Not good.

The Holy Water reeked and the lack of a nose piercing smell only meant one thing -- the blade was dry.

The skeletal dead charged, followed by the red one. Their heavy--the statue--stayed behind.

Jack dashed out of the clattering bones’ way and crouched under the red dead’s siren. He scrambled, opening the Holy Water glass and doused his blade. From the awful smell, he shivered, but also felt relief. Finally.

The statue stomped and crushed a tile under itself. The tile crumbled and stone rubble flew up while force resonated through the whole Travelling Arena. The statue grabbed the sharpest stone and threw it at Jack.

Jack dropped his potion into his satchel and stumbled out of the projectile’s trajectory.

The sharp rubble soared an inch over his head.

You’re really trying to kill me! Jack shook his head and dodged again, this time out of the way of the two deadmen. Ready yourselves, he thought and attacked the nearest one. For I’ve had enough!

The skeletal dead swiped with its bony hand and jumped.

Jack turned sideways, gracefully avoiding it. Then, he slapped the back of the dead’s skull as hard as he could and stabbed its backbones.

The skeletal dead’s upper body exploded, sending bones flying everywhere. Yet without half of its chest, an arm and a leg, it didn’t let Jack move on to another foe, throwing its arm at him.

He tried another dodge, but was too late. No matter what, the bone would hit him. In the split second, a new idea came to him and he threw his dagger up. The blade went through the bone, turning it into a slimy mush and fell back down. Jack caught it. Lucky.

The skeletal dead couldn’t express any feelings apart from an everlasting anger its bones naturally formed. But, if it was an emotional creature, it would’ve been amazed.

Using the momentum, Jack growled and rammed his dagger into the dead’s skull. The Holy Water evaporated it into dust, while the rest of the body liquified.

Jack raised a hand in triumph and turned on his heel to the sight of the red dead right ahead of him. His cheerful hand dropped.

The creature grabbed onto him. Then, it put its head against his face and sirened as loud as it could.

Jack groaned for the second, before his ears gave up, and started ringing like after a gunshot’s thunder. One of his hands pushed and slapped the creature away while the other stabbed the dead’s side.

Countless tiny explosions covered it, clouds of crimson dust appeared and wormlike beams of light fired out. The red dead disregarded all the damage, stopping for a moment, before continuing tp attack with its deteriorating body.

Jack unclenched and pushed the creature’s arms away, getting himself a bit of space. He took a breath and slashed. His blade made contact with the dead’s chest.

The red dead released a quietining screech and went limp, flopping to the ground.

Jack didn’t waste a moment, quickly wiping skin the creature had touched and ignoring the damaged dagger falling out of his grip. His hearing returned to a somewhat normal state yet a slight ringing remained.

Two blasts resonated through the Travelling Arena and a sharp stone flew at Jack.

Grabbing his dagger, he rolled to the side, but botched the landing -- the weapon left his grip. It slid across the tiles until a cage stopped it.

Damn you like a bascalle! I need to focus!

Jack ran past a few empty cages, dodging and weaving.

The statue became brutally efficient -- it stomped, nearing him and threw the rubble it left behind. Yet the statue hadn’t mastered its aim. The dozens of empty cages in Jack’s path worked as shields, shattering the stones and leaving only a rain of light rubble.

Jack reached his dagger, but before he grabbed it, froze. A thought struck his mind. If I get the dagger, I’ll probably get locked in the cage. If I don’t, I’ll have no way real way to fight.

I could try splashing Holy Water, but I’ve not even hit this creature once, so I don’t know if that liquid works on it.

Which risk do I take?

The statue kicked and swiped cages out of the way, nearing him.

Ah, screw it, I’m overthinking! Jack lunged into the cage and got his blade. Then, he jumped to get--

A huge rock flew at the cage and smashed the door shut. It crashed into his nose, blowing his back against the bars.

Jack shrilled -- he couldn’t breathe. He tried blowing his nose, smearing what remained of his outfit in blood. Luckily, that was enough to clear a tiny air canal.

The statue kneeled, staring at Jack.

Jack stared back, feeling even more dizzy and… determined.

