text: As it turned out, the only cemetery of Shadow in the city was beneath the arena. It ensured that the Cobalin slaves that worked there, or were sacrificed in the games there, couldn't escape.
  
  And now, Dhane sat on a stone slab, surrounded by priests, entirely . . . naked. Or nearly naked, if a black leather collar with symbols around the band, counted for something. To Dhane, it very much did not.
  
  When genitals were given enthusiastic, unimpeded access to fresh air, it simply did not matter what else he wore—be it long socks, puffy black gloves, or even a damn ski coat—he was naked, perturbed, a little embarrassed, and a lot cold, this here being deep underground where sitting on smooth stone provided a modicum more comfort than a sheet of ice.
  
  Worst of all, they didn't give him the decency to cup himself, not with his hands still tied behind his back, sending jolts of electricity up his arms at seemingly random intervals.
  
  The whole thing screamed orgy gone wrong. Very wrong. And somehow he was the one to be sacrificed to the sex gods. . . . Perhaps it would have been less uncomfortable if everyone else was naked.
  
  Then again, probably not.
  
  Veritus Scyla stood at the head of the slab. She seemed entirely content, as did the other priests. The only other person in the room that appeared less at ease than Dhane, was the poor PK guild member . . . Aditi, the Indian girl who had handed him a brochure in the marketplace.
  
  She probably didn't think this was the type of work she was signing up for and looked ready to hightail it out of there, given that she was constantly staring at the open hallway.
  
  "This," Veritus Scyla said, "is a death test. The Royals have given us permission to use this test to weed out those of Shadow among us. There is no way to cheat this test. If you are of Shadow, you will Return to this cemetery of Shadow.
  
  "It is not our goal to harm those of Light. As such, we shall use the gifted PK guild to help provide these tests in a humane manner. With us today is Aditi, to perform our first death test."
  
  Aditi gave an awkward smile and half-wave to the silver and gold eyed priests. They didn't seem to care how humane the death test was. Given what Leon said, they looked hungry, ready to consume his soul.
  
  I kill them! Octoralis projected, along with swirling emotions of fear and anger. This evoked questions about how sentient and aware she was. And if she were made from his soul, why was she a she?
  
  None of that mattered right now, not with the wolves waiting to rend him, limb from limb. But . . . No, he thought back to her. Right now, death was the only way to slip into the realm of divinities and talk with the Mother of Shadows.
  
  "Go ahead, Aditi," Veritus Scyla said, motioning to the PK guild member. "Please help shed light on our accused."
  
  Aditi stepped forward, eyes flicking about the others. She finally looked at Dhane, then looked down his body before snapping back up to his eyes. "Umm . . . hi newb," she said, voice shaky.
  
  "Just do your job," he said and tried to give her a reassuring smile, though the knot in his chest wouldn't allow it.
  
  "Only thought we'd go on a first date before we got this far, yeah?"
  
  Dhane laughed and she smiled.
  
  "You'ah not hurt?"
  
  "Enough!" Veritus Scyla yelled and Aditi shrank. "Perform your duty and be done with it."
  
  Aditi nodded vigorously. "I'll do the needful," she said, then summoned a dagger. It was a basic weapon, the blade thin and long, resembling more of a thick needle than a dagger.
  
  She placed the tip above Dhane's heart and gathered pearlescent mana that seeped into the metal, making symbols glow. Then she pushed.
  
  It didn't hurt. The blade pierced skin, becoming transparent, like it struck his soul instead, drawing no damage numbers. Something swirled into his chest, into the back of his mind, similar to the sensation of someone requesting his affinity.
  
  This . . . entity, asked that he accept it as his temporary divinity, to be Returned immediately, to bypass the normal transition from death to life. It felt like no other divinity, a hollow, mechanical thing, a tool more so than a god.
  
  More important than anything, it gave him a choice: to die and Return, or to reject the offer and live.
  
  No, Dhane projected back. He didn't accept the divinity, nor could he. If it bypassed the divinities, then he'd have no way to speak with the Mother of Shadows. He'd Return to this very slab, only to then be sacrificed and die for real.
  
  But it was more than that, to reject the fake divinity's offer meant he wouldn't return immediately. It gave others time to do something. . ..
  
  Dhane focused on his phone, feeling it deep within his soul. There were missed calls from Penny and Nick, and a dozen texts, the details of them blurry, fighting with all the thoughts that crowded his mind.
  
