend. A weird, weird try.”

The ogre laughed, his broad mouth lifting up towards the ceiling. “HA! That’s right, I am…” He leaned down, sinking to one knee. “I’m impressed. You move easily in these circles, despite being an outsider. And you fight well, sure enough, nobody can take that from you.”

“Sure. So I’m great.” Nic grinned. “Why should I be your friend?”

“Rakdhat.” He offered his hand. “You should be my friend, because everyone is my friend.”

“I’m not everyone.” Nic gave the hand an unimpressed glance.

“Nor am I. Friendship is a trust, my little friend. Trust me, I’m worth being friends with,”

Nic snorted. But despite himself, he did like the way Rakdhat spoke, the easy confidence he affected. It reminded Nic of the bravado he’d carried in City d23 - the air of a man who had everything to lose and would fight to hold on for every scrap. Grasping the man’s hand, he shook. “Then why were you captured in a miserable place like Makepeace?”

“Oh, you think I was really their prisoner?” An eyebrow was raised. “I was waiting. I think they were in contact with some other force; someone powerful and dangerous. We just wanted to make contact.”

Nic tilted his head. “Sorry I fucked that up for you, then.”

“Oh no. I still met someone powerful and dangerous. It’s all a win for me.” Rakdhat winked.

Nic was just about to answer, but before he could, the crowd began moving around them. People flowed towards the center of the room, drunk and speaking in loose tongues; excitement filled the air.

They flowed towards the fighting arena in the center of the room; it was a ring of horsehide shields, held in the arms of Mossau’s warriors. Their spears drummed against the earth as two fighters stepped into the circle, each broad of arm, powerful in frame.

One was a massive man with gray-white skin, a single horn rising from his forehead.

The other was painted in tattoos from head to foot, green and yellow in scaled patterns. A single red diamond sat on his forehead.

Their eyes met, staring daggers as they shrank into their corners, waiting for the call to begin…

A call that would mean death for one them.

“Care to make a bet?” Rakhdat asked. “Show me your keen eye.”

“The viper. Five thousand First Wave Credits?” Nic responded, lifting his empty cup.

Rakdhat tapped his own against it. “Five thousand. You know, at home, such an amount would buy half a city. All the women and all the beasts of burden, every tent, every grain of wheat…”

“And yet here, we spend it like water. We spend it on our futures, and on our whims, because to join the Integration…” Rakdhat smiled. “To join the Integration is to gamble everything on your own potential.”

The call went up- a long, ululating cry of war. The two fighters shot forward, each rushing to take the center stage. If this had been a real fight, perhaps one would have stayed back, would have played for distance; but they had been told to entertain the crowd.

They crashed into one another. The rhinoceros lifted the viper off his feet, arms grasping in a circle around his waist. But before he could bring him down, the viper had slipped free, twisting into a noose around the brute’s neck.

“Look over there.” Rakdhat said.

“What, so I won’t see you lose?” Nic laughed, but looked up nonetheless.

The dhampir and the oni were on the far side of the ring, leaning together as they whispered. “That,” Rakdhat said, “Looks an awful lot like a conspiracy against you. I’d be worried. The oni are nobody much; scions from the Seven-Jade-Saber Cult, a second-rate clan with little backing. But the dhampir? They’re from the Ogradavhat.”

“Which means nothing to me.” Nic pointed out. “Since I’m blissfully clueless what any of those words mean.”

Rakdhat leaned in. “It means they’re the sons and daughters of a C-Class power. An old one, that specializes in corpse puppets. Now, maybe that means nothing to you…”

“But it’s easier to get a high-class corpse puppet into a new world than a servant of equal class. One’s a treasure, one’s a living warrior, by the System’s logic. Meaning they could have any number of top-class fighters hidden away.”

Nic looked across and caught the dhampir’s eye. For a long moment, they stared each other down.

Then, in the ring, the viper brought down his opponent. It was a close thing, but his chokeholds prospered over the thick muscle of his enemy’s neck.

As one sunk to the floor, Rakdhat sighed. “Five thousand credits to you, then. And a warning…”

“I tend not to listen to those…” Nic said honestly.

“We’ll be enemies next time we meet. It’s a pity, but it is how it is. Don’t hold back or I’ll crush you into the dust.”

Nic looked up. His friend was tall and strong, gifted in ways Nic’s first body had never been. His muscle were like burnished brass; his hair fell against his back in a blood-red tangle. He wasn’t handsome. In fact, with the scars crossing his face, he was ugly as sin.

But there was something vaguely noble about him; a sense he’d lift the world on his back if he could.

“Then don’t meet me again,” Nic said. “Save yourself the grief.”