As far as auditor lounges went, Ocean Clover was fairly typical. Like many it was dimly lit by crystals and spirit orbs, tones of green and blue resonating with the glow of the amber crystal, the air soft and thick. Against one wall there was a long food table, a recent addition meant to tempt more into attending. Judging by this lounge it wasn't working. Near the amber crystal there sat a blue-robed mage, and clustered around a table in the corner was a trio of fighter-types, arguing about how quickly Mathias Dunstaff's team would crush this scrawny little bunch of low-tier losers—currently they were speculating about whether MossBlock Maze's structure would prevent them from claiming the SwiftKill merit bonus.

"Nah nah nah nah-nah nah-nah nah," one of them sang, a pretty elf boy wearing shimmering chain mail beneath a cut-off tunic. "Forget that, this is gonna put them right into the top twelve—"

"They're already there," rumbled another of the fighters, a half-orc twice as wide as his elven companion. "Eleven on the list, after smashing those mercs."

"Yeah but YOU know, it's gonna get 'em deep in there, I mean DEEP. Probably past Silverblade!"

"Not with that loss," said the third fighter, a human wearing crimson leather armour, a long stiletto held idly in his hands. "That bandit's put a decent team together—"

"You're kidding right? You are KIDDING. That guy fluked the win, still don't know how he even did it—"

"No," said the half-orc. "Not this again. I'm sick of the argument."

"Okay! Okay okay! Whatever! So what about this dwarf and her cronies? You hear anything?"

"Just a bunch of low-tier losers," the human said. "Probably trying to scrape up some tactics merits before they get kicked out."

"Yeah," the half-orc said. "Gonna be a boring match. Thought all the losers already got bashed out of it."

"Nah, there's always a few laties. Managed to get through the first couple week but running outta luck, sign up for the games because why not? Hehe, they don't even know what they're in for, think they even know 'bout the rule change?"

"Who cares," mumbled the half-orc.

"Heh," the human agreed. "So what's the test gonna be this year, you reckon? Same as last, free for all?"

"Nah-nah, no way," said the elf. "It's gotta be a dungeon crawl, it's gone hunt, bash, crawl, champion, hunt, bash so we're back to crawl again, the Guild is so predictable."

"Hmmph," the half-orc said, perking up a little. "Crawl, huh? That's always fun."

Across the room, near the wide entrance, another trio stood. In front was a petite girl with dark skin and darker eyes, short black hair framing her face in a slightly severe manner. She wore a sturdy grey dress with thick green trimming, a mantle in the same style worn atop this.

Her name was Summer Rain, and she had Intentions.

Behind Summer were two young men, both tall—but that was the only similarity they shared. The one on the left was broad and brash, his long hair partially tamed by a red and white bandanna, his vest open to reveal his well-muscled chest, his trousers unapologetically extravagant. The one on the right was slim and reserved, his clothing undyed, his face instantly forgettable—with the possible exception of his dark eyes.

"Oh hey, food! There's food guys—I'm gonna be over by the food."

Summer let out a breath through her nose as the broader and brasher of her companions made a beeline for the buffet table.

"It's about to start!" she said, as she hurried after him. "We can't get distracted, we're supposed to be learning from these matches—"

"You're too serious, little sister—"

"I'm not YOUR sister!"

"Oh same difference, have some biscuits and lighten up—Night, I know YOU'LL have a biscuit—"

The third member of the little group looked up, a biscuit halfway to his mouth.

"Ninja!" broad-and-brash cried, far too loudly. "You are SUCH a ninja, you can't even eat a biscuit unstealthily—but~I~always~catch~you~"

"James," Summer said, "could you PLEASE try not to be so ... so..."

"Pirate?" James inquired, with an infuriatingly endearing grin. "But I just can't help who I am, can I?"

"I'd promote you if I could," Summer grumbled. She glanced up at a calm hand upon her shoulder. "What is it?"

Night flicked his eyes towards the glowing amber crystal. Summer became aware of a soft humming, not just a sound but a sensation, an anticipation, as if there was the outline of something yet-unseen in the air, an emptiness that must necessarily be filled—

"Oh my gods they've got melon—Summer! Night! Melon!"

