I stood outside of the Red Sands arena, having been dropped off by Gaias. Today my entrance to the arena’s stage would be a little… unorthodox. I was wearing a concealing cloak that attracted attention but hopefully concealed my features. Livia thought it would work at least. I also carried a large black bag which clinked with the sound of metal when I shifted its weight in my hand. While I waited, spending time away freely before my match, I thought over what the draconic Oracle had said to me, staring into me with her one eye of pure whiteness and one eye of pure blackness.

“Three sons of gods lie ahead of you, their knives at each other’s throats. Only one may you help. Choose wisely, for while all will know your vice, only one will bring you your virtue.” I recited easily to myself. Since transforming into an Imperator I had noticed mental abilities increasing like reaction time, coordination, reflexes, processing speed, dexterity, and memory. What once I might have forgotten or misremembered details, I now recalled with perfect clarity as if she was saying it to me once again each time I thought of it.

Just because I remembered it perfectly didn’t mean that I understood it perfectly. Oracles were strange creatures, prone to conveniently leaving details out of prophecies and forecasts. And the Sunbringer they petitioned to learn what the gods on Heaven’s Peak and the gnarled Fates had devised was known for his own whims and tricks.

“Three sons of gods lie ahead of you.” I said to myself, leaning against a support pole in front of an entrance to the Red Sands arena, watching Servi file in. I knew of only one son of an immortal Olympian and that was Augustas Heraclides, son of the Champion and Regent of the imperial Dominium. That was one, where were the other two? I simply did not know. The stories of the Servi people told of many half-divine demigods in the ancient times of Grecia millennia ago but did not tell of any new ones. Surely we would know, I thought. To claim the child of a god was a great honor for the Dominium, why wouldn’t the imperial authorities shout the news from every planet in the nine solar systems? Could the demigods be hiding? What Imperator would flinch from their destiny?

The answer was so simple it stunned me. There was no reason that these demigods had to be Imperators at all when so much of the human population was filled with lesser or subordinate paths. In fact, the Skyfather, father of so many heroes and heroines, seemed to give children to a number of different women, not all of them ancient royals. Why would the sons of gods hide? If their very existence was a challenge to the order and power structure of the Dominium. Imperators were superior to all, that was the Dominium’s vision, but Augustas Heraclides could crack continents and down starship dreadnoughts in orbit with a thrown spear not because he was an Imperator but because his Foundation was being the son of a god and his Rank was Gold.

“Their knives at each other’s throats.” I repeated. Well, obviously. Augustas was the leader of an empire that would try to refute the other two’s existences. And if the discord and violence went three ways, rather than just two demigods against the Regent, that would track. Cultivators were jealous creatures prone to rivalries and disputes, and only one man could take the Regent’s throne and the reins of the empire.

“Only one may you help.” I said. No, duh. Help one and the rest will want to kill you.

“Choose wisely, for while all will know your vice, only one will bring you your virtue.” I finished. I wasn’t sure what this meant, and it was the bulk of my confusion. What was my vice? The Shine drug? I had sworn off ever touching it again. That was the only vice I could really think of. And what was my virtue? Perseverance? Determination? Ambition?

I eyed the time on my wrist communicator. Time to go. I joined the flow of people into the stands, past concessions. It was easy to see me with my seven feet of height and the cloak, but those who pointed and curiously caught a hint of my features saw only hair dyed black and my violet eyes hidden by Servus brown contacts covering them. I hefted the bag filled with my armor and flashed an ID badge at the guards at the metal detectors to let me by unchecked. They stared at me with gaping mouths as they observed the size of me. I had gotten used to it.

The guards stared at the pupilless brown of my eyes as if to try and convince themselves that their path allowed for a monster of such large proportions. I hoped nobody saw through any of my tricks. One time I hadn’t properly dyed my white roots and I had been frightened someone would catch on to me. I walked to the stands and sat down in the seat that the arena had given me. It had to be a general audience seat, I was told, for the full dramatics of the theatre we were going to put on. I was told that my opponent didn’t know what was going on for the full shock of the plan to go forth. The Red Sands organizers wanted a genuine reaction from him. I felt bad for my opponent, I would be annoyed if I was paid for a fight and the other side pulled out some kind of game of artistic flair.

