From the quiet of their room, Nadier, Ierba, and Zen could feel the slight tremor in the ground signalling the arrival of the dragon in their cavern. The dark elf had never noticed just how quiet the cell was before, and a part of him thought that now that he knew, he would not be able to stay there for another day without going insane from the silence.

Ierba was playing with his newly upgraded spear. On one end was a normal steel tip, and the other was one Nadier had rigged to flame up with the salamander fire on impact.

“Remember,” the elf reminded. “We only get one use of the blast tip, so make it count.”

Ierba laid on his back and sighed. “That's what she said.”

“There's no way you're married.”

The cavern door slid opened with rumbles. Nadier wished fighting the dragon was as easy as letting the creature stick its head through and have the dwarven built mechanics shut in on its neck. But the dragon wasn't their goal, just a pit stop, which made him strain in stress at thinking of the hurdles even after.

“No point worrying,” Ierba spoke up, sensing his tension. He notched his spear on his shoulder and walked out towards the cavern nonchalantly.

Zen gave a worried whine but Nadier assured her with a neck pat. Finally, he took her scarf, wrapping around her neck. It hid the chains that bound her under the onyx magical cloth. The wolf would need every advantage she could. Together, they left their cell one last time, the wolf slinking under his coat. A part of Nadier might even miss his prison one day, but not then. That moment was a call to reckoning.

The pair stepped out into the cavern and Ierba instinctively threw up a magic lamp in his hand to better see in the dark. Nadier felt the glare, followed by a sudden slip in his consciousness as Arbor made a push in the glow. It seemed the two of them were now tied to light and darkness.

“I don't see a dragon,” Ierba noted, though his grip on his weapon had not loosened. “But I am getting goosebumps.”

It's from the maelstrom dragon's static charge.

“The dragon's electricity?” Nadier replied to the voice inside.

“That'd makes sense. But doesn't that mean...”

Their shadow elongated before them as sparking fire flared from behind. The pair jumped out of the way just as the dragon's head stuck out of its cropping with its breath. Scorched dark were the space they stood on following the flames. Decades of blood that had dried on the rocks turned from brown to black, cracking into dusty ashes that blew over their feet like a screen. Arcs of electricity jumped between the particles, turning the air into an explosion of electrifying fireworks.

“Game faces!” Ierba shouted. “Remember our goal!”

That's right. The disturbingly large dragon with a head that could swallow them whole was not their main target. Even now as it somehow slithered through the crackles of rocks like a giant snake hunting its prey through buildings of grass. They needed to wait for the signal, survive, and get up to the VIP box.

Hahaha! Good luck!

At that moment, Ierba turned off his light source and the voice faded into the background, allowing Nadier to once again concentrate on his surroundings. A shadow moved from the corner of his vision and he rolled out of the way as a slithering claw barrelled on through, elongated like a runaway train. As his daggers flickered out of their sheathes and cut the edge of the dragon's scale, a sharp tang of shock ran up his arm and he had to stifle a scream of pain to prevent himself from dropping his weapon.

Quickly after, he scrambled behind a large rock formation, grasping at his arm in agony. “It electrified its scales?” He cursed quietly.

It can't keep up its magic forever.

“So we short it!”

The elf looked up and found the dragon's head peering down. The creature opened its mouth, ready to fry or electrocute him. Zen jumped out from his coat and ran while creating an elastic shadow that dragged Nadier along. At the same time, a bolt of white magic missile slammed into the side of the dragon's head, turning its trajectory. The combined effort pulled and pushed Nadier out of the path far enough for the flames to just barely singe the edge of his coat.

“Ierba!” Nadier shouted as he rolled to safety. “It has electrified scales! We need to burn its seither!”

“Got it!” The knight shouted back. “Buy me time!”

“Buy you time?” The elf exclaimed back. “Am I supposed to sing to it?”

A swipe of the giant's claw rips away at a rock formation to his right, throwing debris at him. Nadier covered up as best he could from the projectile while retreating into a more open space with the dragon chasing along. He loaded a flammable cartridge into his dagger. With a strike against the flinted back of his secondary blade, the knife came to life with flames. Zen had followed up next to him and was in an attack stance.

“Over here, you little shit!” He waved the makeshift torch in the dark.

The dragon swivelled towards the light and climbed over all the stones, its harsher rushing steps a loud and ground trembling difference from its slithering movements. When it eyed the flames in Nadier's hand, it stopped suddenly, with the still twitch of a gecko as its head flicked.

“What going on?” Nadier whispered to Arbor.

It thinks you're a baby dragon.

“That sounds good?”

It won't think that way for long. Ever read that book about training dragons?

“Yeah?”

One hundred percent fiction.