"Would you shut up?" Summer growled at James, who responded with a silly little wave. "It's starting!"

"Well I don't know what you're expecting to get from this," James said, as he took piece after piece of sliced melon from the bowl, absently handing one off to Night as he went. "Who are these guys supposed to be, anyway? Another boring little three-fighters-and-a-healer combo? Pfft. We're perfect, little sister, I can't even REMEMBER how many shoddy little groups like theirs we've destroyed—"

"It's different up here." Summer let out an exasperated breath as James offered her a piece of melon, although she did take it. "We have to figure out this place. We have to learn the rules."

Summer took a bite of cool melon, her eyes on the amber crystal as she chewed, swallowed, then spoke again:

"Important information can come from unlikely sources."

"Okaaaaay boys and girls! Chuck Chaosthorn here, commentating with Dab Ringwold. What time is it, Dab? That's right, it's time for the sixty-fourth match in the seventeenth Bright Battle gaaaaames! We've got Mathias Dunstaff's four match veterans against a late-late-LATEcomer to the party. Nala Greyward's using an unusual fielding strategy, choosing not to equip the majority of her party with armour OR weapons—someone should've told her it's not about numbers! Ha ha ha! Dunstaff, you didn't pay off these guys to get an easy win, did you? Naughty naughty! But let's take a closer look at this newcomer's team. Nala herself is a dwarf rogue, not a lot of those around here—in fact if we ranked on novelty value her team would be waaaaay out in front! Sorry, girl, but you don't get points for variety at Bright Battle Arena! A staveless necromancer, a valkyrie without whatever the holy heck valkyries use, a zombie glumgirl and I don't even know WHAT a goblin's doing there—all I can say is I hope they've got some demerits banked up because looking at these stats the newcomers are in tah-rouble! Let's go to Dab Ringwold for some analysis, what do you think of Nala's team, Dab?"

"There's not a lot to think about, Chuck. The only offensive team member they have is an elf sniper, now generally they're ranked as a mid to high-tier class but with that cursed bow—"

"Do we have the stats on that thing? Looks like it's got decent attack and a good critical multiplier but OUCH at that to-hit penalty!"

"Ouch is right, Chuck. Now if the captain's smart she'll be using the sniper's 'Pinpoint' special ability to give one hundred percent accuracy against a single target—the question is, which of the opposing team will be nominated?"

"My money's on the healer but I guess we'll just have to wait and see! We've still got some time before initial positions are set and the match begins, so let's talk about this arena."

"MossBlock Maze."

"MossBlock Maze! We haven't seen this one much in the games so far—it's a classic asymmetrical design with a blend of narrow passages and open spaces. If Dunstaff's fighters can trap those newcomers in a corner this one's gonna be over quicker than it starts. Think there's any hope for Greyward, Dab?"

"I wouldn't put money on it, Chuck. Their best option would be to use the sniper to take out one pinpointed opponent, then concede the match. They'd keep the tactic merits for the kill but wouldn't earn demerits themselves, it's a meta-strategy we've been seeing a lot of since this somewhat controversial rule change."

"Kind of undermines the purity of the games, don't you think?"

"Yes, well, you've got to expect it from these low-tier classes."

"And with that let's go live to the arena, because this match is seconds away from starting!"

Nala didn't look up as a chime rang out, gaze fixed on her BrightCircle—it glowed vividly on the back of her hand, shining numbers suspended above; 24, 23, 22, 21...

Without expression Nala turned her gaze to her surroundings; high grey walls surrounding a large stone room, two exits, one to the north, the other to the east, both blocked by iridescent magic barriers. Moss everywhere, but that was harmless, useless, ignore it—

"I wonder what manner of things the commentators are saying about us," Praetorian said, from where Nala had positioned him nearby. "'What are they thinking?', possibly, as that's certainly what my head is filled with—"

"I don't know why you're complaining," Amanda muttered. "You don't have to do anything but hide."

"Yeah, uh, I still don't really get how this is gonna work—"

"You don't have to understand," Nala said, cutting Sly off. "Go where I told you to go. Do what I told you to do. That's all."

There was a loud triple chime and the magic barriers disappeared. Nala glanced around at the others.

"Victory is possible if you follow my plan."

With that, Nala slipped her hood over her head and disappeared.

