The tan walls and leather furniture of the nice viewing box greeted Ryu with a warm embrace. A far cry from the plain white rooms he had rented before, the front of this room was dominated by the slanted pane of enchanted glass that looked out on the dirt fighting grounds of the arena. He slipped into one of the room’s three sofas, looking at the steel cart of food waiting for him and his guests. Oh, how quick his meager wealth was spent.

“Nice,” Den said, grabbing a tart from the cart and sliding into one of the plush seats. Fell followed the woman after a moment, and then Jinn and Itsuki walked in not long after. Emiko was preparing for her upcoming bouts in the training floor below.

Today was their last day to themselves, for tomorrow, House Ishida was to display a united front to the other factions at the Contest. Ryu had considered resisting Haru’s command, but Jinn had convinced him to let things lie. A wise man, his father. If only Ryu’s pride was like the rest of him, weary and content to see things over with.

“For victory,” Fell said, draining a poured glass of fruit juice in an all too serious toast. The man had fussed over Ryu like a mother hen upon his return, muttering about the shared adventures of brothers-in-arms. Ryu’s suspicion of the man was decreasing, if he was honest. The blonde man’s tales made it clear his homeland placed great emphasis on martial prowess, and becoming brothers-in-arms with rivals was a common practice amongst his tribe’s youth.

Or perhaps he is a good liar, Ender said. His Shard Twin’s voice was still weak after his loss in their Technique Battle.

Ryu offered the demon a noncommittal grunt in his thoughts before turning to his father and younger brother, who both sat next to him. “Watch much of the matches this week?”

Jinn shook his head. “No, we came for the first day festivities, but watching you fight makes me as anxious as it ever did. Itsuki and I have been visiting the districts, haven’t we?”

The small boy nodded his head, eyeing the treats on the cart with a greedy eye. “It was fun,” he said.

“Are you excited to watch the matches?” Fell asked from the side. Den had informed the man of Ryu’s particular situation with his father earlier that morning.

Itsuki nodded. “Yep, been begging pa all week.”

Ryu masked his frown. Children were children. Of course the boy would want to watch the Contest. Everybody in the Aristocracy was watching the duels. He would not be able to see most of it beyond vague impressions, anyways. Besides, Jinn would not let his son watch it if things got too rough. It was Haru’s influence that had forced his dad to train him to fight, and he did not seem eager to make the same mistake twice. Right. Itsuki would not turn out to be the monster his brother was.

“House Ishida has six competitors fighting today out of our seven remaining fighters,” Den said, chewing her tart with precise movements. “Of them, Lady Emiko fights twice today. Lord Fell, here, has two members of his tribe fighting, as well.”

“Yes, my cousins will win much glory for Tribe Skol.” Fell looked a little paler at the mention of his tribe, and Ryu once more wondered if his companion had sworn his vows to escape having to return to his family.

The rest of the day passed in a similar manner. The group ate, chatted, and laughed, while Emiko won both of her matches with relative ease. Happiness, however, was an uncomfortable feeling for Ryu. As they filtered out of the stadium that night, a dark feeling stirred in his stomach. His worry for Bonny had threatened to ruin the day’s affairs, and he knew why. It seemed the perfect time for disappointment to strike.

And so it did.

---

The seventh day of the Contest found Ryu dressed in a suit of martial cut. He sat in the now familiar box above the stands with the other notable members of House Ishida, looking down at the fighting ground below. Where the viewing boxes he had rented were built for subtlety, the glass viewing boxes at the top of the arena were made for visibility. He disliked it.

Scanning the other viewing boxes built over the stands, Ryu ignored the idle gossip around him. He could only hear about the increasing Bug raids and the movements of the other Houses so many times, and after spending the past two days in this stand, he was ready for the Contest to be over. Today, however, was a day he could not wish away so easily.

Today, Ryu had to win. He had to meet Keira. Had to save Bonny. The last obstacle in his way was Marcellus Tiberius. His last fight had been an anti-climactic affair against a man named Sir Odellius, and Ryu was determined to make this fight just as short.

“How are you feeling?” Jinn asked, the large man sitting beside him in his own formal attire.

“Fine.” Ryu found his good mood had frayed against the edge of his worry, but who wanted to hear about that? Nobody. To live was to have too many burdens to name, and rare was the person who cared to add someone else’s to their list.

His father pulled Itsuki against his side. “I think you should come home after this.”