I destroyed every single one of your friends and now you’re smug because what, you trapped me?

We’ll see about that.

But before he could make his move, the statue pushed the cage, tipping it over. Jack crashed against the bars. Vertical lines of pain went along his back. The statue gave him a “what did you say?” look, turned around and walked back through the chaos.

“Get back here, you damn bascalle!” Jack got up, shouting.

The statue stopped by a pit it made. Its arms ripped out a huge black rock and threw it at Jack, destroying the cage around him. Sparks flew and metal bars crashed. The statue ripped apart what remained and scooped Jack into its hands.

By the time Jack realized what was happening, his sides were being squeezed by stone fingers. He squirmed then tried stabbing with his dagger. The steel clinked against the stone.

His dizziness worsened even more -- the pressure stopped him from breathing.

Each and every possibility faded away as his vision darkened. Out of all the dead goons, the the last was the one that screwed him.

In fact, he, his blinding outbursts of rage and quietness when he needed to speak up screwed him more than any enemy. He knew those inner foes longer than anyone and fought against them, but once actual fights came, he let those foes take over.

So, as Jack’s life drained, he realized his mistakes, turned to Hunter and bit his lip.

“Help!”

The old man took off his hat and shook his head.

“I know you’re trying to teach me some damn lesson or prove that you’re right! That doesn’t matter! You were right and I’m sorry, but I’m also dying!” Jack unleashed what had brewed inside. “I trust you, but we’re not a team. If we don’t become one, if we don’t work together, we’ll die and that means you’ll never reach the Heart!”

Hunter stopped shaking his head, put the hat back on, narrowed his eyes, and climbed onto the Travelling Arena. One of his rough hands wielded a revolver while the other -- a glass of Holy Water. He poured the liquid on the cylinder and spun the mechanism. Then, he aimed and fired.

The first bullet hit and evaporated the statue’s head, the second turned a leg into ash. A third shot thundered, but flew wide, piercing a wall of mist in the horizon. The fourth bullet blew an arm off, which, falling, turned to a wave of water.

Jack fell free, gasping in relief. His back crashed on the destroyed tiles and exhaustion gripped him. He managed stand, hold his dagger and land the final slice on the statue.

The creature exploded, sending pebbles and shards flying everywhere.

The Travelling Arena was clear, once and for all. The path to the chests, crates and urns, surely containing awesome loot, too.

***

Hunter lowered a hand. “Sure, sure… I couldn’t bear seeing you get destroyed like that. You brought this by not following the rules though as ignorant and dangerous as that was, letting you die would’ve been a waste of your... capacities.”

Jack got up holding on to the hand and holding his tongue.

Screw it .“You never told me the rules. One second I was digging, the other second you’re saying something in the tongue of death and the ground around me is collapsing!”

“I told you one rule,” Hunter said. “What kind of a fool do you have to be to not figure the other ones out?”

“The type of fool who’s in the middle of a battle surrounded by deadmen upon deadmen! The fool who has his hands and a half broken dagger to fight back with!”

Hunter scratched the back of his head. “Alright, listen to what I say and we’ll be a team.”

“We’ve got to be a team nonetheless,” Jack didn’t back down.”Because not all you say isn’t foolish.”

“Though I’m always sure of what I’m doing.”

“And I can see things you don’t.”

The Travelling Arena was covered in blood, odd liquids, bones, piles of dust and rubble. A battle as gruesome and devastating as the skirmishes of the Swords of the Guardians had taken place here. The fact that he’d done this all on his own blew Jack away the most.

This place went from being a disappointment, to a magnificent arena, to a slaughterhouse.

They do say Swords of the Guardians destroy all in their wake.

Jack limped over to the fancy and gold encrusted chests. His feet struggled not to slip on the blood.

Jack stopped and grinned, overlooking the loot--his reward--mustered up his strength and opened the first chest.

The gears creaked and revealed a red pillow inside. Atop it laid a Fernoritiumlock pistol and--around the gun--twenty bullets formed a circle.

Jack’s jaw dropped. Ferno-- fernolock?!

He grabbed the gun and with utmost care and raised it in front of himself, giving it a look from all angles. These things… they’re almost extinct!

