“Try not to die,” Trishtam waved them away from his store. “I put a lot of effort into the suit.”

Nadier and Trini left the warm interior for the cold heights. A suitcase in his hand with all his combat armour, Nadier wore the new assassin suit as they made their return to the arena, a quiet befalling them. Underhand, Trini slipped him the vial of poison. After witnessing the creation of his suit, he had expected she had prepared something as such.

“All this for a chance to kill your father.” He rolled the small vial in his hand. “Could have told me earlier.”

“Would you have agreed to this if you had known beforehand?” she asked.

“No, there's just too much risk for too small a window. Do we even know there will be food or drinks? And poisons aren't guaranteed kills either.” When he looked to Trini and saw a slight slip in her constant smile, he slipped the vial under the hidden sleeve straps, and added, “But I will try.”

They entered the arena to turning heads. Trini, in her formfitting dress and him in a newly tailored suit might have looked no different from royals entering a ballroom for a dance. But quickly he read the eyes. Jealousy, anger, greed. All the same emotions as those in the taverns. He had not particularly moved about much with Trini, but if those were the kind of glares she had been receiving all her life, he was not surprised of her wish to end the existence of such a place.

Together, they entered the familiar stairwell, though climbing down just a couple of floors instead of the usual depth. Through a door on the landing, they exited into an inviting corridor of maroon wood floors and smoothened stones carved with images of various battles. Trini explained the carvings were of prior arena combats that had earned some form of noteworthy tale telling. A single swordsman defeating an army of armoured clad knights; A glowing woman piercing enemies with beams of light; and Arborior and Zen, and Anthes and Raven, standing over the body of a dragon.

He noted, “I don't remember that happening. Not even an inkling.”

“Some stories might have been embellished.”

At the end of the corridor, two wooden double doors were protected by two guards not dressed in their usual leather armour, but tailor-fitted cloth armour of navy blue and jungle black. Sabres of higher calibre than those outside dangled from their waist, and a pistol-sized crossbow sat in a holster attached to their right thighs.

Trini turned to Nadier and said, “This is where we part.” She held out her hand. “Give it here.”

He looked to the outstretched palm and solidly took the shake.

Her sly smile returned. “I meant your armour case. I'll have it returned to your cell.”

“Oh.” He drew his hand back and passed her the case.

She nodded to him, then to the two guards, the latter turning to open the door. Without another word to each other, Trini left down the corridor to whence they came, and he stepped through into a familiar room he had never been to before.

A wall of glass stretched the entire righ of the room, outside which was the cavern where their battles took place. Two rows of leather-red couches were lined behind an onyx oxbow sofa that decorated the room before the glass in a curve. In the front of the cul-de-sac was a large semicircular table of deep blood oak, atop which was placed a hex board and two small crates of black and white gamont pieces. Sitting on the opposite end of the crescent on the white side of the board was none other than At-Tro-Pos himself in a striking leather suit of bone death white which played the reaper's colour with his pale cyan skin and silver hair. The waft of fresh misted dew floated around, a stark contrast to the harsh stench of sweat of the packed arena grounds.

“Welcome to my perch!” Atro greeted. “Come, have a game with me. I've prepared entertainment, and... drinks?” He looked to the guard who bowed at the request, leaving the room to fulfil it.

Nadier walked around the sofa. “I'd rather not the entertainment,” he said as he took a seat facing the master of The Arena. The dark elf noticed a vent in the far corner, carrying in cooled air from outside.

“Nonsense. You're in my house. My rules. And I deem entertainment pivotal.” He eyed the other guard. “Have the game master set The Omniknight up with a drake. Let our guest here see if his partner can fight alone.”

Nadier's teeth grounded. “He's more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“Ooo, confident. Well then, while that happens, let's have a conversation over a game of gamont.”

Gamont. Much like the classic variation of chess, is a board game played with pieces, though over a square 7x7 hexagonal board rather than the traditional chequered ones. Nadier reached for the black crate, where within were 19 gamont pieces, of which he can pick only 7 to command, one of which must be the monarch.

Both he and Atro set their monarchs down on the board. Atro's in the corner of his starting line, while Nadier in the centre. Atro pulled out a pair of 'knights' and a pair of 'archers', the two statistically best defence and offence pieces. He then added an unmovable and indestructible 'tower' to the right of his monarch. A “King's Guard” set-up. Nadier chose 4 'lights' - weak pawns that can only move forward but claims victory if it reached the end - and a 'set' - a powerful unit that is counted as 2 pieces instead of 1.

“Two pairs of light and a lonely set,” Atro mused, bemused. “An unconventional and foolish strategy. I see you've not changed since last we played.”

“Shut up and start.” He was talking about Arborior. Those two must have had a similar exchange all those years ago.

