Trapped in the Shadow Arena Deathmatch, time slowed to a crawl. It had been so long since anything had been able to keep up, the experience was almost novel again. For every move she made, attacks that no creature had stood a chance of countering since she left Pip’s chamber, the Warlord’s blade was right there to meet her. Even if he couldn’t rival her grace, he moved with practiced efficiency, seeming to know where she would strike before she moved. Not even her feints could find a hole in his guard.

  The beast was an impenetrable wall, showing proficiency beyond anything he revealed atop the Ziggurat.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, magic appeared to be a core aspect of his fighting style. Forcing his opponent on the defensive didn’t even seem to be a challenge for him, as he seamlessly wove spells into the framework of his defense, putting Anilith on the backfoot. Being on the lookout for his plethora of attacks made it nearly impossible to make any headway.

  The creature was slow to reveal his abilities, only supplementing his plasma swordsmanship with fire in the beginning. Blasts of incinerating heat, shimmering in the ethereal realm of shadow, flew past Anilith, too close for comfort. For all her speed, she couldn’t escape the acrid scent of burning hair.

  But of course, he didn’t stop there; That was only the first layer of the beast’s deception.

  When Anilith finally adjusted to his tactics, the Warlord launched an invisible attack, punching her square in the chest. The air evacuating her lungs, white spots spun in her vision, but to stay in one place could only mean death. Spitting blood, she leapt back, trying to buy time until her vision returned.

  Gods damned Sonomancy, and on a level I haven’t seen before. Let’s hope he never bothered to learn ill…you know what, I’m not even going to think it.

  Her senses were dulled in this place. Her meditations while Razhik clawed his way to the top of the stone temple had revealed this shortcoming. This was not the domain of the Wind, and it only touched the unnaturally still land through her, giving her mere moments to react to incoming threats. None of her supernatural senses worked as they should here, forcing her to react as barely more than an average warrior, but she thought she could power through the weakness.

  Unfortunately, her plan hadn’t considered how an opponent who moved nearly as fast as the Wind would put a bone in the works. For the first time in too long, she felt normal. That, more than anything else, set this fight apart.

  In so many ways, the Warlord held the edge in power. He’d had unimaginable time to hone his swordsmanship, to develop a unique style around his skills, and to explore the limits of his magic. Every move he made, everything he did, was performed with the air of competence that only came from countless repetition, while Anilith was going in blind, near literally.

  Despite having every disadvantage in the fight before her, Anilith couldn’t help feeling something she almost didn’t recognize—excitement. Killing had become a forgone conclusion of her recent battles, even when faced with insurmountable odds. A skilled, powerful, or downright lucky enemy could bring her down…but how many would she have killed by then?

  Now, she stood on a field of battle with no fodder, no weaklings; it was only her and the Warlord, an enemy beyond any that she’d faced.

  And he was powerful. Even if she came here knowing she was in for a tough fight, only a fool wouldn’t acknowledge that she’d underestimated the threat he posed. She’d never encountered anyone who could manifest more than one affinity, aside from herself, and the Warlord had already shown three—

  A bolt of raw blue energy struck the ground before her, throwing her backwards.

  Four affinities. The Warlord had already shown four affinities, unveiling another every time she found a rhythm in their struggle. She knew full well what abilities he likely held in store, but that couldn’t give her a single clue as to his proficiency with them.

  And yet, she joyously embraced the challenge.

  In her heart, she felt the joy of training under her Master once more, when it had only been her, the desire to be better, and her blades; only now, her life was on the line. The constant weight of Death that hung over her had become an ever-present factor, one that always lurked in the back of her mind. Every time she drew her blades, she knew that weight would grow, that yet more slaughter lay before her. Even then, she knew that truth would return, but in the moment, she was unburdened. She could not overcome this mountain while bearing her own, and one more life would hardly tip the scales of the guilt she carried.

  So, she set it all aside, no matter that it would follow her all her life.

  This foe was beyond her in every way that mattered—skill, practice, ability—but he had limitations of his own, she just had to find them. She, on the other hand, could only improve, only learn. In many ways, this fight took away any advantages she might have had, even in an arena of her choosing, but in their place, she was left with something beyond value.

  Heart.

  Every quick exchange kindled her fighting spirit: the very thing that had pushed her down this path so long ago, but had been drowning of the rivers her blades—no, she—had spilled. Bursts of flame burned her, invisible, whistling waves bombarded her, and crackling, blue energy pursued her, even as her blades failed to break through her enemy’s defenses.

  But his efforts were never enough to catch her out of position. Still, being forced to disengage allowed the Warlord to dictate the pace of the fight. Any time she gained an inch of ground, he pulled out a new trick, and she had only been reacting. Gods, she hadn’t even shifted stances; she’d been so caught up in his pace and not losing the edge in speed. The more they fought, the more his spells failed to do any lasting damage, the wider his crooked grin grew…the more she realized he was toying with her, treating her as so far beneath him, he had no need to exert himself, to step into uncomfortable territory. For all his praise of her skills, in his eyes, she wasn’t worthy of his full strength, even limited by the Dungeon’s Rules.

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  That could not stand. She needed to take back control, build momentum. Earn respect, even if it cost her everything.

  Dark, shadowed rain began to fall from bright clouds, even the Warlord’s skills altered by the venue. Brilliant, blue beams bolted through the unnatural constructs high above, intermittently striking the ground around the circling duo.

  It was time to rely on someone else, fight beyond her own abilities.

