text: Dhane summoned his mask. Tendrils of smoke shifted into bone shards, covering his face once again. Perhaps the next mask would have an opening for his mouth, allowing him to use Modify Vibration on his voice without the risk of hearing loss.
  
  More people would recognize him now, but how could he just stand there and let another Cobalin be abused? And to find out that it was Desley? He desperately wanted to hurt something, to filter his rage toward a target and give back a little of the pain a whole race was feeling.
  
  Cobalins were not mobs, and yet the people here treated them as soulless things. Couldn't they see how the Cobalins talked to each other, how they expressed emotion, how they changed once forced into slavery? If he put a Raging Rabbit into a cage, it wouldn't give two fucks. How could people not understand this?
  
  The doorway, as to be expected given its size, led into a massive room full of activity. There were pens, very much like the menagerie further underground, filled with mobs of all types.
  
  People ran about, yelling orders, hauling blocks of something, locking and unlocking cages. Cobalins were mixed in with the lot, struggling to follow commands while holding their large stones.
  
  A mage was inside a pen that held six Durum Boars. She was dressed in a nondescript robe, chanting and swinging a metal ball-like censer. It hung from a chain, spreading plumes of smoke that smelled terrible, as if burning feces mixed with rotten cabbage.
  
  Someone else, at the other end of the pen, drew symbols in the air and pushed mana into them. An outline of a rectangle vibrated to life along the ceiling, and the stones tumbled down, forming a ramp covered in sand.
  
  A wall of noise—cheers and clapping and laughing from thousands of people—descended from that ramp and rolled across the floor. The mage walked forward and the Durum Boars fought to escape her, running up and into the arena.
  
  As soon as the last mob was gone, the ramp shifted upward—stone by stone in defiance of gravity—and locked back into its previous place. All the arena sounds were cut off abruptly, leaving only a mess of sand behind. Two Cobalins were already there, sweeping and shoveling it into buckets.
  
  "This is no King of Monsters!" the Master of Arena said in his booming, deep voice. "Puny! I have killed hundreds bigger than you. What makes you special?"
  
  "From you? A heart and, evidently, a brain."
  
  Gorlan sneered and tore his two-handed battleaxe from his back. "I could end you! Slice your limbs off and watch you writhe on the floor!"
  
  Dhane stepped forward, head held high, heart enjoying a thrilling rollercoaster ride with way too many damn loops in it. "And prove my point?"
  
  Challenger Sarah quickly stepped between them. "You agreed to this, Gorlan. Are you going to break your word?"
  
  The massive man huffed, nostrils flaring. "You need not remind me! Take him to the central pen. He goes up next." And with that, the Master of Arena turned away, then grabbed a Cobalin, and before she could even yelp in surprise, snapped her neck.
  
  The monster of a man laughed and tossed the dead body and her stone at Dhane's feet. It started to change, her soul slipping from her flesh to be Returned.
  
  Dhane ground his teeth. Even Octoralis wanted to descend on the juggernaut and tear his life essence away. Obviously, that was what the Master of Arena wanted: to provoke Dhane, to get him to prove himself a lesser man.
  
  But Dhane was a lesser man. Honor? Pride? He didn't care about his word or reputation. The only thing that held him back from attacking the oversized half-wit was how doing so would rob him of the opportunity to escape.
  
  When Dhane didn't react, Gorlan glowered. That, in and of itself, was enough of a victory. Maybe, one of these days, Gorlan would find a sharp stick—or ten—up his ass for all the misery he had caused.
  
  Challenger Sarah let out a slow breath. There was something beneath the surface that put her on edge, something she was fighting against. Though just as those emotions flittered across her face, they were gone, and she was back to business.
  
  The central pen was a perfect circle of metal bars. Two mages stood at the ready, glancing everywhere but at Dhane, Challenger Sarah, and the small army of guards that surrounded them.
  
  The first mage—a man with a puffy Santa Claus beard to match his girth—had a phone out, apparently waiting for a signal. And when that signal came, the man drew invisible symbols in the air and both the mages pushed mana into them.
  
  A curving line formed along the ceiling into a perfect circle, humming softly with magic. The entire circle of stone vibrated and turned as one solid piece. It lowered at a slow, dramatic pace, turning as it did. Particles of dust and sand, leaked like water, dribbling over the sides.
  