"Well," Praetorian said. "How encouraging. Shall we go?"

Back in the auditor lounge, Summer was in the sunken area surrounding the amber crystal, leaning forward in her seat, hands clasped in her lap, her every attention upon the commentary—while up by the food table James had already hunted down every scrap of melon and was starting in on the sandwiches, Night occupying himself with a selection of biscuits.

"Stealthing on the first turn!" came the booming voice of Chuck Chaosthorn, broadcast from the crystal and filling the lounge like a physical presence. "Looks like Greyward is already abandoning her team—you know, I don't think I've ever seen a rogue captain before, seems almost like a contradiction. Dab?"

"The 'stealth' ability is seen as the main strength of the rogue class, but in these arena battles it's generally considered useless—there's not a lot you can do without losing it. Good for a free backstab but not much else."

Night turned, fixing his dark angular eyes upon the amber crystal.

"Hm," he said, pointedly.

"Yeah!" James said, through a mouthful of sandwich. "Wait till he gets a load of you, Nighty!"

"Would you two be QUIET?" Summer cried, turning to glare up at the pair. "I am TRYING to LISTEN."

"Hear, hear," murmured another auditor, a human girl with round glasses and a bright blue robe. Summer offered her an apologetic smile before leaning forward again, focusing on the commentary:

"Looks like the rest of the newcomers have split into two groups," Chuck Chaosthorn was saying. "We've got the goblin and the elf heading up to the north, the others heading east with that slow, slow zombie setting a slow, slow pace. There's a reason we don't see many of those in these battles."

"That's right, Chuck. You need to field a necromancer to get full function out of them—but since death is not a possibility in these arenas, well, necromancy just isn't that useful."

"Add to that the general lack of offensive capability and most teams will say 'no thank you!' to zombies and ESPECIALLY to glums, despite their high hit points and damage resistance. They can take it, but they sure as heck can't dish it out. What's the other team doing, Dab?"

"Looks like they're following the standard arrow formation, Dunstaff at the centre surrounded by his fighters. He's equipped with a CureRod which gives him two options, a strong single-target heal with a short range, or a weaker area-of-effect heal centred on himself. With this formation he can use either—but I don't know if he'll need to with this kind of opposition."

"Seems they're heading out quick, no need for caution here!"

"I'd say they're aiming to hunt down the newcomers as fast as they can to get the SwiftKill merit bonus."

"Speaking of merit bonuses, think they might nab that elusive PerfectVictory too?"

"That depends entirely on the blue team's sniper, Chuck—if he can get a shot or two off before those fighters close on him then it's possible he'll take someone out before he falls. Now if Greyward had been smart she would've piled the rest of her group in front of the sniper to act as a shield, splitting them up like this makes no sense at all."

"You may be right—well here now, what's this? Folks, it looks like Greyward's sniper and, ahem, 'stenchmerchant' have set up at the end of a loooong corridor, they've got a great view of the next chamber ... and that IS one Dunstaff's team ARE going to have to go through. Dab, you think that's deliberate or just beginner's luck?"

"Hard to say at this point, Chuck. The rest of Greyward's team are heading up from the south, looks like they're going to enter the chamber from that direction—I think I see their strategy here, Chuck, and I might've spoken too soon. They've got a decent defensive unit in the glumgirl and that chamber isn't huge. Sending in the zombie and leaving the valkyrie to protect the necromancer, they could delay Dunstaff's team while their sniper does his thing."

"One problem with that, Dab, his Pinpoint ability only works on one target—so the question now is, who's it gonna be?"

The corridor was narrow and the grey walls high around as Amanda shuffled forward.

"This sucks," she muttered, as she looked out into the wider room beyond the corridor. "Why does it have to be me?"

"It's Nala's plan, Amanda!" Mist said from behind her—the corridor was only wide enough to go through single-file. "You have to do it, she said you're the only one who can do this!"

"I admit it's rather rough," Praetorian said, from behind Mist, "but, uh ... 'take one for the team'?"

Amanda grumbled as she walked out into the chamber, glancing across to see where Sly and Tzugakk waited, far down a corridor to her left. And to her right—

"I thought there were more biscuits—Night, did you scarf all the dainty ones?"

