The makeshift registration table stood under a tattered canvas awning, ink-stained and stinking of sweat. A bored-looking goblin behind the ledger didn't even glance up when Nyxia approached.
"Name," he barked, scratching at a parchment with a quill made from what looked suspiciously like a harpy feather.
"Nyxia," she said, voice flat.
He looked up then—glanced at her ears, her tail, the armor she wore—and whistled low. "You one of those kinds. Great. Keep the flesh melting to a minimum."
"I'm not here to kill," she replied coolly, "just to remind people I can."
Boo caught up with her as she signed the ledger with a jagged stroke. "You really doing this?"
Nyxia didn't answer. She unstrapped her bow and quiver, turning to Boo and offering them out like sacred artifacts. "Hold onto these. I won't be able to use them in there."
Boo stared at the weapons, then up at Nyxia. Her jaw tightened. "You're trusting me with Loque, too?"
Loque'nahak stepped up beside her, spectral form flickering in the sunlight. He gave Boo a long, unblinking stare before pressing his forehead gently to Nyxia's arm, then turned and padded to Boo's side.
"He listens to you," Nyxia said. "He won't follow me into that ring."
"You're damn right he won't," Boo muttered, accepting the bow and the spirit beast with a grumble. "This feels like goodbye."
"It's not." Nyxia turned her back. "Not unless I lose."
A short, grizzled dwarf at the side rack barked out, "Weapons rentals. Two silver. We're outta scimitars and longswords. What's left is what's left."
Nyxia scanned the options. A chipped broadsword. A rusted glaive. A polearm, tall and sleek, its bladed end jagged like a broken crescent moon.
She picked it up, tested its balance. Too heavy. Good reach.
She spun it in a lazy circle, then thrust the butt end down, pivoted, and twisted it in a mock parry. The motion felt clumsy—then natural. Like something she remembered in her bones.
"This," she said simply, pressing the silver into the dwarf's waiting palm.
Behind her, Boo crossed her arms and stared hard. "You could still walk away."
"I could," Nyxia said, stepping into the shadowed prep tunnel.
"But I won't."
The cursed armor Ves'Sariel had left her glinted faintly in the dim light. It clung to her form like memory made metal—stitched in threads of void-slick chain and leather that pulsed faintly with breathless hunger. Every step she took in it was a choice—a rejection and an embrace.
She walked into the antechamber of the arena. Alone.
Beyond the threshold, thunder built—not from the sky, but from the crowd.
A bell rang once. Then twice.
"Next fighter," a growling voice echoed from above, distorted by old magic. "Enter the pit."
Nyxia drew a long breath, polearm gripped in both hands, and stepped forward.
The air changed.
The sand met her feet. The blood met her nose. The roar met her bones.
And above it all—the voice of the crowd shook the stone walls:
"THARN THE BONECRUSHER!"
Her opponent rose from the far tunnel like a nightmare stitched from meat and hate.
Nyxia didn't flinch.
Eight feet tall. Part troll, part ogre, all brute. Covered in ritual scars and bone armor. His weapon wasn't a club—it was a slab of sharpened stone bound in chains.
He grinned. "Cute lil' thing. I'll try not t' pop ya like a bug."
Nyxia smirked, uncoiling her tail behind her like a whip. "Try harder."
She walked forward—cursed, bloodied, ready.
And with Boo gripping her bow from the stands, and Loque pacing like a shadow on the edge of the void—
The match began.
Tharn moved first—shockingly fast. His blade screamed through the air and Nyxia barely rolled aside, sand exploding where she'd stood.
She slashed his thigh with her spear. A shallow cut.
He laughed.
Then backhanded her hard.
She hit the ground like a doll, blood spraying from her mouth.
The crowd went wild.
"Get up," Boo whispered. "Get up, Nyx…"
Nyxia staggered upright, eyes flashing violet-black for a moment. The void called—so sweetly.
Use me, it crooned. Let me dance through you. Let me save you.
She roared and launched herself again—fast, sharp, reckless. Tharn caught her mid-leap and slammed her into the stone wall.
Crack.
Blood poured from her nose. Her vision spun.
Far above the pit, hidden in a temple scrying circle, the acolytes watched through enchanted vision—one of them linked directly to their spy below.
"She's tainted," whispered one. "You see how the void clings to her?"
"She's unraveling."
"No," said the older priest. "She's still fighting it."
But barely.
Down in the stands, Boo stood now, hands clasped in prayer, voice hoarse. "Please… just let her survive this."
