text: It took well over an hour before Challenger Sarah stepped back through the far door. It was a small eternity of sitting on a throne that while impressive looking, and perhaps a little cool, could definitely use a pillow . . . or ten.
  
  It didn't help that twenty-two guards were staring at him, like he was about to descend upon them and consume their souls. They fidgeted there, whispering to each other, as if he couldn't hear every word, every heartbeat.
  
  "I feel . . . weird," one man said to another.
  
  "What do you mean, weird?"
  
  "I can't remember what I had for breakfast."
  
  "Bah. Don, you never remember what you ate last."
  
  "Not true!"
  
  "Your last dinner?"
  
  "I had . . . stuff."
  
  "Is that your final answer? Want to use a lifeline?"
  
  "The shadowling is making me forget! It's stealing our memories."
  
  "Of your dinner?"
  
  "And . . . other things. I'm sure of it!"
  
  "You're as dense as a rock, Don. I doubt the King of Shadows has any use for your memories."
  
  Dhane agreed, nodding before he could stop himself. A tiny bit of imagination and acting seemed to have paid off incredibly well, maybe even too well.
  
  "He moved again," a different man said.
  
  "Shut up."
  
  "We're going to die. And we're not coming back."
  
  "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
  
  "Our souls . . . will scream in agony for eternity."
  
  "He's just a monster, like a Cobalin."
  
  "A king of monsters...."
  
  Sarah was taking her sweet time, walking the distance down the main path.
  
  Another guard, a female, asked, "Where's Don?"
  
  "Dunno," a second female guard said. "You guys meet for breakfast?"
  
  "Yeah, at the Secharo. They have the best muffins in all eleven zones."
  
  "I love that place! They paint little wooden birds every Sunday."
  
  "Is that—"
  
  Challenger Sarah stepped through the guards and all the whisperings stopped immediately. They seemed to fear her more than they feared him. What on earth did she do to garner such a reaction?
  
  "You have an agreement," Challenger Sarah said. "You are to compete in the arena this afternoon, if you win your challenge, you and your Cobalins will be free to go."
  
  Well . . . that all seemed rather easy. Or maybe they were just going along with his request. If they won, it wouldn't matter. And if he won, they would certainly have other challengers available to attack. Then they'd just have to wait for him to Return and overpower him. . ..
  
  It was a start, and if Dhane got the Master of Arena, or whatever other important figure to agree to the terms publicly, going back on their word would only hurt their reputation.
  
  Dhane stood, relieved to finally move. He descended the stairs and Challenger Sarah held out an electrical rope. "I am not wearing that."
  
  "But—"
  
  "I am cooperating and you have your guards. If you keep your word, I'll keep mine. Those of Light are trustworthy, are they not?"
  
  "Of course we are."
  
  "Good. When an agreement is struck, only the dishonorable, the deceitful, the trash of the world, would ever consider breaking the terms. Do you agree?"
  
  "I do," Challenger Sarah said with confidence. She might not be the nicest of people, but perhaps she was honor-bound. He could respect that. She deposited the electrical rope to her phone, then turned and chose a guard to lead the way.
  
  Dhane stepped up to Don and put a hand on his shoulder. Everyone watched, and the guard froze. He had little brown eyes that showed a lot of white around the sides.
  
  "Don," Dhane said in his deep, regal voice, drilling in the fact that the King of Shadows knew the guard's name.
  
  "Yes . . . s-s-sire?" Don said with a squeak.
  
  Dhane let a tense moment hang in the air, then said, "You had a muffin. It was delicious." He let go and followed a confused Challenger who then shrugged.
  
  Don, whispering to his friend, said, "He's right! I can remember now!"
  
  "Oh no. . . ." his friend said.
  
  "What? What's oh no?"
  
  "He upchucked your memory. Maybe he altered it."
  
  "Al-al-altered it?"
  
  "Are you still Don, or are you just pretending?"
  
  "I don't really feel different."
  
  "Of course, you would say that. The shadows have taken you...."
  
  "No, they haven't! I'm still me!"
  
  "You don't have any desire to hurt anyone?"
  
  "I . . . well . . . maybe. I want to stab you. But I've always wanted to stab you! Your pranks go too far."
  
  "Challenger Sarah!" Don's friend called. Sarah turned and glared. "Permission to detain this guard. His mind has been altered."
  
  "That's not true!" Don yelled.
  
  "I can take him to the Ink Master to be certain."
  
  Challenger Sarah looked like she'd cut their heads off for their audacity to bother her. She considered Dhane for a moment, then said, "Fine. And take that stuttering fatso as well. I want a full report."
  