  The sounds of the arena were a frenzied noise, much louder than before, louder for the main event, the sole thing everyone was there to watch, to condemn him for the simple fact of existing.
  
  Once the platform reached the floor, the leading mage opened the pen's metal door. The hinges squeaked. It was the smallest of sounds, but so different, so close. Something about it sliced down his back like a thousand needles.
  
  His legs didn't want to do that very thing they were born to do: to walk, to step out onto this platform and be lifted up to the masses. He did his best to get his breathing under control. He was hot and cold, and sweat prickled across his forehead.
  
  Challenger Sarah took his arm. "I don't know what you have against the Reditai, but you are wrong. It makes me question everything you've said about balance and your people. You're nothing more than a . . . monster." She said the word, laced with a bit of shock, as if she had looked for a different word altogether, but then found it to be a slice of truth, her truth. "A monster trying to worm its stupid way into our world and seed chaos."
  
  Dhane didn't have the voice to respond. It was stuck somewhere in his chest. Even if he managed to say something, what was there to say? What words would change her opinion of him and the state of this fragile world?
  
  Challenger Sarah shoved him forward and he stumbled, most unkinglike, onto the platform. It was the first time his web of illusions had faltered, and this tiny flaw, a misstep onto the hot sands of the platform, seemed to hurt her.
  
  He lashed out with his mind and sought her affinity, her soul, her thoughts. A brilliant white icon of a bat illuminated, but not just that, there was also a sense of uncertainty there, buried beneath countless unanswered questions and frustrations.
  
  Challenger Sarah took a step back, brows pressed together. Then she sent her own request. It was hungry, scared, and cold, like frigid fingers sliding across his skin.
  
  He answered her in truth because, for reasons beyond any form of logic or strategy, he wanted her to know, as if knowing would set a tiny part of her soul at peace. He projected his dual affinity, following the Mother of Shadows and the Sisters of Death.
  
  And then she was gone, lost beneath a platform of stone and sand as it rose back up into the arena. He stood there at the center, a brush of warmth slithered across the sand, the sky a void of nearly imperceptible vibrations, and thousands upon thousands of people doing their unrivaled best to burn his very life essence away by staring.
  
  The arena erupted with boos and hollers and hoots and jeers. It was a thundering, constant sound that reverberated throughout, brightening all the vibration lines across sand and stone.
  
  There were a dozen robed mages on platforms set within the inner arena wall. They each projected something above them, making the air ripple in flat, rectangular shapes.
  
  Dhane lowered his mask just enough to see and found himself looking back from massive screens, his eyes . . . green, a sort of aquamarine, far from the dark brown they had always been. His pupils were not quite round anymore, like the black dots had ruptured and started elongating to vertical slits.
  
  It was amazing the detail, the resolution of these massive magical TVs. They caught every strand of color in his eyes, the nearly imperceptible shimmer of pearlescent skin, all despite the shadow of his hood.
  
  He looked more astonished than a black-hearted monster, and so he glared at a sparkling ball of light, that which seemed to act like a camera. This incited more of the roaring clamor.
  
  Dhane slid his mask back into place.
  
  There were no other guards or challengers out on the arena floor, no one to stop him from running. But the crowd was full of adventurers. If he ran up one of the ten-foot walls, they'd no doubt attack. He'd have to make his move when everyone least expected it so they didn't have time to summon weapons or spells.
  
  But where was Penny? She had to be here. In what reality would she just cut him from her life without so much as a smoke signal? She'd be in the stands somewhere, waiting and watching to confirm the truth.
  
  There were just so many people, so much noise, it drilled in from every direction. He needed to focus. Let all the sounds and vibrations drift away and direct his attention to a single point of interest.
  
  The world changed. It was as if he slipped under the surface of a lake, all the sounds still there, though distant, quiet, distorted, all except for a single spot: Two guys were talking, placing bets.
  
  Dhane shifted his focus along the row. Vibration lines defined faces and bodies and clothes and armor. Their voices were distinct and unfamiliar. He kept scanning, moving quicker in a sense of desperation.
  
  There were thousands of strangers here to see him, to bet on him, to laugh at him. Some boasted, some were afraid, some sat silently, anxiously. There were even dozens of Cobalins, carrying trays of food, following hawkers that yelled out, "Popcorn, get your popcorn! Got drinks and hot dogs, and peanuts. You name it, we've got it!"
  