“I can’t,” Ryu said, forcing the words past the quiver in his voice. Gods, it pained him to say no.

“The world’s burden does not rest on your shoulders alone. There’s a life waiting for you back home. In more ways than one.”

Ryu cocked his head, his eyes never straying from the darting fighters below. “How so? I’m afraid this is the only life I know how to lead.”

“Ryu,” Jinn said. “When have you ever tried another way?”

Ryu stood, his eyes flickering over the group of nobles. “Can’t lose sleep over a good deed, right?”

Jinn’s eyes searched his face. “Is that what you’re doing?” he asked.

“I hope.” Ryu’s reply was almost lost in the growing chatter of the nobles, and Haru stood from his chair in the front of the room.

The room grew silent, its walls proofed against the noise of the crowd below. “Win, my son. Win and return champion. Do so, and I will reward you with the position of heir in truth,” Haru said, his stony gaze holding the room in its authority.

Whispers broke out among the seated nobles. Ryu had ignored the Contest’s political maneuvering, but this was all too blatant. Of course Haru would offer him the title; he knew Ryu had no intentions of claiming it. No, his statement was just another way to claim power. The lord of a House was appointed by its elders. Only the Shogun of their faction could appoint his successor. Games within games.

“Alright.” Ryu marched out of the box, ignoring the confused gazes of his noble peers. Fate had already forced him into enough games as it was. He had no patience to play Haru’s.

The preparation rooms beneath the arena were empty. His match was the day’s last, and Marcellus would be on the other side of the arena, if he had to guess. Ryu was alone. Blissfully alone. He changed into his dark blue combat suit and withdrew his one-edged sword from his inventory. After this came Bonny. After this came relief.

Minutes passed under the roar of the crowd above, and Ryu weathered his mounting anxiety with the same flat expression he always did. After some time, an attendant led him from the room and up the familiar stone stairs. He stepped out of the dark and into the light of the setting sun and the arena’s lights.

The announcer’s cries fell on ears overwhelmed by the thumping of blood. The stale scent of sweat and dirt washed over him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Ryu’s gaze fell on his opponent.

Marcellus’s amber stare was only outdone by the shimmering gold and crimson red of his combat uniform. His dark skin flexed with energy. Ryu saw none of these things. In his vision, his opponent’s gold eyes had grown into slits. His teeth were fangs, and his arms extended into claws. The shining greatsword was a rusted, hellish thing.

Hallucinations. They had plagued his thoughts for years, molding his precious thoughts like clay, and yet, he now found comfort in their presence. One fight. A dozen. A hundred. At some point, a man would find himself paying for all of them. The toxins in a dryad’s kiss had sped his reckoning along, sure, but Ryu enjoyed the sickening relief of his atonement.

The announcer’s voice grew to a rattling volume, and Ryu let his body fall into the combat stance. Sad, that. When had war grown more comfortable than rest?

Marcellus’s longsword interrupted his answer. He blocked a strike, felt his hand numb, and threw his weight behind a cut of his own. The tip of his opponent’s weapon stiffened his thigh, and Ryu met the golden slits across from him. He knew then that it was easy to hate monsters.

His sword crashed into the man once, twice, and a third time. It was more hammer than blade, and Marcellus was more nail than opponent. Until he wasn’t. Cold steel lanced through Ryu’s cheek. A grunt and a jerk of his head were all that kept him from disappearing into defeat. Golden light condensed into a wreath around Marcellus’s head.

Pressure unlike anything he had felt before threatened to buckle his knees. Inky smoke puffed into existence around his body, and he sidestepped the cut aimed for his head. The pressure grew. He stumbled, caught a stab with his forearm, burned another soul, and lunged at the gold-wreathed monster, ignoring the flood of crippling memories all the while.

Golden light flared, and the pressure thickened. The monster roared. Its rusted, demonic weapon slashed at his throat. He gave it his hand instead. Another soul burned. The thick black smoke around his body shuddered, condensing around his head like a halo of pulsing ink.

Black smoke railed against gold light. Two blades met in the center of their conflict. The monster snarled. Ryu slashed. The pressure increased. Memories of lost lives flitted by like silent hummingbirds. Then it all stopped.

His mangled wrist swung limp at his side. His foot bent the monster at its waist, dropping it to his knees. The golden light was gone, and he let his black smoke dissipate into the air. A pivot turned him to the right angle. His sword blurred towards the back of the monster’s neck.