"Would you be quiet!" Summer cried, silently backed up by the blue-robed girl with the round glasses. "We're trying to listen to this! I think something interesting is happening so SHUT UP ABOUT BISCUITS!"

"Looks like something interesting could be happening here, Dab," Chuck Chaosthorn was saying. "We've got Dunstaff and his fighters coming in from the right, but only Greyward's zombie has entered the room—and now it's stopped, right in the middle. Thoughts?"

"They're definitely blocking off that chamber, using the valkyrie to protect the weaker necromancer. Fielding a necromancer and a zombie will give both a defensive bonus thanks to the necromancer's DeathLink intrinsic—"

"But all the defence in the world don't mean a thing if you can't hit back. Dab, you think Greyward's hoping those fighters will stop to take a swing at the zombie?"

"That does seem to be the strategy in play, Chuck, but I'd say that's wishful thinking on her part. Dunstaff's no beginner, he knows a trap when he sees one. No, he'll charge right past that zombie and ignore the valkyrie, and head straight for that vulnerable sniper and the little goblin—but let's not forget about Greyward herself, she's been stealthed since the start of the match."

"The little rogue could be anywhere! Any aggressive action on her part will LOSE her that stealth, so she's only got one shot—can we check the stats, does she have a chance at taking out that healer? What's she equipped with?"

"I had it here—ah. 'Iron Knife'."

Summer frowned as the commentators' chuckles filled the auditor lounge.

"Well," Chuck Chaosthorn said, "I guess they really ARE amateurs. Default equipment in an arena match, what were they thinking—but here we go, looks like Dunstaff's pushing ahead—think he might split his team?"

"Not if he's smart, that area-of-effect heal of his doesn't have a good range. He'll want to keep—oh, looks like the sniper's declaring his Pinpoint target—"

Sly held his bow tight, the dark aura washing over his arms, caressing bare skin where it could find it. He swallowed.

"I don't know about this, dude, it feels wrong," he muttered.

"Trust Nala!" Tzugakk said from behind him, glancing up from where he was rummaging through his bag. "Do it! Now! Before it's too late!"

Sly took in a short breath, clutched his bow even tighter, then yelled:

"PINPOINT! TARGET ... target, uh, Amanda Willow!"

In the auditor lounge, Summer sat up, frowning:

"What."

In the arena, just inside the small chamber, Mathias Dunstaff hesitated:

"What?"

In the commentator's booth, Chuck Chaosthorn slammed a fist down on the viewing crystal:

"WHAT? Did I hear that right—Sly Lightfear, the blue team's elf sniper, has declared Pinpoint on zombie glumgirl Amanda Willow—his own team mate! Dab, what the holy heck is going on here?"

"I think I see what Greyward has done, Chuck, if that sniper's bow—yes, here we go—"

Sly had the thrumming string of his bow drawn back, the spiked metal arch shivering with the need for release, dark energy clutching at his arms, begging him to—

"SCATTERSHOT!"

The arrow was loosed with a dull thud and a high shriek. Purple-black tendrils tore into the simple wooden shaft, shattering it into dozens of dark-glowing shards that screamed towards a thoroughly unimpressed dead girl.

"Hurray," Amanda said, before the shards tore into her.

"SCATTERSHOT!" Chuck Chaosthorn crowed. "Looks like the sniper had a trick up his sleeve!"

"Not the sniper but the bow, Chuck. The ScatterShot weapon skill sacrifices to-hit, damage and the chance to score a critical hit in exchange for an area of effect. Cunning move on the part of Greyward."

Within the small chamber, shards continued to rain down on Amanda—and on Mathias Dunstaff and his fighters.

"WHAT THE HELL MAN WHAT THE HELL."

"Damn it, I'm actually getting hurt!"

"Heal! Gimme a heal here!"

"Heh, looks like the red team is taking a bit of damage there, Dab—that cursed bow packs a punch and Dunstaff does not look happy. The glumgirl's Undying Apathy intrinsic means she only takes full damage from criticals, but Dunstaff's team have no such protection. Ouch, living pincushions!"

In the chamber, Mathias Dunstaff was yelling at his team mates—

"There! Healed! Now get to that elf! Why aren't you moving?"