The dragon's nostrils flared and its eye squinted as it cleared the mystery that the tiny thing before it was not one of its young, but a morsel of meat. Its head reeled back as yellow magic circuits glowed across its wings. It was preparing to electrocute them.

Quickly, Nadier pulled off his belt and clipped it to the ring of his dagger. He flung the makeshift rope hammer down just in time to catch the lightning breath of the dragon. The electricity redirected quickly to the dagger's blade and as the weapon struck the ground, the energy stored caused a blast that knocked Nadier off his feet. The remainder of the lightning breath arced around him. Even insulated by his coat, the powerful current coursed through his body and he fell down twitching.

With his muscles in spasm, Nadier struggled to get back up. Zen jumped between him and the dragon, ready to fight to her death for her partner.

“EXVAE!”

A large beam of light blasted from the side, smashing into the dragon like a pillar dislodged. The creature howled as a yellow flash crackled across its body, signifying the breaking of its magical barrier.

For a while after while the dragon reeled, Nadier continued to squint at the brightness, thinking that perhaps the light from the spell had not yet dissipated, until the cold of snow fell on his cheeks and the heat of the Twins burnt through to his oversensitive skin that he realized the ceiling was opening up to the sky.

“That's the signal!” He found Ierba dragging him to his feet the moment his bearings returns. “We have to go now!”

Through the shocking pain, Nadier found some strength to move. Zen returned under his coat and through some form of magic, seemingly reinforced the shadows under his body to help.

The dragon had grown tired of hunting the two difficult prey. Upon seeing the sky open back up to it, it unfurled its wings and coiled its body into as much of a cone as possible, not noticing the two humanoid that had clung on to the mid of its scales. With a powerful long flap of its wings, the dragon pushed with its muscular coiled body like a spring. The jump and powerful flap flew it straight up towards the exit at a speed that threatened to throw Ierba and Nadier off through sheer gravitational force.

For the two fighters, their goal was a simple change of trajectory. They waited for the twist of the dragon's body to line them up to the VIP box. They then launched themselves off as hard as they can with a magical explosive booster from Ierba. The last image Nadier saw before Zen engulfed their body to propel them towards their target was Ierba throwing the explosive spear towards the window.

And for the next 3 seconds within the protective shadows of Zen, all Nadier could sense was peaceful darkness.

Reminds me of dying.

Then, screaming emerged with the light. Dozens laid dead around them. Some from the blast itself, shattered glass shrapnel embedded in their body. Others from Zens protective landing escalating a wave of dark magic outward, the remnants of shadow fire still scorching the clothes. The wolf was panting with its head down, clearly drained from using most, if not all of her powers.

Nadier knelt next to the creature and gently guided her to rest on the ground. “Rest, girl.”

He then stood to his feet and joined Ierba in a line, facing Atro and Langsley on the other side of the room.

Trini took the stairs two flights at a time. Guards were running in all directions, armed with swords and steam pistols to quell the prison escape that Ratface had started. A few glanced over to their mistress and the strange man she was with, but none questioned her presence in the emergency. As they reached the top of the stairs, the first clash of metal echoed from below.

But outside, the storms of combat were drowned with the everyday bustle of the illegal hub. Gamblers and betters wandered the corridors and foyers without knowledge of the rebellion happening beneath. Why should they? After all, they were simply pockets of money to be extracted, their safety be damned. One could even argue that goods were easier to procure from a corpse than a live being. Knowing that mindset of her father was good for what was to come.

“Where to?” Neo asked.

“Outside!” She replied.

They made their way straight out the east exit. Out in the open field of snow were two dwarven towers of stone. Within each were mechanisms to open into their respective caverns below. Trini had often wondered what these gates were made to originally do. While she and her father had been there for over 400 years, the main dwarven structures had existed for over thousands. The outline of the retractable floor (or retractable ceiling if you were below) could be faintly made out through fresher patches of snow.

As she approached, two guards stepped out from the tower, hands on their sword handles as they approached.

“I need you to open the cavern doors,” she commanded.

“But there's a prison break happening right now. And the dragon fight is still underway. If we open up, the creature will escape!” The guards' eyes darted to Neo suspiciously.

“It's my father's order.”

“Then we'll need to speak with your father then. Step aside, lady.”

She could sense their respect dwindling with the seconds. However, she no longer had time to be diplomatic. Her blade whispered out of the wind and sliced up through the nearest guard, cutting off their throat. Before the second guard could even draw their sword, Neo took a step with a push kick. The force was enough to knock the guard back into the tower wall, slumping unconscious down against the snowy ground. Trini walked on into the tower with Neo, leaving the injured guard behind scrambling to stop the blood of their fatal wound.