Still, our plan was bold. Newsworthy, even. I sat through three matches of non-lethal combat between Golden Servi of rock-solid Foundations. I supposed I was getting a bit jaded that it wasn’t enough to excite me anymore as it thrilled and pushed the crowd to a frothing mess. I reflected that I was either going to get paid more than these Servi gladiators or I was going to be dead because the battle between my opponent and I was combat to the death. We had both had accepted the suicidal proposition, daring to risk our lives to entertain a bloodthirsty crowd.

I stood up, left my seat and went to the men’s restroom. I had to duck under the doorway in order to get inside the bathroom, always an annoyance. I went into a stall with my hefty black bag of armor and shut the door. I stripped off the cloak and unzipped the bag. I put on each piece of armor, the gear self-tightening around my limbs and body with electric motors and magnetic locking mechanisms paired to sensors detecting when it was in place for locking. I put everything on save my helm and replaced my cloak back onto me and walked back to my seat, ducking on the way out.

I waited two more matches for mine to finally come, having been dropped off ahead of schedule to avoid hiccups or mix-ups. A platform on the sandy arena floor descended into the Hypogeum underneath and returned with a man in all green armor.

“Javias, the Knight of Emerald!” An announcer blared on the loudspeaker just barely above the roar of the crowd. “You know him from his battles against-“

I tuned it out. I unzipped my bag again and pulled my helmet on. The Servus next to me was staring at me with big brown eyes.

“C-can I get your autograph?” She stuttered out.

I signed something for her and then ignored her follow up questions of what I was doing here in the general stands when my match was about to start.

The announcers started riling up the crowd, holding a pause for as long as they could to drive up the tension. A platform began descending into the Hypogeum beneath.

“And here’s Commodas!” An announcer bellowed.

The platform ascended upwards but obviously did not carry me up with it. Instead, it had a single Keenblade sword driven point first into the circular platform.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, folks.” One announcer said even though I knew for a fact he knew the situation.

“Maybe Commodas is afraid to fight the Emerald Knight?” Another announcer suggested.

The announcers started riffing off each other, pulling out more and more fantastical reasons why I wasn’t on the platform, from a death in the family to assassins to fighting a dragon on the way to the arena. That was my cue.

Making sure my hood draped over me ominously I stood.

“Hold on now, folks. I’ve just received word of some kind of irregularity in the crowds. Friends, look around and see if you can’t see what it is.” They got the whole crowd to play part in this strange game.

“There appears to be a mysterious cloaked man in section E4!” An announcer said.

The camera crews as planned immediately switched their focus to me, broadcasting my cloaked and hooded form on the television displays hovering above the field of battle. Everybody behind me was waving frantically at the cameras trying to get on screen.

“Boy, he’s a tall one, ain’t he?” An announcer barked out.

It was time. I threw back my hood to reveal my helm.

“By the gods, it’s Commodas!” One of the announcers said, really hamming it up.

I surveyed the crowd and unhooked the clasp on my black cloak and threw it aside in one clean motion.

The crowd and the announcers went crazy, the whole colosseum shaking. I jumped out of the stands and landed in the scarlet sands and strode over to the sword planted in the platform. I pulled it out and spun it in my grip. It was a reddish Jovium-copper longsword sharped to a monoatomic edge as opposed to a Romaen gladias or a Grecian xiphos.

“Activate blade functions.” I commanded to my helm which would have synced with the sword’s internal computer when I touched it. My words activated the Bondflicker effect that would cut through our Jovium alloy armor and the Thanatosian particles that would leave a Servi Gold’s wounds bleeding instead of instantly sealing up.

I pointed my blade at Javias, the Knight of Emerald and he raised his green enameled sword in response. I smiled. I liked a good fight to the death. I approached him.

“I see you think this is a theatre.” Javias said coldly to me.

“I hope the owners have fire insurance if that’s the case.” I said. “My friend and I have a poor track record.”