  He tried to project a message to Penny, though it didn't work. He had to silence his mind and concentrate on each letter on the keyboard.
  
  Aditi pinched her brows together in confusion. She slid the metal out of his chest, then stabbed it back in, as if she had missed the vital organ the first time. Then she did it again and again. "It's not working...."
  
  Dhane closed his eyes to better focus on his soul keyboard. It was like typing with only his pinkies. It didn't help that with each passing second, death grew closer. If he didn't send a message now, it'd be too late. No backspacing, no fixing typos, just the raw message of text and a prayer that Penny would understand.
  
  "This, like, never happened before," Aditi said, pulling the dagger out of his chest again. The vibrations of her turned it up in her hand, inspecting it for damage.
  
  "Fine," Veritus Scyla said, "then a normal death will have to do."
  
  Pain speared through Dhane's back and he screamed. A -18 in red lifted above him, taking with it his focus. The phone shimmered away in his mind's eye.
  
  Aditi jumped back, eyes wide. The other priests summoned weapons, a tinge of excitement sparkling in their eyes, lifting the corners of their lips.
  
  A priest drew a blade across his arm, another stabbed him with a tiny knife. His health dropped to 8/45, and another priest thrust a long, curved sword toward his stomach.
  
  Dhane pinched his eyes shut, shoving himself deep into his mind, and clasped his phone. He couldn't finish the message. Dammit! But he could send it.
  
  A dense, hot pain surged through his abdomen, igniting a fire in his kidneys, marching fire ants of agony up his chest. His phone shimmered, growing transparent and he used every bit of focus to smash the Send button.
  
  ─ (9:47 a.m.) Help the reditai have me beneat harena wil sacrifce soul tell oth
  
  Everything grew cold and gray and slow. Aditi had her back to Dhane, running toward the open hallway and away from the den of monsters, gleefully slicing away his silvery-white soul.
  
  The agony lasted only a second or two longer, before it slipped away with everything else, the world turning darker and darker.
  
  Dhane stood in the void. There weren't any statues or pedestals or . . . anything. He drew in a deep breath, the memory of agony still fresh at the back of his mind, then exhaled slowly, letting it drift away.
  
  Still, there was nothing. What's going on?
  
  Do not know, Octoralis projected.
  
  "You're here, too?"
  
  Yes, of course. I always-always-always with Daddy.
  
  Something about that had a soothing effect, that no matter what happened, he could depend on his . . . spider. He was never alone, never lost to solitude. This all prompted the realization that he had come quite a long way in just a few days.
  
  But now they were here. . . . The Mother of Shadows must have brought them here, instead of just giving him life again. The fact that she wasn't present sent alarm bells ringing, red flags flying, and a sense of dense, anxiety to nestle up into his chest and squeeze that thing that beats.
  
  Dhane summoned Octoralis. Smoke shifted off his skin— Oh, shit brownies. He was still naked, except for this stupid leather collar. "Hey, look away."
  
  Oh, stupid spider! Dumb me. Turning-turning-turning, Octoralis projected and turned around.
  
  He mentally opened the Clothing app and re-equipped his clothes. The more he interacted with his phone without summoning it, the easier it became. Perhaps it was only easier now because he was in the realm of divinities.
  
  The collar, however, would not unequip. It seemed affixed to his neck, vibrating with the same sense of energy that empowered the ropes around his wrists. Even in death, he was bound.
  
  He closed his eyes and focused in each direction. The void's eerily smooth, cloud-like floor, gave off no vibrations. It was strange and wrong, a sensation of constantly on the verge of falling since the floor didn't feel like it existed, like standing on a sheet of perfectly clear glass over the Grand Canyon.
  
  The only good thing that this provided was a complete lack of competing stimuli. It felt like he could reach out in any direction as far as he wanted. He swept his focus out and around, further and further, straining his mind to see any—
  
  There! Something like a blip on a radar appeared and vanished. Octoralis crouched and he jumped onto her back, hands worthlessly held behind him. They raced across the nothingness, a shadow in the darkness.
  
  After a few minutes of sprinting, the distant vibrations grew more pronounced, more clear. It was a sound like music, played on the lowest strings of a giant cello, casting forth immense vibrations, a spotlight.
  
  It took another ten minutes of sprinting before they came to a pedestal, connected with thick strands of spider silk, vibrating whenever one of the Sisters of Death slid across them.
  
  "What is happening?" Dhane asked.
  