The inside of the tower was reminiscent of the rest of dwarven stonework left to time. The crisp cut stones were patched over with crude wood and carved repairs of other mortal hands less dexterous than those that built them. The structure within was hollow, with a spiralling mechanism alike a capstan barred to the ground in the middle. Four long metal poles jutted out of the rotary gear.

Neo asked, “Are we supposed to turn this thing?”

On the question, Trini got behind one of the juts. “It usually takes four people to do so, but with the two of us, it shouldn't be impossible.”

The man positioned himself behind the jut opposite and readied to push. “Were you going to do this by yourself?”

“If I have to, yes.” She replied. With two timed nods, the pair pushed the capstan to turn slowly, but surely. At a pause, she noted, “It's doable alone.”

After a heave, the man joked, “Should I leave then?”

“Feel. Free!” Her magic circuits glowed as she reinforced her body with extra strength.

Since they did not have a spotter outside, they could not actually see how wide the retractable floor had gone. But Trini had seen the mechanism operate enough to have an instinctual gauge of when the entrance would be wide enough.

“What are we... going to do... about the dragon?”

“The dragon?” She asked through misted breaths.

She could almost see his questioning face. “Yes. The dragon. That will be... flying out.”

Suddenly, the ground shook violently as dust fell off the tower's ceiling. From the doorway, a burst of wind threw rains of white through the arch, followed by a loud roar and a desperate gurgled scream.

“Oh. The dragon. I've not thought this far.”

The pair rushed out into the open where the dragon was chewing on the corpses of the guards they had killed. In the distance towards the domes, they could see other soldiers fearfully watching the creature that had arrived from the newly opened hole in the ground. Looking down below, Trini could see the VIP box, where the glass had shattered and Nadier and Ierba was just getting to their feet. At least the plan seemed to have worked.

She spoke as softly as she could over the cold wind. “Maybe we can sneak by it while it's distracted?”

As if a comedic skit, the creature snapped its head in their direction. Dropping the corpse for fresher prey, the dragon turned its slithering body towards them, teeth still dripping with blood. Trini cursed her turn of luck.

“Don't worry, I got this.” Neo Deskett walked forward between her and the dragon. “Don't you have somewhere else you want to be?”

“You can't fight it by yourself!” she exclaimed.

A sabred burnt out of black fire in his right hand as he stood with his left arm directed towards the creature. A smirk was worn across his face. “I told you, I'm here for the fun.”

The dragon charged towards its new insolent victim, slithering through the snow with electricity sparking off the air. Its wings, still half folded, trashed snow behind the ground into a screen of white dust rising. Neared Neo, it jumped, with its body following in an arch like a snaking bridge.

Neo held out his hand, eyes tensed with madness. “EXSEED!”

The dragon smashed into a wall of dark fyre and the creature crumpled into its own body, surprised growls erupted as its own weight slammed into itself. The fyre dissipates, icicles forming around Neo's standing body in an outward spiral.

His left arm transformed into a large appendage, covered in callus coloured armour that seemingly grew like spikes from his skin. His hand looked as if it wore a glove made of thick bones, stretching over the fingers like claws; Claws that were large enough to grip the snout of the dragon within the palm. The strength of the claws dug through the scales of the dragon and drew blood of green and red.

The man shifted his weight. Using his newly granted superhuman strength, black flames and magic further enhanced his power as he dragged the dragon, wailing and growling across the plains. In a sweeping arch, Neo rammed the giant lizard into the tower of stone, kicking up more dust and snow as the thousands years of historical monument crumbled beneath the weight of the creature in less than half a dozen seconds.

“I've got this!” he exclaimed excitedly. The madman proceeded to laugh as he released the dragon's snout, drew his arm back, and punched it hard enough that the monster rolled back howling.

“You've got this...” she noted in awe.

Turning away from the impossible fight, she rushed back towards the dome to help kill her father. The soldiers and mercenaries were no longer watching. They had their own trouble, as the gladiators had broken free onto the surface. The brawl from below had turned into an all out war on the surface.

Re-entering the bloodied warmth of the indoors, she was immediately jumped by a gladiator, swinging at her with swords. Of course, they would. None recognized her as anyone more than the woman who stood beside their tormentor. Ironically, a guard ran to her rescue, only to be quickly struck down by a spearman. She deflected her attacker's strikes, jumping away with feet light on wind. Though she did not want to harm those she was attempting to save, she was short on time.

Her blade parried a strike aside and found an opening for a heavy slash. In a flash, Ratface enlarged between the two fighters, pushing both away before any fatal wounds were dealt.

“She's with us!” The dwarf shouted. The gladiator backed off in confusion, seeing his saviour saving his captor. Ratface turned to her. “Tree! Where ya' going?”