  "Yes, ma'am!"
  
  "But it's not true!" Don shrieked, shoving away from his friend. "I'm per—"
  
  "Shut up!" Challenger Sarah yelled. "You will go to the Ink Master or I'll drink your stupid body dry and you can go to the Ink Master once you Return. Understood?"
  
  Don nodded enough to practically pop his head from his shoulders. He didn't say another word and Challenger Sarah motioned for the leading guards to continue.
  
  They walked out of the massive chamber into the labyrinth of hallways. Once they were well out of normal earshot, Don's friend snickered and said, "Now we can get good seats in the arena."
  
  "Are you for real! What of the Ink Master?"
  
  "She didn't tell us when . . . did she? Owe! Fucking hell?"
  
  "There, I've done it. Don't tell me you didn't deserve it. And it wouldn't have hurt one bit if you kept your armor repaired!"
  
  The hallways twisted, turned, and broke off into myriad passageways, most dark and cold, water dripping from cracks. Not a single sign provided directions. It was truly a labyrinth, which left Dhane wondering how they moved mobs to the above arena.
  
  Eventually, at the top of a series of stairs, they entered the Hall of Guilds. A hundred or more people in all forms of armor and clothing styles, talked and laughed from benches and fountains and massive guild doorways.
  
  That buoyant sense of jabber grounded to a screeching halt as people took note of Challenger Sarah and her . . . guest. They no doubt knew, in no uncertain terms, that she was escort to the one and only human of Shadow.
  
  They stared like hungry lions, sizing him up. Everyone wanted to see his affinity. Their requests were a firehose of sensations, squirming their way under his skin and into his soul. Though, he wouldn't appease their curiosity and refused them all.
  
  It was a psychic slap, a shock, an affront to their ways. And since he had no interest in their affinities, it was a complete dismissal of them as insignificant.
  
  This had the intended effect. All the many challengers and their guests, looked ready to pounce, to rid their glorious Hall of Guilds of the walking stain.
  
  The guards shifted their attention away from Dhane and instead, positioned themselves to protect him. Challenger Sarah marched ahead, casting glares where glares were needed casting, the recipients recoiling from her attention.
  
  She turned without issuing a single word and marched into a guildhall. The moment they were out of the main hall, everyone outside started talking. It turned into a commotion of mixed words that were hard to piece together.
  
  Challenger Sarah led him to a small but fancy room of smooth stone, framed paintings, and plants. It had a table, chairs, and the smell of distant food being cooked. "Until the event," she said, "you are the guest of my guild: Sanguis."
  
  "Latin for Blood?"
  
  "It is?" she asked and looked to another guild member who shrugged. "You know Latin?"
  
  "Doesn't everyone?" he said as a joke, though his kingly voice didn't quite know how to joke or be sarcastic while maintaining character.
  
  She furrowed her brow, trying to see through his mask of bone, then asked, "Just how old are you?"
  
  And that was an interesting question with some interesting implications. It played nicely into his web of misdirections. He chose not to answer the question and instead asked, "Is that not considered a rude question?"
  
  "Oh! I . . . suppose it is. . . . Well, I'm twenty-six, and I've been here for eight years."
  
  "Why are you telling me this?"
  
  She bit her bottom lip. "It's not rude if I share, then maybe you will. . .?"
  
  "And if I said I was over a thousand years old?"
  
  "A thousand years," she said in a small voice. "But Challenger Terry, he said you were a new trainee."
  
  "A disguise to find my people."
  
  "I— I . . . have to go." She turned to the guards and issued commands that he was not to leave the room for any reason, then told him a full breakfast would be served soon.
  
  She left in a hurry, leaving Dhane there in the middle of a room with two doors and four guards. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to bolster himself up so much. . ..
  
  The four guards were watching him with a keen focus, enough to make anyone blush. At least he had a mask. Their heartbeats were elevated, dancing to the rhythm of fear. One particular guard, a female with hair pulled back in a ponytail and eyes darting about his figure, as if not knowing what was safe to look at, had a rather fast heartbeat.
  
  "Are you unwell?" he asked her, thinking of the best way to sound proper, kingly, saying unwell instead of okay.
  
  Her eyes grew so wide it was like she was having a heart attack, then she toppled over, out cold, a sprawl of armored woman on the floor.
  
  Okay, alright, maybe he did lay it on a bit thick, leaned a little too hard into this new persona. It was just so damn easy, and kind of fun, despite all the long boring bits of being a prisoner and the potential of eventually being sacrificed in the name of the Light.
  
