Part Three

There was water on his face. Warm... flowing... cold... slimy?

Nadier sat up in a flurry, his muscles aching in a way they only could after having been paralysed by stun guns. His late brother used stun guns to fight, and he had been the unwilling subject to many “pranks” with them. A tang of nostalgic metal whiffed past his nose.

He was alone in a dark room. His eyes slowly adjusted as he found the light from a cryst lamp in the hallway outside. Then, he focused his view on the bars.

A cell. Probably underground. He stood to his feet which wobbled. His hand reached out to the wall of dark grey andesite brick. It was as dry and cold as the weather of the north would allow. He was still on the continent.

There was liquid covering the right side of his face. He wiped it off and found it slightly warm to the touch, slobbering and sticky like drool. But the cell was dry, and nothing else was around him, not even rats.

Whoever had captured him had not stripped him of his belongings. His daggers were still with him, as were his vials of alchemical compounds. The cell door had a lock on it. It was a complicated pad, but nothing he could not pick. He just had to take out his lock pick set and...

Well, looks like his captors did take something from him.

As his breathing came down and he started to calm, he gave the room another look. He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, and the separate goosebumps that told him he was not alone reinforced the idea that someone else was with him.

In the corner of the cell was a small hole in the ground. A pipe ran from the wall and drip constant clear water into the pit. It seemed he was expected to both drink and shit there, judging from the smell.

For the corner opposite, there was a straw mat on the ground which he woke up from. Examining the ground, there were scratches and marks that showed a bed frame had been previously placed there. He was disappointed, as with a frame, he could make many different tools - like a lock pick - from it. Such thoughts and attempts were probably what lead to the bed being removed. There were also stains, and he knew them by heart to recognise dried blood on sight. The cell's bars were clean. Someone had maintained it to prevent rusting. It seemed that despite the rough conditions, someone had thought through how to keep their prisoners in check. This was not a makeshift underground containment for people. It was a deliberate jail.

His mind went back to the ambush. The machine they drove was reminiscent to the copper train carriages from Everwind. Steam machines, basically. Though not the most advanced of technology on Tearha, it was not something readily available on the continent of Devara, let alone be that far out into the mainland. Someone must have paid through their eyes for it.

Whatever the case was, he was stuck, and he was not happy about being trapped. After years fighting for his freedom, being back in the dark was not part of his plan, and he had no intention to go down quietly.

As his eyes finally fully adjusted to the dark, he noticed the wall opposite the bars were of a different colour compared to those at the side. He scrunched his face up against it and could barely make out a visible gap in the corner between the bricks. Either the walls were built separately, which given the visible age of the stone, were unlikely, or the back wall was movable.

He could use that.

“Up, I see.”

Nadier turned to find an elven woman in a form-fitting star yellow dress standing outside his cell. Her skin - though as bright as that of most elves - had a light teal tinge to it. There were also two enclosed slits that ran underneath her eyes above her cheeks. And her eyes were not the green common to elves of the wood, or the red and orange of those from the dark. They were a piercing rainbow of yellow and murky blue. Her hair was a gallant silver, and a face with features that Nadier could only liken to the pink of a lotus.

He asked, “Who are you?”

“Tri-Ni-Ty. You can just call me Trini.” Before he could ask another question, her hand raised to stop him. “I only managed to buy a few seconds. Your questions must matter.”

Straight to the point. His mind kicked into overdrive. If they had a time limit, he needed each answer to be something he could not deduce on his own. If she was helping him, her goal was adjacent to his for now.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I want to bring this place down.”

He almost asked her what the place was, but it seemed something he could figure out himself. He also wanted to ask if she could get him out, but he realised that if she could, she probably would.

“Where's Ratface?”

“Arena D. You're in H.”

Arena. They were in some form of a stadium. But that specific word had always indicated a place for combat. He was going to fight. 'D' and 'H' meant there were multiple arenas, and since there were no alternative numberings that he knew of, there were at most 26 and at least 8 arenas, for now.

“Why capture me?”

“You were a bonus.”

“Ratface is the main target? But I have a more lucrative profile for bounties.” He was not saying so in a form of jealousy. The pathology of the kidnapping just did not fit the usual mode of operation for slavers.

Trini answered, “Direct money isn't the goal. Rarity is. And they don't know who you really are. Not yet, at least.”

Rarity. Like a collection. But that meant Ratface was someone rarer than Nadier. What could be rarer than being the last of his species? Sure, the dark elves weren't technically dead yet, but being trapped underground meant no escape, and those few who were left aboveground were like him, doomed to lose their coats and die from exposure to the light of the ground above.

The ground rumbled and Nadier turned again to see the alternately coloured wall moving leftward. A gap slowly formed from the right as the bricks slid aside like a door panel as shouting voices could be heard.

“Our time's up,” Trini muttered, and he turned to her. “I have to leave before anyone sees me.” She began to walk off down the corridor.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “One last question.”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Are you single?” he quipped.

He was not sure why. He had never really liked to quip before. But something in him, at that moment, with her, felt like it was the right thing to say.

She smiled. “You haven't changed.” With that, she walked away.

Those last words stuck with him, echoing in his head. He hasn't “changed”. Which meant she knew him. How? He had never met a blue-tinted elf before. Unless she was from before; Before he lost his memories over 200 years ago.

He could hear crowds cheering as he pivoted to face the now two-thirds opened wall. Beyond lay a square arena of white, snow falling from the sky passing through the dome of more metal bars, these the size of his arms in width with gaps between for the spectators to look through. As he stepped out into the arena, the people watching screamed louder, yelling ecstatic obscenity with a tone of violence. Nadier would have liked to climb up and killed every single one of these monsters had the walls surrounding him not been three stories high. Every single one of those watching were well dressed for the continent. Expensive fur coats and leather suits. Rich people.

“And fresh off the trail,” a voice boomed in the air. “The Murderer of the D'Raows! Brother of Aramas! Light's Finger of Death! The one! The Only! Nadier, the Wanderer!” The spectators roared again.

And they don't know who you really are. Not yet, at least.

It seemed they knew everything about him. Yet, not enough for it to be who he really was?

“And joining him, we have a man of legend, fallen from grace! Master of light and darkness! Fresh off his retirement from the Second War of Gods is the Omniknight himself!”

Nadier looked to his left where another room was revealed beyond hidden walls. A man walked out from within, a long spear in his hand. Fit and toned, his white blood and dirt-stained singlet stuck to his body. His black pants were torn from clear battle scraps. His jet dark hair had been haphazardly gutted short. Nadier could not shake the chiselled battle-hardened face from his mind.

“Ierba Lang!”

The man aside him was a legend. The Omniknight was one of the most powerful person on the planet. A shiver ran down Nadier's spine. What people could possibly keep such a man contained? The man was a Godkiller.

“Hey! Wanderer!” The Omniknight shouted, snapping Nadier out of his shock. “Get your head in the game.”

A loud slam smashed into the giant double-doors opposite them. The entrance ran up the height of the wall, meaning whatever that archway was built for was big.

Another loud bang. Nadier drew his daggers as he watched from the corner of his eyes Ierba readying his spear, white and black lights running up the man's arms as his magic circuits readied their powers.

“And their opponent...” the announcer built-up.

The third knock blew the door wide opened. Towering before them was a humanoid creature with grey skin and a body of white fur. Any exposed part of its body was thick with white hardened callous. Its three eyes - one in the middle and two aside the cheeks - stalked the arena until they landed separately on Nadier and Ierba. Through large jaws with just two teeth on each mandible, the monster roared.

“SASQUATCH!!!”