“Where's Nadier? Where's my father?”

“They ran them north arena! But we gotta get you outta here before more of them prisoners think you them enemy!”

“No!” she insisted. “Today, that man dies, or I do.”

She ran off before the dwarf could say another word. However, he chased after her, cursing her back as he did so. A mage fired a fireball at her and Ratface shot up a wall of ice to take the hit. A halberd swung her way, but the dwarf turned into his rat form, jumped onto the polearm, enlarged himself, and redirected the attack down to the ground. From afar, an arrow would have struck her had he not threw a shield he picked up between the projectile's path and target.

Soon, the gladiators realized Ratface, their saviour, was protecting Tri-Ni-Ty and stopped their assault on her. Word passed on quickly, and she was avoided by friends and foes alike.

“Appreciated, dwarf!” She shouted back as she neared the arena door.

Ratface was huffing behind, tired from the running and protection, dropping to his back in fatigue. “You owe me one, Lady Tree!”

The fighting had yet to make its way into the arena proper yet, and the sea elf managed to rush her way to the audience stands without further opposition. But what greeted her was not the fierce battle between two mortal foes. Within the arena itself, Nadier knelt on the floor in the middle, blood dripping from his temple onto the ground as her father stood over him with his gun barrel on his skull.

Nadier locked Atro in his sights. Without another word, the dark elf sprinted forward with daggers drawn. If he could kill the man before he could use any of his powers, the assassin could end the battle before it even began. He loaded the anti-magic vials into his dagger and images of Arbor's attempt at cutting Atro's throat flashed into his mind. He would need to target immediately fatal parts. The heart. The brain. The spine.

His dagger's path was true as he dashed through the crowded room, darting between bodies as Atro struggled to refocus himself from the explosion.

As Nadier leapt with weapons raised, the glint of a blade from the corner of his eyes instinctively caused him to twist his body in the air.

Langsley's spear of shining white slid just past Nadier's chest, the tip nicking off the edge of his coat. The moment Nadier's feet touched the ground again, the second spear, darkness enveloped, arched up towards his face. The elf raised his daggers in a desperate attempt to block despite its futility. Expecting the piercing attack to puncture his face, Nadier even closed his eyes, awaiting death.

“What are you doing?!” Ierba exclaimed.

The dark elf looked up to see his cellmate standing between the attacker and victim. The knight had managed to take back his spear of light and was holding it at guard.

“Leave me to myself,” Ierba quipped. “Atro's getting away!”

Nadier looked past the two and sure enough, the arena master was slipping out the door as guards rushed in.

“Damn it!” Nadier cursed.

He got to his feet and dashed after his target. A guard came at him with a sword, but he dodged it with a sidestep and sliced across the guard's abdomen with an inverted edge. Once the knife passed through the body, he quickly stabbed backwards into the guard's thigh and the soldier dropped to their knees as their nerves were severed. Without a look back, Nadier dashed out of the room, blending into the other escaping occupants through the dusty chaos.

At the end of the corridor, the assassin caught sight of Atro darting up the stairs towards the surface. As quickly as he could, Nadier slipped past the mess and chased his prey into the stairwell, just in time to witness the arriving breakout of gladiators from the lower floor skewer a guard with spears.

The escapees looked to Nadier, confused. He was not dressed as a guard, but held none of the kept swagger of guests.

A warrior woman called out his epitaph, “Wanderer!”

From the shadow, the armoured maiden rose, and he struggled to remember her name.

“Visalle Thurner. You tried to save my husband.” 'Tried' was the operative word. And when Nadier noticed the man was not with her, he prodded no further.

He quickly informed, “I'm hunting down At-Tro-Pos.”

The anger in her eyes were palpable, and she wasted no time turning to the gladiators. “The Wanderer's going after At-Tro-Pos! We'll clear the way for him. To the surface!”

With a vengeful roar, the two dozen gladiators charged upwards, sweeping Nadier up in their wave as they quickly ascended. Three guards attempted to block their path, only to be quickly overwhelmed, dragged down to the ground, and violently murdered by their once prisoners.

Without fanfare nor announcers, the gladiators ruptured out of the stairwell doors and spewed into the lobby. Guests screamed and ran as the escapees dashed around. Some charging forward to hold back guards. Others made beelines to exits for their freedom. But as Visalle promised, ten of them surrounded Nadier as they spot Atro in the distance. The group rushed for him, with every incoming guard and mercenary intercepted by one of their own. More stairwells burst opened with gladiators pouring. Nadier glimpsed an eager Ratface, claws for hands, leading the charge of the eastern group.