  He was stuck between wanting to help the poor woman and wanting to maintain character. He stepped aside and sat at the table, then said, perhaps to alleviate the woman's embarrassment once she came to, "It seems I drew too hard on her mind."
  
  After that, the guards promptly decided to wait outside of the room. All of this was going to bite him in the ass at some point. A person's fear wasn't something to mess with. It grew and became irrational. Irrational people did irrational things.
  
  We escape, now? Octoralis asked.
  
  But how? There were still an army of guards and challengers between here and the outer walls. Besides, if there was a chance he could win an arena challenge and free the Cobalins, he had to try.
  
  A tall man with pale skin and thick black eyebrows, wearing a white apron, stepped into the room carrying a large tray. His face was covered in sweat, dripping down from his chef's hat, like he had stepped out of a sauna.
  
  His hands shook as he placed a dozen dishes onto the table. Then, once he was done, he held the tray under his arm, bowed slightly, and turned to leave.
  
  "Did you poison this?" Dhane asked. It was a serious question, something that kept coming up since Leon's little spiked drink incident. To a chef, though, it was a terrible accusation.
  
  "Certainly not!" the chef said, snapping his eyes from Dhane to the food and back to Dhane. He then huffed, grabbed a sausage and bit it. And when Dhane said nothing, the chef took a bite of pancakes, all the while trembling, as if his life would be forfeit in a matter of seconds.
  
  "Are you hungry?" Dhane asked, then motioned to the food as if to say, I have plenty to go around, which he really did. The chef had prepared enough food for six people.
  
  This got a completely different reaction, a realization seemed to crawl into the chef's head that he was, in fact, eating the King of Shadows' breakfast.
  
  He jerked upright, straight backed, then said, "I'm quite full, thank you. Is there . . . anything else . . . you . . . need?"
  
  It seemed like Dhane's mask really perturbed the man, especially when Dhane picked up a fork with perfect precision. Maybe the chef was lost on how someone could eat while wearing a mask. Maybe he thought the mask itself was Dhane's face. Yes, that would be quite perturbing indeed.
  
  "That will be all," Dhane said as a dismissal, and the chef needed no other words to quickly turn and dash from the room.
  
  Dhane was starving. It seemed like his meals were always few and far between. His last meal was with Leon, a whole day ago. No lunch, no dinner, and no midnight snack during the long night.
  
  And since there was so much food, Dhane quickly piled all the extra bacon, sausage, toast, croissants, boiled eggs, fried potatoes, and pancakes onto a large platter, then mentally deposited it to his Inventory app.
  
  There. He now had plenty of food storage. It was all breakfast foods, though he wouldn't have to skip a meal simply because he was chained in some dungeon or running for his life in the Wilds.
  
  The chef re-entered the room, carrying three pitchers full of different colored liquids, and enough cups for all of Dhane's imaginary guests. He paused, not having been gone for thirty seconds, and gaped at the table.
  
  Dhane, being the quick thinker he was, simply said, "Complimenti al cuoco." It was one of those bits of language he had picked up over the years of study, a taste of Italian, which really wasn't his focus, so he probably used it or said incorrectly.
  
  The chef deposited the pitchers and cups, then ran, lest the scary King of Shadows decided the food wasn't quite enough for his enormous appetite and moved on to things with souls.
  
  Having been under the scrutiny of so many people, it was quite peaceful to just have the room to himself. He could breathe, relax, and shed this persona.
  
  He dismissed his mask and dug into his food until he couldn't eat another bite. The drinks, a whole three gallons of liquid—like seriously, did they expect him to drink all of this?—were milk, a sweet lemonade, and something of mixed berries.
  
  He poured himself some milk and deposited the three pitchers to his inventory. Having an Inventory app was just so damn convenient. Thieves probably loved it.
  
  Are you ready? Octoralis asked.
  
  Even though the question was vague, he understood the intent behind it. Was he ready to go out into the arena where hundreds or thousands of people would cheer for his death?
  
  Was he ready to face a challenger, a warrior in this world who had focused only on obtaining strength while this was only his, what . . . sixth day?
  
  A thrum of nervous anxiety slithered into his chest. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing, imagining himself out there on the hot sand and what he'd have to do to win. But he had never seen an arena battle, let alone dueled someone. . ..
  
  Octoralis eased away that uncertainty. Whether or not he was the most prepared for this, it didn't matter. He had but one chance to make a difference, and he had her to help him.
  
  This was probably the best time to review all the skill choices he made last night. Dhane summoned his phone and opened the Character app.