Part One

“Nadier! Nadier! Nadier! Nadier!”

The crowd's cheering was reverberative. Due to the nature of his past profession as an assassin, Nadier had never much been one to be in the spotlight. Yet, here he was being the adoring figure of hundreds.

And he hated it.

Or at the very least, he hated these hundred individuals who condoned slavery and kidnapping to provide kicks for their entertainment. He did not want to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging their existence, ignoring their cheers and request for glances and instead approached a tired Ierba who was at the sasquatch's body, pulling out his spear. Nadier took the chance to retrieve his daggers as well which had been rolled over to the eyelids with the creature's death.

“What now?” Nadier asked.

Ierba yanked his weapon out of the carcass, blood splashing across his feet. “They'll open up our cells and let us back in soon.”

“Why didn't you use your Soul Arm during the fight?” Nadier asked.

“Lost it.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently, yes.”

Soul Arms were powerful weapons form from the cohesion of the magic circuits of dead individuals with their weapons, armours, or equipment. These legendary arms are said to have a mind of their own, with their allowed wielder being selected by the weapons themselves. From what Nadier knew, Ierba Lang wielded the Doppler, one of the most powerful Soul Arms with mastery over light and darkness. He had seen another Soul Arm at work once before, and if Ierba had truly lost his, it would explain their difficulty in bringing the sasquatch down as the power within the arms would have easily defeated the creature.

The Omniknight looked to Zenith who was carrying a chunk of sasquatch meat in her mouth and walking back to Nadier. “Nice dog.”

“Thanks. We just met.” He knelt down and instinctively stroke the neck of Zenith, which got an approving rumble of purrs from the girl. His hands reached for the chain around her neck and his fingers ran over an etching on the the front of the chain. Zenith, the metal read. He had not remembered her name out of a fluke, it seemed. Nadier asked Ierba, “What if we refuse to return to our cells?”

Ierba answered, “They'll send guards to force us back in.”

He looked to the giant creature they just felled. “We can take them if we worked together.”

Ierba shrugged. “Probably.”

They were still two powerful fighters. The walls up to the stands were not particularly unclimbable for their skills, especially now since Nadier has a shadow wolf by his side. “But you're not going to, are you?” he raised his brow at the knight who gave another shrug. “You want to be here. Why?”

Instead of replying, the knight stood to attention, his grip on his weapon tightening. “Something's wrong.”

“Are you just saying that because you don't want to answer me?”

He ignored the comment. “The cell walls should have opened up by now.” Ierba looked to Nadier as a curiosity. “You've done something to gain their attention. Now I'm interested in you.”

“I don't swing that way, but thanks for asking.” Again, as if guided by muscle memories, Nadier opened up the right of his coat and Zen gaited into the shadows, disappearing through the darkness as if stepping across a gateway. Nadier muttered under his breath, “How am I doing this?” He would really like to learn more about his new combat affinity with Zen before getting into another fight.

The large doors that let the sasquatch out opened again, and the two readied into battle stances for what giant monsters that might be released on them next.

Instead, a flood of soldiers poured out, surrounding them in a horseshoe formation with their weapons - swords, nailguns, spears - all pointed at the victorious pair. Nadier counted no less than 30 opponents, a number that, while difficult, if teamed with Ierba's firepower, was something they could reach. His train of thoughts was cut short when a gap opened up in the middle of the soldiers and out walked a man aside of Trini, shortly followed behind by a hooded figure. It was in the light of the pit that Nadier could see the two for what they really were.

“Sea elves.”

An ancient elven race thought to have gone extinct. Their skin, a clear pale cyan looked slightly glossy in the light, their skin thin translucent scales dancing faint rainbows. The slit marks under Trini's eyes were striking gills that breathed ever so slightly with each breath.

The man leading them wore a thick brown fur coat that covered his whole body from view. Even Nadier, a man not of fashion, could tell the exquisite make of the garment. It alone must have cost a fortune, not to count the blinking silver and gold adornments that braided his long silver hair.

The man opened his arms wide and laughed. “What a show you two put up!” His voice boomed clearly like that of ringmasters speaking to an audience. “Because of that wonderful display of violence, I must say my congratulations! You've both been promoted to the luxury cell! Well, I say cell, but it's much more of a suite, I assure you.”

Nadier and Ierba chose not to reply. The crowd was being dispersed by ushers, though the remaining mutters showed clear interest in what was happening, a sign that things were not 'normal'. There was a sudden familiar sound of a blasting of compressed air and a shrill cry came from the crowd. Someone had just been shot. Suddenly, the audience started to move quickly and in neater orders, no longer held back by interest, but rather escaping out of a fear for their lives.

“Silent types, huh?” the man continued. “Not what I remembered of the two of you, but time definitely changes.”

Nadier almost asked the man if they had met before, but held back, recognising the bait.

The man smiled at his reaction. “Oh, but I'd recognise those defiant attitudes anywhere, isn't that right, Langsley?” He turned to the hooded figure who stood behind him, continuing his stance without moving an inch as if he was a statue. “Oh Langxley, you crack me up.” The man gave a fake laugh.

Ierba piped up, “What do you want, At-Tro-Pos?”

“Nothing,” the man shrugged. “And please, we're all friends here. Call me Atro. Like I said, you're being promoted. Both of you are such wonderful attractions now so we're moving you to our star arenas!”

“I've been here for days. Why only now?”

“Well, up until now, you've been a one-man show. But look at you two and your dumb dog. What a tag-team you'd make. Besides, I got bored of waiting for you to do... something. We all know you could have escaped anytime. And we both know that you're here looking for your precious Soul Arm. So, I decided to give you a chance to win it back.”

Ierba's interests were piqued. “You know where my Soul Arm is?”

Atro smiled deviantly. “I have it. And if you want it back, you'll have to play my game.”

“And what about me?” Nadier finally spoke up. “You threw me in a cell, knowing who I was, knowing I wouldn't have the ability to easily escape. But now, suddenly, after one fight, you want to “upgrade” me? I'm guessing that means someplace more secure, and you're doing it because something has changed your perception of me.”

The ringmaster grinned. “Bravo. Very smart. You're barely what I remembered at all now, are you? Arborior Winterwayn. Or do you prefer Nadier the Wanderer now? I was surprised to find you back here. Wouldn't even have recognised you if your pet didn't come out and play.” The man walked up to Nadier and the elf could hear Zen growling from beneath his cloak. “But you haven't gotten all your memories back, have you? Otherwise, you'd be jumping at the chance to kill me, knowing our history. So what say you? Play my game, and I let you know who you are?”

“A game would suggest a chance to win,” Nadier noted. “What's to stop you from straight-up killing us?”

“Because... you two...” his head and body bobbed swayed in a taunting dance and giggle as he stepped away from them. “Will make me so... so... rich. Men, bring them to their new cell.” As he sauntered away he continued to laugh.

The cloaked man, Langxley, followed silently behind. Trini's gaze met Nadier's for a split second, an unreadable expression on her face as she left with Atro. The soldiers surrounding them closed in on Ierba and Nadier. If they wanted to escape, this would likely be their last chance.

“So,” Ierba began. “Do you want to play his game? Or do you want to try swinging our way out now?”

Nadier let out a despondent sigh. He still had to find Ratface, his only Guide to the North, who was also trapped somewhere in the arena. And he would not lie to himself thinking that the offer of finding out about his lost memories was not enticing.

“Fine.” Nadier sheathed his daggers and raised his hands in surrender. Ierba stabbed his spear in the ground as well and gave his arms up. “Let's play.”