As Atro ran into the north arena, Nadier felt a surge of energy flow through his body. He turned to see one of the Juneberg triplets, the lightning mage to be exact, channelling a boost of magic into his body. Her siblings were nowhere to be found.

Without eye contact, the girl said, “Make it count.”

No more words needed to be said. It was no longer an assassination attempt or a prison break. That moment, the battle turned into a war.

Boosted by electrical stimulus, Nadier burst past his entourage and chased after Atro. He loaded a vial of fire into his main dagger, and an anti-magic one into the offhand weapon. He ran through the corridors of the northern arena, where bodies of gladiators sat dead in their cells, blasts of shotgun pellets having ripped apart their defenceless chests. A mercenary stepped in front of Nadier, hammer and shield raised.

The blunt weapon swung at his head and he ducked. Using his main weapon to hook onto his opponent's handle, he rode the momentum of the attack and kicked off the war, jumping and twisting behind his enemy, the heavy shield and mallet's weight working against their wielder. With a drop, Nadier slammed the mercenary back first into the ground, finishing off the downed warrior with a knife to the heart.

Around the corner, a wall flat with light was squashed by darkness as the door to the battleground closed. It was Atro, escaping into the stands, and Nadier was not far. With speed, the assassin resumed his chase, turning the corner and to the giant doors. He leaned in and pushed the exit opened with heavy heaves. Eventually, the gap was large enough that he could slip through.

The moment he stepped out onto the field, he saw the barrel of the blunderbuss, Wygahn, pointed at him. Desperate, he jumped aside just as a round of pellets smashed into the door behind, splattering blood of wood splinters where he once stood.

“You couldn't leave it well alone, could you!” Atro roared. The glow in his gun had faded, but was quickly regaining its shade at a new magic bullet was charged into it. “After all I've done!”

Nadier was not in a talking mood. He took the opening and charged, setting his dagger on fire. Atro clenched his fist in the air, gathering a small boulder of a snowfall and threw in into Nadier. The dark elf melted the projectile with a flaming slash, only to be immediately hit by a second snowball slamming into his side. It was as if he had been kicked by a donkey, his ribs screaming on the edge of breaking as he was knocked off his feet.

As quickly as he could, Nadier recovered, but was only stunned at the blunderbuss trigger being pulled, with the barrel on his chest. The bullets knocked into him, his leather armour ripping on impact. The only thing that prevented his death - but not the pain of a hundred blunt arrows smashed into his chest - was the magic reinforcement Juneberg have given him. Though the wind was nonetheless knocked out of the dark elf. This time, his ribs did crack.

Nadier somehow landed on his knees, the taste of iron from red liquid licked his lips. He then felt the deep cold barrel on his forehead.

He's a showman. Talk! Arbor screamed.

Through a possibly collapsed lung, Nadier coughed, “What... have you done?”

The barrel touched his chin and lifted his head to look up to Atro, casting Nadier's face in rays of light, the brightness burning through the gaps in his aeronium protection and searing his natural skin beneath.

“This place,” Atro began. “All of it was for the good of all living things! To curb the violence and put an end to mortals' beastly instincts, I made myself beastmaster! A place where the degenerates of society are safely trapped. Where the powerful can come to satisfy their libido for blood! I gave that to the world!”

“Really, father?” Trini spoke. The two men looked behind Atro, where the woman walked over with sword at the ready. “Or did you just want to flaunt yourself and all your trophies? Like how you've displayed me?”

Atro looked disappointed, but not surprised. “Daughter. Have you finally decided to betray me?”

“Can't call it a betrayal when I was never on your side.”

A monotone reply from the man. “You break my heart.”

“You broke me first.”

“No, I didn't. I wanted you to become my legacy. You would have inherited everything!”

She raised her sword to him and a whirl of wind surrounded her body in defence. “I'm nobody's legacy.”

The villain's jaws tensed and Atro swung his gun towards his own flesh and blood.

Nadier felt a tug on his heart, an aching familiarity calling out to him. Not knowing why or how he knew, he simply shouted aloud, “ZEN!”

Dog House.

“DOG HOUSE!”

Black.

“I'd rather not kill you,” Ierba told his doppelganger. “But I guess you're not in much of a position to negotiate.”

Langsley simply stood opposite the room as the crowd thinned out. No guards were left, likely out dealing with the prison break. The Omnispear of Dark was held loosely in Langsley's hand, while Ierba wielded the Spear of Light. He could feel the power from the spear flowing back to him, giving him more energy than he had experienced in months. But at the same time, he could feel the pull on his soul like a magnet attached to his very existence being dragged towards the direction of Langsley. The power between them was fighting to determine who its rightful owner was.