  "It worked," the Mother of Shadows said, relief in her voice. She stood on her pedestal, shimmering silver legs and ruby body, as if some unknown, unseeable light glowed from above.
  
  "Barely," Altera said, coiling her black form. "Must everything be ssso unfair! And now our time is practically over."
  
  Niveus slithered around the pedestal, bringing her head up next to the Mother of Shadows. "Which meansss we cannot wassste what time we have."
  
  "Dhane," the Mother of Shadows said, "everything is spiraling out of control. When the Veritai apprehended you, they did something that blocked us from seeing you, from sensing that you even existed. And now I see why."
  
  "You do?" Dhane asked, hopping off of Octoralis.
  
  "That collar is imbued with symbols of disguise. It is a magic from Butterfly, a divinity of Shadow. I should have seen this! When I first lost contact with the Cobalin slaves, it should have been obvious that those of Shadow had been betrayed. . . ." Her voice seemed more distant, quiet, like someone had started turning down the volume.
  
  ". . . would make anyone," she continued to say, softly, "appear to be of Shadow. Return to a cemetery of Shadow when..."
  
  Oh, shit brownies. . . . If this collar made anyone look like they were of Shadow and return to a cemetery of that affinity, then Veritus Scyla probably didn't even know he was of Shadow.
  
  It's all a ruse. They didn't care about the war, they simply wanted more power, more sacrifices, more souls. She used Devron's accusation for justification, then forced Dhane to wear the collar for the death test, to provide evidence. . ..
  
  The priests of Light will be cherished for their work, will receive more power, more souls, and eventually, no one will be able to stand up to them.
  
  The Mother of Shadows and the Sisters of Death started to shift away from him. Dhane walked forward, never quite closing the gap. His transition from death to life was finalizing. He'd be torn from this realm and Returned to who knew what waited for him.
  
  It was at that moment he realized that this just might be the end for him. He could wake from this dream and be sacrificed to fuel whatever powers the priests of Light were after.
  
  If the Mother of Shadows couldn't sense him, couldn't watch over him, then she didn't know what Leon had told him in the prison. She didn't know what the priests of Light were doing.
  
  The Mother of Shadows was saying something, but Dhane cut her off. "The priests are sacrificing souls for power!" he yelled, voice sounding quiet. "They are consuming souls!"
  
  "Survive!" the Mother of Shadows projected to his mind. "Whatever you do, escape and survive. You are—"
  
  Dhane woke on a cold slab of stone, hands smashed beneath his back. He sucked in a breath, steeling himself for what was to come. They'd fight! They'd fight with everything they had until the damn priests were forced to kill him and wait for his next Return.
  
  He wouldn't give them a chance to perform whatever soul sacrificing ritual they had planned. If they wanted his soul— Dammit! Come and pry it out of me!
  
  Octoralis agreed, pounding the rhythm of war deep within his soul, feeding him with a rage that silenced all other emotions that would only hinder him.
  
  He shifted his weight and performed a perfect kick-up, landing on his feet and taking in the room. There were no . . . priests. It was just him and . . . Challenger Terry, comfortably sitting in a chair, scratching at his blond beard, reading.
  
  The man looked up, completely unconcerned with Dhane's glare, and slid a bookmark into his book titled Fifty Shades of Love. "So it's true, then."
  
  "Where are the priests?"
  
  "You look like you're ready to run a marathon Naruto style."
  
  "What are you doing here?"
  
  "Getting paid. Ten silver an hour to sit and read. Those priests are probably back in their little cave bunker, licking their wounds."
  
  "Their wounds?"
  
  "Oh yeah, and they are not happy. Once news got out that the priests had a human of Shadow, people were clambering to see you. You're public enemy number one, a damn celebrity. In fact!" he said and summoned a white card, "I'll remove your wrist binding if you sign this for me."
  
  "I. . . . You didn't answer me about the priests."
  
  "It's nothing. The priests put up a big fuss about throwing you in prison for eternity, but that's no fun. People want to see you die a terrible death in the arena!"
  
  Of course they did. . . . "When?"
  
  "Tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. That is until the people get sick of seeing you die."
  
  Dhane scrunched his brows together. "And if I win?"
  
  Terry laughed a deep, jolly, booming laugh. "I mean—" he tried to say, but looked up at Dhane's glare and then continued, gasping for breath, wiping tears from his eyes.
  
  "It's not that funny!"
  