"I can't! I can't move! I'm stuck!"

Dunstaff stared at the fighter.

"What?"

In the auditor lounge Summer no longer had to stop James from talking—he was right there beside her, on the couch, leaning forward even further than she was, Night standing beside him, all eyes upon the amber crystal as Chuck Chaosthorn's commentary continued:

"Oh oh oh! Looks like Nala Greyward has NOT just been hiding in a corner—what's that fighter stuck in, Dab, is that a GlueLeaf trap?"

"I'd say it is, Chuck, that'll stop him from moving for three turns—and Greyward has placed it right in front of the chamber exit leading to Lightfear. That gives the sniper three full rounds of ScatterShot against Dunstaff's team and there's not a thing they can do about it."

"Looks like they've realised this and are going for the valkyrie, who's still blocking the southern exit—oh! But it looks like she was a step back from the entrance for a reason, ANOTHER GlueLeaf trap has been laid there! You know, if she had a spear she could still attack with the extra reach, but the way things are going that might not even be necessary! What a turnaround for the newcomers, I don't know how Dunstaff's going to get out of this one!"

In the narrow corridor, Praetorian cowering behind her, Mist stared wide-eyed at the fighter as he spat and swore, swinging his wide-bladed sword futilely at her.

"COME HERE!" he roared. "COME HERE AND FIGHT STRAIGHT YOU STUPID LITTLE—ARRRGH!"

Mist flinched as another ScatterShot rained down on the chamber, peppering the enraged fighter with dark shards.

In the auditor lounge, Summer was reaching into a slim bag at her side, producing a notebook and pencil. As Dab Ringwold's voice filled the room she started writing, beginning with a name: Nala Greyward.

"There goes another ScatterShot," Dab Ringwold was saying. "It looks like the automatic hit from Pinpoint applies to everyone in the area-of-effect, you learn something new every day at these games. Wait, what's the goblin doing? It looks like he's got a flask—"

"He doesn't just got a flask, Dab, he's hurling it! Right at his own team mate!"

Amidst the dark-glowing rain of another ScatterShot the flask arced through the air, viscous liquid sloshing against glass before it shattered on Amanda's bandaged arm, thick purple-green smoke engulfing her and billowing out to fill the chamber.

"Oh yes," Amanda said, from the centre of the noxious cloud, "this is pleasant, thank you so much for considering my comfort."

"I don't know why you're complaining," Praetorian called, from somewhere. "It's not as if you even breathe."

"And yet I'm still having a really awful time, how weird!"

James and Summer were almost cheek-to-cheek as they leant forward, their joint gaze fixed upon the amber crystal as Chuck Chaosthorn's gleeful exclamation filled the lounge:

"Whoa-ho-ho-ho! It looks like the flask that gobbo threw has unleashed a cloud of toxic gas, engulfing the entire red team! Looks like it's inflicted some kind of nasty nasty Poison status effect on them as well as restricting vision—folks, half the red team are stuck and the other half don't know where the heck they are, it is a mess down there—and yet ANOTHER ScatterShot is wailing down on them, Dunstaff's team are literally spitting."

In the auditor lounge, Summer glanced at the blue-robed girl with the glasses.

"Is this normal?" she asked.

The girl shook her head before returning her wide-eyed attention to the crystal.

In the arena, Mathias Dunstaff raised his CureRod, tendrils of energy surging out to bathe him in a sparkling green glow. Nearby he could hear the coughing and yelling of his team mates but it was all he could do just to keep himself alive, poison and arrows both working to whittle down his health.

"Just an update on everything that's going down here, we've got Conrad Gaunt still stuck in front of the western passage, Owen Vito still stuck down by the southern passage, those two ain't doing much of any use to anyone, Soul Hunter's free but for the last two rounds he's been doing nothing but using GreenLeafs to keep his hit points up, meanwhile Dunstaff is healing himself but it looks like the fighters are out of items and no one brought anything that works against poison—Dab, give us your spin on all this good good stuff, is there anything Dunstaff can do at this point?"

"Well I don't know, Chuck, I just don't know. Even with the sniper stopping his ScatterShot attacks it seems like—"

"Sorry to interrupt, Dab, but it looks like Dunstaff is making a move—back the way he came! He's getting outta that poison gas cloud ANY way he can!"