Guardian’s the only person in the continent who has this!

Hunter laughed at the expression on Jack’s face. “What’s in there?”

“A fernolock pistol!” Jack turned on his heel and aimed the gun. Its barrel went straight down the old man’s face. He frowned. Jack’s eyes widened and he quickly aimed at the sky.

“Sure, sure… Back in the day, we had quite a few of these.” Hunter stepped away and looked into the distance. “Every sorcerer wielded one. Even I had one. Though once the collapse came to be, we lost everything. Now I see the Travelling Arena protect one. And it’s rare looking at how hard it’s to find Fernoritium and Golgacore to mix it for the bullets.”

Jack observed the gun for a second longer, loaded it and put the rest of the bullets into his pack. “There’s tons of Fernoritium in the forests around this place.”

“And nowhere else. Now ask yourself: who’s going to wander into the wilderness of Rednaro with a fait hope of finding Fernoritium while the chance of death isn’t so faint?”

“No one, but fools, I guess.” Jack turned to another chest.

As it opened, a light shined out from inside. A potion--which sat in a corner--glowed a bright yellow and made the fancy chestplate beside it look golden.

Jack looked down at his outfit as he picked the armor up. “I won’t say I don’t need a replacement for my tunic.”

Green lines lined edges of the armor’s steel plates and its leather straps had emerald decorations. Overall, it suited Jack’s tunic well, which he decided to keep on.

Without it, that chestplate would burn my skin like an angry blacksmith.

Hunter sweeped in and grabbed the potion. “I’ll take this.” He hid it in his pocket. “A thing that makes wasting valuable time not travelling to the Heart all worth it.”

Jack rolled his eyes and turned towards the last loot container -- an urn.

Can’t get all that I want.

And I don’t even know what that potion does, so I’m not really losing anything.

The urn was simple--similar in size to Hunter’s--though more beat up and gray. It sat on a white square, emitting an almost inaudible scratching.

Why does everything in this place have to have something wrong with it?

Please, don’t release an onslaught of rats or something while I try to open you, Jack thought, trying to unseal the urn. It took more care than the chests. He struggled for a minute, every second putting more of his force in. Then, he sighed and turned to Hunter.

I concede -- there’s no way.

“Any clues how to open this thing?”

Hunter shrugged.

Jack turned back and stood idly for a moment, the amazing feeling of accomplishment from winning against a wave of deadmen and excitement from getting the loot fading.

Those emotions were grander than anything he’d felt in forever and seemed that they could manage to keep his grin up for a while longer. Or, they were still there, buzzing in his heart, yet the worsening dizziness from his wounds overshadowed them.

Focus on opening this urn first. Worrying about injuries comes second.

A moment passed and then another. Hunter started frowning and pacing. Then, the old man stopped and tapped an imaginary pocket watch.

We still don’t have any time, Jack thought. Well, whatever… he slapped the urn.

It flew sideways and shattered, letting out a cloud of dust and ashes.

Jack stepped back and covered his mouth. What have I done? he thought instinctively.

As the ash and dust cleared, a dagger came into view. It had a black blade that glowed a slight crimson and an engraved steel handle keeping it all together.

In a flash, Jack forgot the embarrassment and the dizziness, waved away the ash and grabbed the weapon, mouth wide open.

Beautiful.

Never been lucky enough in life to see anything like this.

Is… is it even real, though?

“What’s this dagger made out of?” he asked.

Hunter approached, every step his brow rising. “Obsidian and deathrocks,” he said with amazement in his voice. After a moment, he shook his head and grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “Now, we get out of here!” The old man jumped off the Arena and strided towards the Pathfinder.

Jack followed, swinging his brand new dagger, unable to contain his excitement. This was worth it, he thought with a grin on his face.

He was distracted for a while and dragged far behind the two -- he jumped into a run to catch up.

During the fight on the Travelling Arena, Jack had lost blood and energy. He’d dashed, slashed and sliced all while his wounds got bigger and stained his legs crimson. All that led to the fact that, as he started to sprint, his body went limp and darkness filled his vision.