  "You're what . . . level one, two? You've got no hope in there. People aren't paying to see a fight, they are paying to see a slaughter." He let out a breath, shaking his head. "It's like watching a Challenger fight a Cobalin!"
  
  "And if the Cobalin won?"
  
  Terry fell out of his chair to his knees, his laughing, echoing throughout the room. "Oh man! Oh, haha! You should be in comedy. A Cobalin win? Are you insane? Have you seen a Cobalin?"
  
  I eat him! Octoralis projected and Dhane hesitated. He was so prepared to fight, to kill anything in his path, but the priests were gone. Without the priests, there was no immediate threat of being sacrificed.
  
  Attacking Terry, a Challenger, would get him killed. And death would rob Dhane of any time to prepare for tomorrow. He was only safe while the public found him interesting. The moment they stopped paying the ticket price to see him killed, he'd be tossed into the priests' stew pot. The End.
  
  Dhane drew in a settling breath. He needed to bide his time. Maybe the unchanged Reditai could help him, that was, if what Leon said was true, that Dhane's existence proved the changed Reditai as being wrong.
  
  He stepped off the stone slab, gave Terry an unamused glare, then turned to show his wrists. If the Challenger wanted his autograph, so be it. He hated the burning, electrical rope.
  
  "New terms," Terry said, standing.
  
  Dhane turned back. "What do you want now?"
  
  "Nothing too crazy, just a picture. No one is going to believe your signature is the real deal without a picture. You have anything shadowy you can do?"
  
  Dhane had an idea and so nodded.
  
  "What about your clothes. That's not very frightening."
  
  "You do know that I'm just like you, right?"
  
  "How do you mean?" Terry asked, brows pulling together as if the very notion of them sharing anything was disgusting.
  
  "I'm a person. I lived and died on Earth. I loved video games and books. You're treating me like some monster, just because in this world, I follow a different divinity."
  
  "That's what a monster would say. Here's the thing, shadowling, you are a monster that looks like a human. Your divinity is unholy. You were put on this world to give us real people a challenge, an objective. So you can pretend to be human all you like, though you're not . . . tricking . . . anyone."
  
  "Gah! How stupid are you?"
  
  Terry shifted so quickly his arm blurred. It slammed against Dhane's cheek, sending him head over foot to the ground, like a wrecking ball had crashed through his skull.
  
  "I am a Challenger! You'll show me respect, shadowling. Is. That. Clear?"
  
  A silvery-white glow leaked from the corner of Dhane's eye. He touched it with his fingertips automatically, his mind reeling from how fast everything had changed.
  
  That heat, that rage, that need to survive against all the odds, stormed through his chest. He ground his teeth, staring at the Challenger, as if he could tear his soul free and shove it down a garbage disposal.
  
  Was everyone like this, so damn blind and ignorant? They danced to the music of the game, not capable of thinking for themselves, or . . . were they too afraid of what they'd find? Afraid of change and losing their position in this world, even if it meant tormenting a few souls.
  
  Dhane didn't answer Terry's question. The man wouldn't get any respect from this shadowling. No respect, no autograph, no picture. The only thing Dhane would happily give him was a slow, agonizing death.
  
  Bide my time. . . . The thought slivered down his spine, almost as if it came from somewhere else. An echo from a distant place. It was a truth that he was so eager to throw away. But for what, pride?
  
  Dhane looked away, and though it tore his soul asunder, he said, "Yes . . . sir," nearly growling on that last word. It was the best he could do. He'd rather have called him a shit-head that deserved no respect, but he clamped his jaw tight so no such words would slip out and find themselves freely heard.
  
  Terry stood over him, an imposing figure in his dark leather and chain armor. He grabbed Dhane's arm and yanked him to his feet, triggering the ropes that bound his wrists.
  
  A hot jolt shot up his arms, forcing him to arch his back. He managed to not cry out, only because he had focused so much effort on keeping his jaw clenched.
  
  If it weren't for Terry, he'd have arched his way back to the ground. Even so, Terry watched with a disturbing grin. This guy had a love affair with torture. If he could get away with it, he'd probably tie Dhane up and cut his flesh away, one tiny snip at a time.
  
  Unfortunately for Terry, and quite fortunately for Dhane, Terry apparently had orders. If the Challenger was good at anything, it was following orders.
  
  The two of them marched down a series of stone hallways, barely lit by dim crystals every ten or so feet. Sounds of all types slipped along the stones, vibrating the air. It was a cacophony of chaos, growing louder with every step.
  
