The registration table looked like it had been dragged straight from a battlefield. Scarred oak, corners chipped, ink-stained from decades of blood and bad deals. Beneath a ragged canvas awning, a goblin sat hunched, his quill scratching lazily against parchment. He didn't look up when Nyxia approached.
"Name," he barked, not even pausing his strokes.
"Nyxia."
The quill halted. The goblin looked up. His gaze slid over her: the spectral tail twitching behind her, the faint glow of cursed armor stitched with Void-threaded chain, the look in her eyes like she'd buried better fighters than he could name.
He let out a low whistle. "One of those, huh. Great. Keep the flesh-melting to a minimum."
"I'm not here to kill," she said coolly. "Just to remind people I can."
Boo arrived just behind her, already bristling. "You really doing this?"
Nyxia didn't answer with words. She simply unbuckled her bow and quiver and turned, holding them out like sacred relics.
Boo blinked, not moving. "You're trusting me with Loque, too?"
Loque'nahak padded up silently, his misty paws leaving no print in the sand. He pressed his forehead gently against Nyxia's arm, then turned and sat beside Boo with a low rumble.
"He won't follow me in," Nyxia said. "This isn't his kind of fight."
"This feels like goodbye."
"It's not," Nyxia replied. "Not unless I lose."
A squat, leathery-skinned dwarf near a battered rack barked, "Weapons rental. Two silver. No scimitars, no spears. What's left is what's left."
Nyxia scanned the weapons: a chipped broadsword, a cracked hammer, a rusting glaive, and one polearm—tall, heavy, with a bladed crescent edge that looked like it had once been part of a ship's anchor.
She picked it up. It was heavier than she liked, poorly balanced.
But it would do.
"This one."
She tossed the coins onto the rack.
Boo reached out, catching her wrist. "You can still walk away."
Nyxia turned, expression unreadable.
"I could," she said.
Then she stepped into the tunnel that led into the Pit.
"But I won't."
The tunnel swallowed her in shadow.
Her cursed armor glinted faintly in the half-light, breathing with each step, hungry but restrained. Every inch of it carried the weight of Ves'Sariel's legacy—void-stitched leather, metal that pulsed with power like it had a heartbeat. It didn't carry her. She carried it.
She emerged into blinding sunlight.
Sand crunched under her boots. The crowd's roar hit her like a physical force—shouts and cheers and laughter echoing through the high stone walls. Boo and Draj had pushed into the stands somewhere to her left, but she didn't look for them.
A bell rang once. Then twice.
"Next fighter," came the amplified growl from above. "Enter the Pit."
She strode forward.
The noise changed. Shifted. Became a chant.
"THARN! THARN! THARN!"
From the far tunnel, he emerged like a boulder rolling downhill. Eight feet of raw muscle. Troll-blood mixed with something larger—ogre, maybe. His chest was tattooed with bone-white sigils, and his armor was a lattice of bone, chain, and pride. His weapon wasn't a club. It was a slab of obsidian bolted to a staff and wrapped in iron chain.
He grinned when he saw her.
"Cute lil' thing," he said. "I'll try not t' pop ya like a tick."
Nyxia flicked her tail once behind her, uncoiling it like a striking whip.
"Try harder."
The gong sounded.
The Pit came alive.
Tharn moved faster than she expected—too fast for a creature that size. His blade sang through the air, crashing into the sand where Nyxia had just stood. A geyser of dust exploded upward.
She darted sideways and slashed at his thigh. Her polearm scored a shallow line, drawing blood.
He laughed.
Then backhanded her.
The blow hit like a freight beast. Her vision spun, and she tasted blood. She hit the sand hard and rolled, breath burning in her chest.
Up in the stands, Boo's voice cracked: "Get up!"
Nyxia staggered upright. Her eyes flashed violet-black for a breath. The Void coiled inside her, eager, whispering.
Let me help you, it purred. Let me save you.
She slammed the door on it.
Instead, she charged—wild, reckless. Tharn met her with a roar, catching her mid-leap and hurling her into the wall.
The stone cracked behind her.
Pain blossomed in her shoulder. She coughed, spat blood, and rolled onto her knees.
The crowd howled in approval.
Somewhere far above, in a hidden scrying chamber within the Temple of Light, acolytes watched through a spell-forged lens. The scout had linked the feed to this fight specifically. The elders watched in silence.
"She's tainted," one whispered. "You see it clinging to her?"
"She hasn't succumbed," said another. "She's still fighting it."
"For how long?"
In the Pit, Nyxia's borrowed weapon shattered beneath Tharn's next blow.
She scrambled for footing, but he wrapped the chain around her ankle and yanked.
She screamed as she hit the ground again, dragged through the sand like meat.
He raised his stone slab.
"Gonna paint the sand with yer guts."
"I'll feed you that tongue," she hissed, blood trickling from her mouth.
She caught a glimpse of the robed acolyte watching from the ridge. Mouth moving. Casting.
She hesitated.
Tharn didn't.
The obsidian slammed into her side.
Once. Then again.
Bones cracked. Something gave.
Nyxia curled into herself, breath ragged. Blood soaked her armor. Her tail twitched once, limp.
Boo was screaming now. "Let her go! Stop the fight!"
Draj had already left the stands, forcing his way through the guards. The pitmasters didn't budge.
"She entered willingly," one barked. "This is the price."
Boo's knuckles whitened on Nyxia's bow. "You bastards…"
In the sand, Nyxia trembled.
The Void surged in her blood now. Screaming. Roaring.
Let me OUT. Let me make him SUFFER.
She groaned. The sound was animal. Broken.
But she stood.
One step.
Another.
Eyes glowing.
Tharn sneered. "Still standin'? Damn. You're stubborn."
"Your mama must be proud," she rasped. "She raise you with two brain cells, or did you borrow one for today?"
The crowd laughed.
He roared and charged.
She waited.
When his swing came, she dropped low, rolled beneath it, grabbed the chain still dragging from her ankle—and yanked.
Off-balance, Tharn stumbled. She leapt, using her heel and the snapped haft of her weapon to vault upward—slamming the broken polearm into the side of his neck.
He howled.
She didn't stop.
She wrapped the chain around his arm and twisted—driving her knee into his gut. He staggered.
She leapt again—grabbed his shoulders—and headbutted him square in the face.
Bone crunched. His nose broke.
He dropped to one knee.
She slammed her heel into his jaw.
He hit the dirt.
The arena went silent.
Then exploded.
The gong rang again.
Victory.
Nyxia collapsed to her knees, gasping.
Everything ached. Her shoulder was dislocated. Her ribs screamed. Her mouth tasted like copper and fury.
But she had won.
Above, Boo's breath left her all at once. She buried her face in Loque's spectral fur, shaking with silent sobs.
Draj finally reached the arena entrance, but slowed. Stopped.
She did it.
The acolyte on the ridge had fled. Gone the moment the tide turned.
Back at the Temple, the scrying lens went dark.
"She overcame it," whispered one.
"For now," said another. "But she heard it. Answered it."
The elder remained silent.
Watching.
Calculating.
As Nyxia was dragged from the ring by medics, barely conscious, Boo and Draj met her on the stairs. Boo dropped her bow and wrapped her arms around her, catching her weight.
"You absolute idiot," Boo breathed. "You beautiful, cursed idiot."
Nyxia chuckled faintly—then passed out in her arms.