  “Feel free to take this seriously at any time,” Anilith said. “No need to hold back on my account.”

  Leveling his unnatural blade at her, the Warlord tilted his head and relaxed, his natural smile shining through, devoid of battle-mania.

  “I already told you, did I not? This is a test. You empowered me. You set the difficulty. It is up to you to meet the challenge, not me. Break through and see what a real enemy is capable of. If you can’t, well, there’s a reason that this is a test.” He paused, seeming to scratch at his chest in thought. “I’m not so special, you know, especially as it stands. If I had even a fraction of the power I gave up, there would be no contest, no hope. If you cannot overcome even this much, you stand no chance against what will come. You call me Warlord, but I am a gatekeeper, and fledgling nightmares wait beyond.”

  Anilith closed her eyes, embracing the power that first led her to this place. As her awareness grew, she could see the magical blade in her opponent’s grip more clearly than ever, burning with a sharpness that threatened annihilation. But, more than that, she saw the Wind, the first manifestation of her own power, a power she still didn’t understand, and, for the first time since falling into Razhik’s realm, she let it go.

  As her eyes opened again, she grabbed hold of her newest power, finally ready to take a chance, supported by her Weaving. She had always been the catalyst for its magic, and this realm of shadows could not touch it.

  “There is always hope. Only those who give up are beyond the touch of Arian; witness its power.”

  The goblin furrowed his brow. “Hope…but—ahh; that’s what you think you’re channeling. Who am I to tell you otherwise? Very well, let us see the power of this ‘Arian.’”

  After her encounter with…herself…Anilith had been reluctant to draw upon her Blade Weaving too heavily, knowing that she ran a very real risk of killing herself if she lost control of the power. Letting the ability course through her, fully experiencing the sense of enlightenment she’d first touched on in the Legacy of the first Mother’s illusions, peace enveloped her, bolstered by Arian’s cool, calming touch.

  She could hardly miss the moment his blade blurred into motion.

  Surrendering to instinct, guided by powers beyond her understanding, she drew upon the Earth. Instantly, her feet and the ground, even the pale, shadowed imitation, were one. The Blade in her hand shifted into a great sword, her grip as solid as the ground that inspired her. The bolt that struck her chest as the plasma blade locked with her own…did nothing. The energy seemingly drained into the ground beneath her, leaving her shocked, but surprisingly unharmed, at least by the scale of terribly dangerous magical abilities.

  Leaning into instinct, she surrendered entirely, letting Hope guide her. At a whim, the Blade shrank, taking the form of a short sword, and a kite shield appeared in her other hand, a move she’d never have made if she let her mind take the lead. The shield would never hold up, not in an extended fight, but it wouldn’t have to.

  Urged on by the force of Fire, the shield slammed forward, closing with the Warlord for the first time while his sword was constrained. Anilith’s sight shifted to the thermal spectrum, her opponent’s every move clear in her eyes.

  The world was a cold, dead place, devoid of heat or even the memory of warmth, but the Warlord burned. Energy coursed through him, and, behind his shield, radiance cast off from another source, impacting the life-saving hunk of pounded alloy. Tears of molten metal dripped from the bulwark, but the damage was done. The shield collided with the beast, simultaneously sheltering her from an attack she hadn’t seen coming and throwing him back.

  Her body, driven by the strength of a raging fire, drew upon Earth again at the last possible moment, anchoring her in place and compounding the impact of the failing shield. In a heartbeat, the Wind rushed around her. A spear, shorter than she normally gravitated towards, adorned with an unexpected ribbon of cloth, appeared in her hands, her destroyed savior banished into her ring of hoarding. As she advanced, the spear twirled, creating Wind around her.

  Every stab, every sweep sent gusting Wind with it, supporting her already prescient awareness. Apparently, the Blade the dungeon had awarded her afforded some leeway with the shape it took. She would never have thought to add something so garish to a weapon, something that seemed so…nonfunctional—but she wasn’t thinking. Her unwitting action played into her strengths, allowing her to see the disturbances around the Warlord as they formed, nearly dancing as the invisible attacks screamed around her.

  Gale force Winds billowed around Anilith, her foe on the backfoot, having actually been moved by her power for the first time since they clashed. It was minute, and every chance said it was a trap, but the primal forces that commandeered her body drove her spear into a gap in the goblin’s defenses.

  He smiled, angling to move aside and counterattack, but, as he shifted his weight, Fire took over, feeding explosively off the ambient air and propelling her forward with greater speed, still. Her spear extended, the cloth instantaneously folding into a cross guard at the spear tip’s base.

  Her attack took the goblin near the shoulder, at a weak point in his armor. The instant it made contact, flames erupted from the tip of the Blade, launching the Warlord backwards again.

  The creature rolled, bouncing across the smoky ground before landing in a crouch, sliding backwards with his plasma blade thrust into the floor. Standing up straight, the Warlord rolled his shoulder, bits of ruined metal falling to the ground with muffled clinks. The clasp that fastened the black cape to his right shoulder was utterly destroyed, and he cast off the other.

  As the black fabric disappeared, blown by unnatural Winds until it was lost in the shadowed landscape, the Warlord held his blade high.

  A searing blue bolt fell from the firmament, blazing through her enemy and bathing the scene in a flash of light, thunder rolling in its wake. In the span of a blink, the Warlord appeared, limned in crackling energy.

  “Well, now. It looks like I can get a little bit serious, finally.”