Back in the Pit
Nyxia's spear shattered as Tharn stomped down. She rolled away just in time—but too slow.
His chain wrapped around her leg and yanked.
She screamed as she hit the ground again, dragged back like a ragdoll. He raised his stone blade high.
"Gonna paint th' floor with yer pretty face."
"I'm gonna rip out your tongue and feed it to your gods," Nyxia spat, coughing blood, rising again on shaking legs.
Her fists sparked voidfire.
Movement above—the acolyte.
Watching.
Her pupils narrowed.
She hesitated.
And that's all Tharn needed.
He slammed his weapon down—not just once, but twice.
The crowd screamed as Nyxia's body jerked with the blows. One cracked across her side, and something broke. Her tail twitched, and she gasped, curling over.
Blood soaked the sand.
Boo screamed. Draj was already moving, trying to get down to the ring. The guards blocked the path.
"She's dying!" Boo shouted.
"She's fighting."
The Mysterious Man's eyes glowed faintly now. He stood slowly, murmuring a quiet incantation. Not to interfere—but to amplify.
To call to the void inside her.
Let her burn. Let her break. Let her become.
Down below, Nyxia bled, teeth bared, her body a storm of pain and fury. Her fingers twitched.
The void surged in her veins, kissing her heart, her ribs, her spine.
Let me help you, it whispered.
"Fuck you," she hissed back.
But her eyes glowed purple as she rose.
Within theTemple
Miles away, inside the sanctum's high chamber, a circle of acolytes stood in a ring of runes, their faces lit only by the glow of an enchanted scrying pool.
They watched through the eye—a spell of immense power, tethered to the scout trailing the trio.
The image shimmered but was clear.
They saw the pit.
They saw her.
"Void clings to her like a cloak," whispered one younger acolyte, voice barely audible. She hugged her robes tight around herself, eyes wide.
"She's already too far gone."
"No," the elder corrected sharply. "She teeters on the edge—but she hasn't fallen."
"Yet," murmured another. "That energy—it's ancient. And she's touching it raw."
Some among them watched with cold calculation.
Some with fear.
But a few… watched with awe.
"She fights like it's a prayer."
"She fights like she wants to be punished," the elder murmured, hands trembling.
Back in the Pit
The bell rang.
It wasn't really a bell. It was a gong, deep and resonant, like the cracking of a mountain spine.
Tharn lunged.
Nyxia met him—not with brute force, but with speed. Her broke polearm whirled, steel flashing. She slashed across his bicep and danced away, breath tight.
The void whispered with every heartbeat.
Let me in. Let me burn him from the inside out.
She ignored it.
Focused.
She moved again—feint, thrust, twist—cutting a line down his ribs. Blood spilled.
Tharn roared, swinging his obsidian weapon in a brutal arc. Nyxia ducked, but the chain caught her hip.
CRACK.
She screamed as bone cracked. Her tail lashed in pain, eyes wide.
THE STANDS
"She's hit!" Boo cried, standing now. "She's not fast enough!"
"She's bleeding bad," Draj growled, watching the sand go dark beneath her. "Too bad."
Boo's hand tightened around Nyxia's bow. "If they don't stop this match—"
"She wouldn't forgive you if you did."
"I'd rather her hate me than bury her."
Nyxia coughed—blood sprayed her lips. Her body screamed, but her grip didn't loosen.
Tharn chuckled, low and ugly. "Tougher than you look. Shame yer guts'll be strung across th' wall by sundown."
"You're compensating," she rasped. "Tiny dick. Big hammer."
The crowd howled with laughter, drunk on violence and mockery.
Tharn snarled—and charged.
She tried to dodge, but the blood made her slip.
The obsidian slab slammed into her shoulder—bones shattered.
The sound echoed like thunder. Her body spun, polearm clattering from her grasp.
She hit the ground hard, her vision dancing.
In the distance, the acolyte.
She saw him again, sitting near the edge of the pit—cloaked in shadows, mouth moving in quiet spellwork. Watching. Reporting.
They're still spying on me.
Her head pounded.
Her side bled.
Her shoulder hung wrong.
And the void? It screamed.
Let me OUT. Let me AVENGE. Let me make him into ASH.
Nyxia gritted her teeth. The sand around her trembled.
Boo was crying now. Hands clutching the bow so tightly it cracked.
"She's not gonna make it, Draj."
"She has to."
Even Draj looked pale now. "She's all we've got."