It disappeared.

“The champion of the Masters division Under Thirty is Ryu Ishida!” The announcer’s voice brought Ryu back to the present, and he dismissed the visions with a few deep breaths. It was odd how madness seemed like little more than a pair of sunglasses to him now, easily slipped on and off at his whim.

Or perhaps it was all a singular hallucination, and he was always insane.

He ignored the thought. Some things were best discarded to the back of one’s mind, and as the arena’s healers rushed to him, he let his worries fade for a moment. Health first. Bonny second. It was as good a plan as any.

While the healers worked on his mangled body, workers and attendants flooded into the dueling field. They assembled a wooden stage before his eyes, and after they left, a group of well-dressed officials hurried onto the platform. A servant ushered him to their side.

“We will now present the awards to our final champion of the Contest. Ryu Ishida, step forth and receive your Title,” the announcer said.

Ryu stepped towards the group of officials. An older woman in a form-fitting dress handed him a small blue crystal, and a man slid a gold medal over his head. The announcer went on to discuss the enchantments on the medal and the value of the title, but Ryu missed most of it. His eyes were focused on the screen that hovered above the crystal.

Do you wish to accept the Title Heaven’s Butcher? Y/N

Ishida Ryu, Heaven’s Butcher. As ridiculous a title as Ghost had been. Bloodier, too. Was that all he was? A butcher? Aye, probably.

The announcer’s voice ripped him from his thoughts. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that two of the Aristocracy’s forts have fallen! I repeat, two of our forts have fallen to the Bugs. We must-”

A boom roared over the man’s voice. Then the arena’s grounds shuddered. A section of the stands caved in. Screams pierced the air, and Ryu smelled blood. The black exoskeletons of Bug soldiers flooded through the gap.

His family. Jinn, Itsuki, Emiko… He had to reach them. Ryu’s feet carried him through the panicking crowd in the stadium’s halls and up the stairs to the stands above. The hall around the viewing boxes was deserted. He rushed to the right door.

A kick shattered the wood. He stepped into the glass viewing box. A tall, dark-skinned woman greeted him with a cold smile. Madness danced behind her eyes, and her gaze answered an idle question: what happens when a Classer’s Shard is their loyalty to a friend that was later murdered?

Pain. Pain and a lot of rage. Keira was a broken woman, and it showed in the laugh that echoed through the room.

“How heroic. Come to save your family, did you? Do not worry. They fled long before the speaker’s announcement. Selfish, selfish nobles… Always hoarding information and leaving normal people to die. Tell me, Ryu, do you like my new allies?”

“Where’s Bonny?”

“I never had her, you simple fool. Oh, I tried to capture her, of course, but another player stepped in before I could,” Keira said.

Another player. Lucius. The man had lied to him, manipulated him, pointed him at Keira like a drawn sword. As if he needed motivation. Enemies, enemies, enemies… A man had to decide when enough was enough.

“So this is purifying humanity, is it?” he asked.

Keira tittered. “I don’t expect you to understand my logic. Innocents must always die, but have you ever wondered why we were brought to the Rings? It was to change us. Humanity has failed in that regard and let our corruption stagnate our progress. The Bugs are a catalyst. I need to win the forces to my side, and they… Well, they were willing enough to be the problem that united us all together. Don’t you see, Ryu? I’m making a better world.”

Ryu’s thoughts turned dark. A better world. “So what’s next? You let the Bugs defeat us?”

“No,” Keira said, smiling. “The Bugs are… unemotional. Allying with me was always going to be a temporary thing, and now that we have both achieved our goals, we’ll return to enemies once more. But don’t worry. You will learn much about them in the weeks to come, I’m sure.”

“What? I’m going to-”

The first blow shattered his ribs. The next broke his jaw. A third threw the sword from his hand. Soul Eater refused to ignite. Not that it would have mattered anyways. This power dwarfed his own. Weak, Lucius had called him.

You burned all of the souls in your fight, Ender said, anger thick in his voice. You have to escape.

The large Bug grabbed his skull in its hands. Red energy glowed beneath its black carapace. Heat blew off of it in waves. Its other hand grabbed his throat. Ryu passed out under its ministrations, Keira’s laugh bouncing around in his mind.

If he lived, he would show them strength. He would show them the lengths to which a desperate, hounded man would go. He would kill them all.