  "Whatevs, girl." Aaliyah! She was sitting with the other amazons, followers of the hawk. "You keep bringing up Devron. He's a jerk, alright? If you're so hot for him, you go give him your deets."
  
  "I'm just saying that—"
  
  "I know! Goddammit, I know. But I don't care that he was right. Dhane was my party leader and a good guy. If it weren't for training, I wouldn't even be here. I don't wanna see him get butchered, you hear?"
  
  Dhane pushed on. The seconds were ticking by to the point when some challenger would make his or her grand appearance. He scanned row after row, section after section, slowly turning as he did.
  
  Aditi sat near the front wall, next to what had to be her guild of PKers. She rolled her eyes, looking skyward, fists balled.
  
  "Did you see him?" one guy said to another. "He's like a GQ model."
  
  "Damn straight."
  
  "Aditi, you got to see him in the buff?"
  
  "Shut up!" she said.
  
  The two guys laughed, then one said to the other, in a loud whisper, "She totally botched the job because of her womanly feelings. Probably hasn't seen a penis before."
  
  Aditi whipped around and punched the guy in the mouth, knocking him out of his seat and onto the arena stairs. "I did the needful and it didn't work! It had, like, nothing to do with anything else, yeah? Bring it up again. Do it! Say something stupid so I can punch you again!"
  
  Dhane smiled. Good for her. But she wasn't Penny. Where was she? He scanned the rest of the section and moved to the next.
  
  "No . . . that's where you're wrong," Nick said, talking to Candy. She was wrapped around his arm, wearing a set of what could only be described as normal clothes: a skirt with a nice, frilly shirt.
  
  "I don't hate the guy," he continued. "Whether he's Dhane or the King of Shadows, the guy saved my business."
  
  "And stole from you, and turned me down...."
  
  "Oh sugar, this is more about you, isn't it?"
  
  "Is not! That armor isn't his, you told me so."
  
  "Alright, alright, I was a little annoyed at first, but you've got to think what he's been through. Everyone has been out to get him. He's probably been locked in a cage for the last few days."
  
  "Because he's of Shadow," Candy said with derision.
  
  "Pfft! Like that matters. He's human, he was a customer, he can write reviews. I'd do business with the Cobalin if they could actually talk with real words."
  
  In all of the chaos, Dhane had completely forgotten about Nick. He owed him a review and the armor back, but dammit, there was just no way to worry about such things right now.
  
  The crowd started to settle. He scanned the next section, pausing on the familiar face of a guard: Don, sitting next to his friend.
  
  "It's not my fault!" Don said.
  
  "You were supposed to keep an eye on him, remember? I said, 'Keep an eye on him.' "
  
  "We wouldn't be here if you didn't make a big deal of my terrible memory."
  
  "So you are agreeing with me. You forgot what I said. I'm the one who got us hotdogs, the least you could have done was watch Tom. One job, Don, you had one job."
  
  A gong resonated throughout the arena and everyone stopped talking. The shimmering ball of light—the camera—wasn't next to Dhane anymore.
  
  He lowered his mask just a hair, enough to see all the screens filled with Veritus Scyla, standing tall, proud, with her silver eyes and white hair. She had a new necklace with a large, bright blue sapphire, lying on pale skin.
  
  There were others behind her, sitting in fancy chairs, wearing rich clothing, all young and beautiful; servants fed them fruit, served drinks; guards stood at attention in gold and white armor.
  
  Veritus Scyla spoke in a calm voice that projected clearly across the arena. "Citizens of Ceratree City, the Royals have agreed to your requests that before the Veritai rid the world of the evil King of Shadows, as he so claims to be, he should fight in our arena."
  
  The people cheered and Veritus Scyla raised her palm, then waited with uncanny patience for perfect silence. "Before such an event, I wish to update you on our progress, progress that has only been possible from all of your generous contributions.
  
  "The Army of Light has purged another nest of Cobalins, assembling their horde deep within a cave to the east. Now with their cemetery of Shadow destroyed, they've taken their rightful place as our slaves, and have freed us to pursue greater threats.
  
  "Furthermore, recent enchantment research—done by the Veritai—has yielded a new product, one which we feel many of you will find most useful."
  
  She turned and motioned for two Cobalins to approach. They were both males, shirtless with tattered shorts, each wearing a thick, white collar with silver symbols.
  
  They stumbled forward, slow and uncertain despite having no chains or large stones to weigh them down. One was shaking so much the other took his shoulders and whispered something in his ear.
  