“You know,” Ierba held up his spear nonchalantly. “We could share.”

It was a shadowy blur that charged him with a wave of an attack sloshed up towards Ierba's throat. He gripped his spear tightly and punched down with the polearm, knocking the Spear of Dark's trajectory off to the side. Ierba swung upwards with his spear, forcing magic into his attack. The blunt handle of the polearm connected with Langsley's ribs, letting out a blast of light magic, sending the zombiefied knight flying into a table. The furniture broke under his weight, spraying debris everywhere.

But the dark knight stood to his feet without even a moment of rest. He immediately swung his dark spear wide and far, sending a wave of dark fire spreading across the room. Ierba spun his weapon up and slammed down the ground, unleashing a travelling blade of light to cut through the dust.

From the gaps in magic, Langsley jumped in with spearhead pointed and thrust the weapon at Ierba. The latter brought the Spear of Light up in a controlled swirling motion, parried the strike, and countered with a thrust of his own. Langsley spun, dodging the attack, and swung back hard.

Ierba felt as if the handlebar of a motorcycle had swiped into his upper arm. He hardened his body on impact as much as he could and was lifted off his feet and pushed a meter back. His injured arm flicked his spear to levitate a moment in the air as he spun around, out of range of any follow up attack. The knight grabbed the Spear of Light with his offhand, pulling his injured limb against his chest to stop it from moving.

His spear shot back at Langsley, he jumped back and countered with a longer reaching one-handed thrust. The point nicked Ierba across the cheek and drew blood. He took the opportunity to close in, taking a second step and jamming his weapon into Langsley's left shoulder. Ierba dropped his spear, which handle clattered onto the floor as the tip was stuck through his opponent. He jumped, and with full weight stomped on the spear handle which tore Langsley's arm from its socket, dropping the Spear of Dark and the arm with it.

It was a strange sight to see the blood from the severed torso keeping intact with the main body, circulating without blood vessels and staunching the open wound. Ierba was reminded of a certain robot from a certain movie, minus the healing factor and silver tint.

Both of them were now one arm down, and yet neither had even begun utilising any of their more ludicrous powers. For Ierba, he was having a level of fun, facing off against his predecessors. The stakes were not “end of the world” high, and he was intrigued by the person beneath the zombification of the Ierba that came before.

In turn, he raised his one good fist and clenched. With a grin he egged on with a head wave for a fist fight.

“Come on,” Ierba muttered under his breath.

Langsley looked to the spears on the ground. In the pause of the brawl, the undead slowly raised his one remaining arm.

Ierba smiled. “There you are.”

Langsley opened with a wide haymaker, a wave of shadow magic trailing behind the strike. Ierba ducked under the punch, the dark spell singeing the nape of his neck. With a glowing fist, the Omniknight countered with a straight jab, tearing across the ribs of Langsley. More of the fake water-blood curled out of long-dead veins to repair the body which felt no pain.

Ierba stepped back to continue his assault, only to be suddenly met with a heavy punch to his face with enough force to knock him off his feet and spinning a round in the air. Somehow, he landed back on his feet just in time to receive a punch into his stomach that pushed him further back, air and blood coughing out of his lungs.

The knight pushed forward, returning with a hook. The zombie took the strike with guts and countered with an uppercut. The pair traded one-armed blows for blows. A drop. A hook. Two jabs and a haymaker. No matter how many hits were traded though, it seemed Ierba was the only one feeling the hits.

“Come on, old man!” he quipped. “You really want to die a slave?”

Langsley took a step back and entered with a powerful backfist, knocking the wind out of Ierba a second time. Before he could recover, the undead fighter grabbed him by his neck and lifted Ierba off the ground before slamming the knight down on the hard stone floor.

A wave of energy punched through Ierba, and it felt as if some of his organs might rupture. But he held his breath, tucked in his legs, and lifted Langsley over his head and threw his opponent over his own body. With the momentum of the kick, Ierba launched his body into a somersault and pinned Langsley onto the ground.

“It's been a good run. But all zombies die with a head shot!” He pulled his fist back, charged with whirling energy of light and darkness.

However, his straight punch down was caught by Langsley. The two struggled. Even with the weight of his entire body and gravity, Langsley's lack of nervous control from his undead state meant the man was able to push his body to limits beyond normal, evidence by the skin of his body tearing apart at the force applied. But eventually, Langsley was able to move Ierba's fist down over his heart where the struggling stopped.

Ierba stared at his predecessor's face who gave a grin back. “Looks like you're dying as yourself now.”

Through shaking breath, Langlsey gave a final, “Thank you.”

He let go of Ierba's wrist, and the magically charged fist punched into the chest, straight through the heart.