"I don't know how much good that'll do, Chuck, the status effect will remain and Dunstaff doesn't have anything that'll cancel the effects of that poison—oh!"

"OH! OH! One final present from the still-stealthed dwarf rogue, blue team captain Nala Greyward, a third and very final GlueLeaf trap in front of the room's only remaining exit—Mathias Dunstaff is as stuck as his team mates. Dab, how the holy heck did she manage that?"

"Well Chuck, I'd say Greyward positioned herself near the eastern entrance to the chamber then laid the trap after Dunstaff and his fighters moved through—smooth manoeuvring on her part."

"Looks like it's just a matter of time now—and there we go, folks, we've got the first casualty of the match, Conrad Gaunt is finally free of that first GlueLeaf trap but toooo late, there's the flash, there's the critical condition chime, he's out of there—"

"Followed by Owen Vito by the southern passage and now Soul Hunter behind Mathias Dunstaff—who is managing to heal himself round by round but it's a losing battle..."

In the chamber, Mathias Dunstaff struggled against the goop-covered leaf that bound him to the floor. Though the purple-green cloud was dissipating the Poison status effect remained—but it'll wear off eventually, Mathias thought, just keep healing, just keep healing, this rod doesn't do much damage but what do they have, nothing, hide through here, wait for them to come, maybe take out that goblin or the necromancer—

Mathias coughed, stepped back, stared down at the bandage-wrapped hilt that was now protruding from his chest.

"There's an interesting fact about backstabs," said someone in front of him; a rough-dressed dwarf, face hidden by the hood of her cloak, only her straight, serious mouth visible. "If you're stealthed, you can perform them from any direction."

Mathias continued to stare, through the glow of a teleportation field, as he fell upwards into pure white—

Back in the chamber, Nala's knife fell to the stone floor. She knelt to retrieve it amidst the afterglow of teleportation.

"That's a 'rule'," she murmured.

In the auditor lounge, James looked over at Summer, who was chewing her pencil as she frowned down at her notebook.

"Is that it?" he asked. "The show's over?"

"THAAAAAAT IIIIIIIIS IIIIIIIIIT!" boomed Chuck Chaosthorn's voice. "Show's over folks, that is the END of the line for Dunstaff and his team. Dab, final thoughts?"

"It seems unbelievable, Chuck, but Nala Greyward has taken down Mathias Dunstaff's entire team without a single casualty of her own. You've got to hand it to Greyward, she quite simply outplayed the opposition."

"I'm just taking a look at the merit bonuses here, Dab, it looks like Nala's up for both SwiftKill and the ever-elusive PerfectVictory."

"She'll get the rare 'Untouched' multiplier too, because Dunstaff's team never managed to land a hit—damage from the attacks of team mates doesn't count."

"Untouched, now that IS a rarity, in fact I don't think we've seen that one at all these games. Now I'm just guessing here, Dab, but with this score I think Greyward may have catapulted her team into the top twelve in a single match!"

"That would be a worthy capstone to one of the most unusual battles we've seen so far."

"It just goes to show, anything can happen in the Bright Battle Tournament!"

Summer stood.

"Next," she said, moving towards the lounge's exit.

"Wait, what?" James said, standing to follow her—Night was already at her side. "What do you mean, 'next'?"

"We can attend at least four more matches today. We need to hear them."

"Nah, but, come on, that crap she pulled wouldn't work on us—"

James stopped, surprised—Night had taken gentle hold of his arm.

"Wow," he said. "Really? I mean ... seriously?"

Summer had stopped too, near the doorway. She was looking back at James.

"Were you even listening?" she asked. "Don't you understand what happened?"

"I, uh ... yeah, of course I did! Some low-tier losers got lucky—"

"That was not luck. What that match proved is that strength is not enough. So come on. We need to listen. We need to learn."

"But I haa-aaa-aaate learning—"

"James," Night murmured. James looked at the ninja, eyebrows raised. "There will be more melon."

James puffed out a melodramatically resigned sigh.

"Always got the right words, don't ya," he said, before pushing Night away and shoving Summer aside. He grinned back at the two of them. "So come on, already. Let's go 'learn'."