  Veritus Scyla's thin lips pressed together in a sort of sadistic smile. She pointed at a small spear, leaning against a stone column. "Take the spear," she said, and when neither of the Cobalins moved, her smile deepened.
  
  The Cobalins jerked and grabbed their heads, whimpering. After only a few seconds, the braver of the two Cobalins snatched the spear. His face was covered in sweat, chest rising and falling, brows pressed together in a murderous gaze aimed at the priest.
  
  "Now," she said, "I want you to kill your friend."
  
  "What! I no kill for you!" the Cobalin said, his words coming out as Tatti! Aia nu kack tu adda! Then the other Cobalin cried out, fingers digging into his hair. Little -1s and -2s started to slip from his head.
  
  "Do itsss, Dogo," the Cobalin managed to say, tears streaming down his face, eyes bulging from their sockets as if ready to explode. "Please...."
  
  Dogo, the Cobalin with the spear, frantically looked between his friend and the priest, then stabbed the spear's end into his friend three times, screaming all the while.
  
  As soon as the Cobalin collapsed to the ground and started turning silvery-white, Dogo spun toward Veritus Scyla. He jumped forward, then jerked, as if he had slammed into a wall, dropping the spear and screaming while holding his head.
  
  Damage numbers shifted out from him in a red mist, a crimson smoke, lifting skyward as it drained his life force. Then, like his friend moments before, he collapsed.
  
  Bastards. . . . Dhane clenched his jaw. Why were they showing him this? His challenge was to free the Cobalins, but . . . the Royals and the Veritai didn't appear at all concerned about losing them.
  
  Did they never intend to uphold their end of the bargain? Or were they just that confident he would lose? To them, he was the King of Shadows, a thousand-year-old warrior. . . . What did they know that he didn't?
  
  It doesn't matter.
  
  There was no making deals with the enemy. There was no honor or trust, especially not from him. He'd escape. He'd run far, far away and one day, when he—not them—had the upper hand, he'd fight.
  
  "These collars," Veritus Scyla said, turning back to address her captive audience, "will allow anyone to own and control a lesser slave of Shadow. You can use them in your businesses or as fodder in your adventures. Once they have been . . . trained, they'll be available for sale.
  
  "Of course," she said, as if remembering something, "supply will be limited. First offers go to those who have donated the most to our righteous cause. There will be priests of Light at every exit should you wish to contribute.
  
  "Now, to the event you've all been waiting for. I hand the podium over to the Celestial Royal."
  
  Veritus Scyla stepped aside and in her place, a young man, probably no older than twenty, stood and looked out over the arena. There was an aura about him: extreme confidence, intelligence, and the experience of living multiple lives, or so it seemed.
  
  The arena hushed.
  
  All the massive screens focused on this young man, draped in black and blue metallic fabrics that shimmered. He had piercing blue eyes and long, dangling sapphire earrings. His hair, thick and white, extended down to his chin, almost like an anime character brought to life with how it clumped together and fell into its perfect place.
  
  "King of Shadows," he said, not loudly, not with any effort, almost a whisper. The words merely slid out from him and glided through everyone, casting a spell of sorts, making people lean forward, not wanting to miss a single syllable.
  
  A surge of molten energy expanded into Dhane's chest and he took a step back. It swirled with focused intent, peeling into his soul to know him, to know his secrets, to know his affinity.
  
  Dhane didn't project a reply. There was nothing to project that wasn't already known. It was as if his mere thoughts were available to this godlike entity, peering down at his bare form where nothing could be hidden.
  
  Finally, the Celestial Royal said, "You deem us imbecilic. Your bravado, your falsehoods, are nothing but child's play. I see through it all and know your intent."
  
  He raised his arms slowly, eyes shut. The air condensed, becoming heavy as if it were about to rain, then the ground rumbled. People chattered in confusion, looking in all directions.
  
  The outer stone walls, above the last row of seats, all the way around the arena, darkened and cracked. The stone stepped out into the shapes of eight warriors, twenty feet tall, chiseled in perfect detail.
  
  People shoved away from the giant statues and the large chunks of wall that collapsed, shattering into hundreds of chipped stones to roll down the stairs.
  
  "Spiderling," the Celestial Royal said, his tone holding an edge of contempt, "I won't let you escape. You agreed to this fight, and what better opponent than a king against a king?"
  
  Oh, shit brownies. . ..