Ierba could feel his fist sloshing through the watery inerts, though a force like a net faintly held his punch back. But the light magic easily broke through and the glint in Langsley's eyes disappeared, the legendary gladiator at peace at last.

Ierba's fist shuffled against something hard - not bone - next to the spine. It was the familiar tang of steel. As his hand wrapped around the pellet shaped metal, he yanked the object out of the corpse's chest with some resistance.

With webs of what looked to be clear plastic-like blood vessels dangling out, wriggling like worms desperately latching onto his hands like vines, the blunderbuss pellet held in Ierba's hands squirmed. Small magical circuitries etched into the metal told Ierba all he needed to know, that this was the culprit to the loss of his predecessor's free will.

He ran a current of shadow fyre through his palm, burning the slug with the cold flames of hell before dropping the lead ammunition on the floor. He reached his right hand out towards his spear of light and the weapon disappeared in a flash of white, reappearing in his hand. Ierba raised the spear over his head with both arm and charged it with magic. Then, with piercing precision, slammed the spear tip into the slug with an explosive light. The bullet released all the magical energy it stored, letting out a pulse of magical force that rippled the dusty ground once it was destroyed.

Ierba twisted the shoulder of his injured arm, testing just how much mobility it had left. There was still sharp pain that ran through when he moved it, but he thought it was still usable as a blocking arm. He held his left palm out towards the spear of darkness and the weapon disappeared in wreath of dark fire before reappearing in his palm. He could hear the calming whisper of the weapon. And though he was not one to belief in the spiritual concept of souls, he could feel the physical fragment of memory Langsley had left behind. Somewhere in the Soul Arm was Langsley's last 200 years of suffering and the thirst for revenge.

The Omniknight, now whole again, looked to the ceiling. Somewhere beyond that, Nadier was fighting. He just hoped the dark elf left a piece of the arena master for him to smack around.

Dog House is a “trick” Arbor had taught Zen in his time. Just as other pet owners trained their companions to shake, roll, and play dead, Arbor had taught Zen to unleash powerful magical attacks.

As a dark elf, being unable to see in the dark was a new experience for Nadier. Surrounded by a dome of black, he could not tell east from west. Yet somehow, he could “sense” the players on the field, as if the darkness were an extension of his body, rippling through space like tentacles grasping at the physical world. He could feel the outlines of Atro raising his gun in Trini's general direction, so he ran and leapt at the woman, tackling her to the ground just as the gunshot rang out and the pellets flew by overhead.

“How long do you think your little dog can hold out?” Atro exclaimed loudly.

Even though she was likely as blind as he was, more so without Zen enhancing her senses, Trini did not panic at the sudden weight of his body over her. “What's the plan?” she whispered.

He had hoped to fight Atro together with Ierba in the VIP box, though that idea had long since vanished from possibility. If he could not kill the man quickly, the arena master will simply regenerate his injury. Even in the darkness created by Zen, he could not guarantee a fast death.

“The cell doors.” An idea pounced onto him as he helped Trini to her feet. “We'll crush him.”

Trini nodded. “Okay. Get me out of here.”

He turned her by the shoulders and pushed her towards the direction he felt was the exit and sensed as she trusted his guidance and confidently ran towards the edge of the dome. But Atro heard her footsteps and raised his gun in her direction. Nadier's senses tingled with Zen's shadow dome extension and he reacted almost instantly, turning to Atro and throwing a dagger in the man's direction. The blade cut through the shadow, dragging through the water of dark with a waving spiral of murky light.

With a clang, the dagger struck Atro's gun, shifting the barrel just slightly enough that when it fired, the pellets of the already inaccurate firearm completely missed Trini as she stepped out of the dark dome and out of Nadier's dark senses.

“Bitch!” Atro cursed uncharacteristically.

Nadier rushed him, determined to not simply stand by and wait for a solution. He did not know how long it would take for Trini to set the kill-zone up, but he had an advantage at that moment in the dark. If he could land a single fatal blow straight through Atro's skull, a kill might still be possible even without the wall crush.

But as he neared, Atro turned to him and swung the butt of his blunderbuss at Nadier's head. The dark elf braked his sprint abruptly and spun on his feet desperately to dodge. Even though he managed to slow his momentum and the counterattack's impact, the blunt of the gun still smacked him across his jaw and dropped him onto the ground.

Nadier grunted in pain and Atro aimed the gun at him. The dark elf pushed past his injury and rolled out of the way just as the gun blasted dirt into the side of his face. He scuttled quickly to a safe distance and stopped moving, holding his breath in the dark. As the ringing from the gun subsided, so did Atro's movements.