  At the end of the final hallway was a large door, wrapped in bands of steel. A barred square at the door's upper center, looked into a massive room, crawling with vibration lines that revealed cages . . . pens, full of creatures of every type.
  
  Terry knocked on the door twice.
  
  A face appeared beyond the barred opening of an Asian guard. His chubby cheeks covered in uneven facial hair, as if he didn't quite understand how to shave.
  
  The guard's mouth dropped open slightly and he fumbled with a heavy lock before opening the door. "Sir! Th-this is the, uh shadowling?" The man's chubby face expanded to a chubby everything else, barely covered by the standard armor of plate, the joints bulging and bending in the wrong places.
  
  "You were to have a cage ready." Challenger Terry said, all humor he had displayed minutes ago, gone completely. He seemed like an entirely different man, on edge, ready to hurt something.
  
  "Of-of course, sir!" the guard said. He slammed the door shut and slid a chunk of metal into the wall, then grabbed a mounted torch. The torch decided it didn't want to go, and the man cursed, laughed nervously, and yanked on it all the more until the handle snapped in half.
  
  The guard pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened and waved for them to follow. He walked ahead, leading the way into a grand chamber, barely lit by dim crystals, half of them exhausted of mana, casting large swaths of the chamber into darkness.
  
  The guard's torchlight flickered about him, spreading its orange-yellow glow out into the black void where things watched, their eyes like burning disks of metal.
  
  The chamber seemed as big as the above arena. Monsters were separated by type, filling pens with a dozen of them of various levels and sizes. They growled and hissed and attacked the bars that held them captive.
  
  Finally, the guard stopped next to a sizable, empty cage. It had a cot, blankets, and a basin with fresh water running into it. He summoned a ring of keys and proceeded to unlock the door when Terry said, "No, I don't think this will do."
  
  "It-it-it won't . . . sir?" the guard stammered.
  
  "You're thinking of this shadowling as a person. It clearly isn't," Terry said, then started to walk down a path, lined with other cages of every size. He eventually stopped next to a tiny cage, one maybe three feet tall with little symbols carved into the top. "This one."
  
  "But— I-I . . . see what you mean, sir. Of-of course! Whatever cage you believe is best."
  
  Bide my time. . . . Dhane reminded himself, drawing in a deep breath and doing his utmost best to ignore Terry, to ignore everything he was trying to do to get under Dhane's skin.
  
  The guard opened the small door and Terry shoved Dhane down into the tiny, cramped space, hands still pinned behind himself, now pressed against bars while his knees had nowhere to go but into his chest. He didn't even have enough room to sit straight up, the cold metal ceiling, forcing his head to the side.
  
  Terry kicked the door shut and laughed. "A little cage . . . for a little monster."
  
  Dhane glared, then before he could clench his jaw shut and fight back saying anything at all, the words slipped out, "Your cage must be huge, shit-head."
  
  Maybe it was just the glow of the torch, though the man seemed to have changed color, a darker shade, one that went well with the vein popping out of his head.
  
  Challenger Terry grabbed the bars of Dhane's new home, twisted and, threw it. The world whooshed by, followed by a deep clang of metal against stone that exploded in blinding waves of vibrations.
  
  The cage rolled more than once, then slid a few feet. Dhane's weight pulled him forward against the cold metal bars that cut into his knees and one ankle. He could barely breathe with his whole weight compressing against his lungs.
  
  "Leave it there!" Terry said to the guard, who had scrambled to fix the cage, to return it to a place of order.
  
  The guard immediately stopped. "Of-of course, sir!" Then without any further words, the guard left with Challenger Terry, their torchlight growing distant, leaving behind Dhane, tossed away like garbage, confined, miserable . . . enraged.
  
  Dhane tried to calm himself, tried to control that thrashing organ in his chest. He couldn't breathe—minute after passing minute—and the more he worked himself up, the worse it became. He needed to calm down. He needed to be in control.
  
  And yet, his mind continued to race through everything that had happened, through everything that would happen, all the way until he would cease to exist in both body and soul. The panic seeped into his lungs, into his muscles that wanted to move, to not be contained anymore, to—
  
  Stop! Breathe. Focus. He shoved everything away, replaced it all with a solid blackness: a void of thought, of emotion, of pain. He took in slow, measured breaths, accepting the reality as it was and his place in it.
  
  Then, with all the distractions gone, he pieced together bits of a plan. A plan to survive. A plan to get revenge. A plan that started this very moment.