Atro laughed and moved his knight up. Nadier began with having his monarch step forward. Immediately, the smile slipped from the master's face. The announcer announced the entrance of Ierba. On the other side of the glass wall, Ierba walked out of their tunnel, and the two eyes' met briefly before the knight turned back to his surroundings to find his opponent. It seemed Zen was not with him, and Nadier could not help but feel relieved. Finally, Atro moved his archer up. Nadier replied in kind by moving his monarch forward again. The former had his face covered in displeasure.

“Is this a joke to you?” Atro hissed. “Would you focus?” Moving monarchs at the beginning were not common moves.

“I am focused,” Nadier answered, keeping his face.

He was secretly glad the tree of a father grew far from his daughter in terms of personality. It would not have been as easy to push any of Trini's buttons. Annoyed, Atro brought his archer closer to Nadier's monarch for an attack, and quickly, Nadier moved his set to intercept and cut off the route.

“I'm here to offer you a deal,” Atro finally stated. The guard came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses, which he poured both to half and left the remaining bottle on the table. “Leave us alone for now,” Atro ordered.

The guards complied and closed the doors behind them as they left.

“What's the offer?” Nadier asked, continuing the game.

From the corner of his eyes, the Wanderer watched as Ierba engaged the creature with dark fire and blasts of light. A drake. Descendants of dragons, and ancestors and cousins to drakins. Even without their progenitor's ability to spit live fire, they were still dangerous giant lizards with claws and sharp bones protruding out of every joints not covered by thick scale.

But he had to focus on his fight now. A battle of minds and dexterity moving at a fast pace. With a sleight under his sleeve, Nadier took out the vial of poison. He picked up his glass of wine and placed the liquid to his lips, but only pretended to sip. He returned the glass with his right hand, poison in palm, while moving his set recklessly across the board, catching Atro's attention enough for him to slip the deadly liquid into the opposite glass.

“Work for me,” Atro bluntly stated, moving his knight, unaware of his surroundings. “I know you're planning something against me, and I don't wish to give you much of a chance to succeed, or any, for that matter.”

Nadier moved his light. “And Ierba?”

“I offered. He refused. And I'd rather not kill either of you. Such a waste of talent in a place that nurtures such skills as yours.” Atro trapped his set in a corner.

“You mean the talent to kill?” Nadier freed his piece with his monarch, and they traded a light for an archer. With a sigh, he answered, “If I refuse?”

“Nothing. You'll continue to fight. Eventually die, as they all do. But don't expect my merciful bargain to come again twice.”

Atro made his next move and Nadier looked down to the board. His set had been trapped in a corner, the opposing archer pinning both it and the last remaining light which was just a step away from victory. However, his monarch, the lone free piece, had full reign of the remaining board. Meaning regardless what move Atro made next, Nadier would have the game.

“Looks Like I've won,” Nadier noted.

Outside the glass, the drake had Ierba cornered, it's heat breath distorting the air it breathed on.

Though on the losing side, Atro looked to have enjoyed himself as he took his wine glass and downed every last drop, poison and all. In Nadier's mind's eye, a memory of Arborior leaning over the table and dealing a fatal slice across Atro's neck flashed, blood splattering onto the tabletop. The memory faded and Nadier noticed the scar on Atro's neck.

The master of The Arena sneered. “I wouldn't be so sure about that.” He reached into the crate and pulled out a random piece, a 'shade', and slapped it onto the board, pinning the monarch.

For a moment, Nadier was stunned. “That's not in the rules.”

“Lesson one,” Atro laughed. “There are no rules here. Lesson two, if there were, it'd be mine.”

“I still think I've won.”

“Have you now? Did you mean the game? Or did you mean this...”

The sea elf tilted his head up, his throat straight against his spine. Lines of blue light ran under and up the thin scales on his neck as his water magic activated. And like a wisp escaping a creature's final breath, the globules of poison rose out of his mouth alongside a flowing gesture with his hand, a liquid snake charmed by his thin fingers. Once everything had been removed into a sphere, he dumped the poison into his now empty glass.

“Ah...” The sea elf smiled. “Very well done, you almost got me again. Would have killed almost anyone else. Now, about my offer, will you join me?”

He had never known of a water mage skilled enough to manipulate not just poison, but separate it from within their own body after having been mixed with other drinks. The amount of precision, power, and sheer will required was a mountain. He such dexterity, Atro could easily have the poison wrapped around Nadier's nose and mouth, drowning him with his own weapon. The man was not just a monster that had an entire underground city in the palm of his hands, but also an abomination of strength that Nadier was not sure he was even close to equipped to stop. Joining up was the only logical choice for survival.

He swallowed. “I refuse.”

In the cavern, Ierba had his spear pierced through the throat of the drake, set afire to the dark.