The sea elf's combat senses were far beyond what Nadier had given him credit for. At this rate, a kill shot would be impossible, let alone pushing the man into their death trap. It would seem he actually had to try.

“What's your plan, d'raow?” Atro called out derogatorily to the dark. “You want to kill me in the dark? Not so easily.”

The dark elf kept his breathing tempered through his lips. The arena master was egging him on, waiting for him to make a mistake and sound off. As long as he held his tongue and moved in slowly, he would be able to approach.

Suddenly, a beam of light slashed through the darkness from the heavens. Nadier looked up to see the shadow dome breaking as rays cut down onto the field, one by one. His iris contracts as a blade lit up the left of his face.

He jumped left into darkness just as a shot rang out in his direction, bullets whizzing by where he stood. The option of waiting had been taken from him. With Zen's ability to hold the dome waning, he needed to push in now.

Nadier rushed in, dodging beams of light as the dome faded to stay out of sight. Atro raised his gun in his general direction, but every sidestep Nadier took changed the location of his footsteps, leaving Atro in confusion. Then, the man took a gamble and fired in the direction he thought Nadier would dodge. It was a wide miss. The dark elf took the short time in between gun loads and sprinted straight for Atro, disregarding the daylight that cut him, scalding his exposed skin, allergic to light.

Atro raised his reloaded gun and aimed it straight at Nadier's head. The dark elf dived forward into darkness as the shot blasted out. A pellet lodged itself into his calf. He pushed past the pain, grunted, and jumped to his feet. With a swing of his dagger, he pierced the forearm of Atro with the blade. The sea elf yelled in pain as Nadier controlled his limb with his dagger.

A spot of daylight shone onto them as players on a stage of shows. Blood splashed across Nadier's person. He pulled Atro's arm down, and Atro gave him a stern head-butt. The dark elf however, was not moved.

Atro shouted, “You think you're tough?!” Spittle sprayed Nadier's face as the sea elf's magic circuits lighted up blue.

The surge of pain that burned through Nadier's body was beyond any he had ever faced. Atro was attempting to pull the very blood within Nadier's body out, and he could feel his veins attempting to escape from the inside. Despite the velvet liquid flowing from his lips, Nadier held firm. He swung his arm overhead and punched Atro in the face, stumbling the man long enough for the assassin to give one hard push, tackling atro back into what was left of the receding darkness.

Nadier struggled fiercely, gaining the ground that poised them in the path of the sliding walls that separated cells and arena.

“Trini!” Nadier yelled, partially to signal her to activate the trap, but also to release the overwhelming urge to scream that was taking over his body.

“She's not saving you now!” Atro twisted his arm with blade still inside until he gained leverage over Nadier and pushed down on his opponent. The pain of blood manipulation sapped the strength from the dark elf and he was quickly pushed to his knees. “I should have killed you two hundred years ago!”

“Took the words right out of my mouth!”

Nadier swept the man's feet and cause him to fall back against the wall, where he stumbled against the brick. As light broke through the dome, a look of confusion settled on Atro's face as he found himself backed into the pillar. Then, a stunned expression of fear covered him as he realisde the sliding wall was slowly closing in on them. Nadier jumped him, pinning the sea elf to the wall with all his strength.

“You mad man! You'll kill us both!”

The dark elf was not listening. With the panic of imminent death, Atro was struggling even harder than before, though his inability to focus on blood magic had loosened its grip on Nadier's body. The latter was still using all his body to prevent the arena master from escaping. He had been prepared for death for years. Had it not been for the survivalist in him, inherited from whatever cowardice remained in Arbor, he would have likely given up his soul a long time ago. Here, at the frozen dump of the world, putting down an egotistical slaver, would not be the worst of ways he had imagined his death to be.

As the sliding wall touched his back feet, he pushed against it to give himself more leverage. Suddenly, through the gap between him and Atro, a white-metal spear pierced Atro's chest and pinned the sea elf to the wall. A hand grabbed Nadier's legs and he felt a great strength pull his feet away. He was lifted off from the bottom, slipping under the spear before being dragged through the air and thrown unceremoniously across the field, ending up sprawled on his back. Zen limped over to his side and laid over his belly, the wolf equally worn out from the fight.

“Good girl,” he said to her. Nadier wanted to pet the wolf, but could not raise the strength to move his arms.

Succumbing to his wounds and fatigue, Nadier could only meekly lull his head over to the side and watched as Ierba pinned Atro in place with his spear. The latter struggled and raised his gun across his crumpling body to shoot the knight, only for Trini to step in and kick the firearm away.

“You decadent slut!” The dying man cried angrily, desperation in his voice. . “Exsee-AAARRRGGGHHH-grk-!”

Nadier shut his eyes to the sound of crunching bones.