My mind races, fear coursing through me, as I take a step back and raise a fist. Even if it’d be useless, I wish I had my knife right now.

Shirasil arcs an amused eyebrow. “Come, now, Sal, I’m not some philistine like Widengra. I’m on your side! I’ve been helping you since we first met.”

“You’re a god,” I say, taking another step back. “You’re all the same.”

“You still believe that, after all the time we’ve spent together? I’m wounded,” Shariasil says, but his lips are still curled in a smile. “Every time you faltered, I was there to helpfully nudge you back in the direction of the justice you sought. It was me who gave you those alchemy books so you could develop your abilities. I was the one who guided you toward the right spells needed to kill Maru. Without my interference, she would have recognized you a month ago and killed you on the spot. Isn’t all that deserving of some gratitude?”

“Fuck you,” I snarl, continuing to back up.

Shirasil barks out a laugh. “That’s the spirit. That’s the fire I want to see! Harness that. Hone it. Turn in against everyone who has wronged you in this world—like Widengra.”

I frown. Is that why he’s doing this? Has he been trying to pit me against the God of War from the start? “You have something against Widengra?”

“Not specifically,” Shirasil admits. “Despite his general lack of imagination. Some gods are terribly dull.”

“Then what do you want with me?” I demand, trying to keep up. I’m so disoriented. It’s too much to process all at once. “Why do the gods want me dead?”

“Oh, child, we don’t want you dead,” Shirasil insists. He attempts a reassuring smile, but his teeth are sharp, and his eyes are empty, and the resulting expression conjures the image of a demon in my mind. “Well, not all of us,” he amends. “Some are just a bit more… shortsighted than the rest. Now that I can prove gods like Widengra are behaving so impulsively, I should be able to wrangle the rest in line to pressure him and his ilk into compliance. Truly, I’m here to help.”

“You didn’t help before,” I say. “When I nearly died a dozen different times. When Talia was killed.”

“Unfortunate, that,” Shirasil admits. “She could have been useful. But you must understand, stepping in to save you defeats the whole point. I’ve many footbirds in this race, and you’re just the one who pulled ahead. How will you get stronger if I have to rescue you every time the going gets tough? What makes you worth betting on if you end up getting yourself killed the second my back is turned? No, no. I’m here to help. I want to see you thrive. But you will live or die by your own choices.”

“So, what,” I demand. “You just wanted me to stay alive long enough to kill Maru? That’s it?”

Shirasil laughs. “Of course not! That would be so silly. Consider Maru a practice round. A way to dip your toes in. A preliminary test—which you passed with flying colors! Oh, Widengra never saw it coming.”

“No thanks to you,” I snap. He’d been up in the rafters watching as Lisari the whole time, and he didn’t even lift a finger.

Thoughts of Lisari sting me with hurt. I’d liked her. I’d almost started to consider her a friend. But she wasn’t even real. Just some… some character used to manipulate me. The loss I feel for this person who never even existed hurts almost as much as the betrayal.

Shirasil splays his fingers helplessly. “Even the gods have limits. To be caught working directly against another god would be… problematic. Which is why we have our proxies to do mortal work for us. Frankly, even the little help I’ve contributed so far has crossed many lines. It would be in both of our interests for this mutual accord to remain covert.”

I continue to edge back. The door is only a dozen feet behind me. Maybe if I can get out of here, if I can get around other people, that same reluctance to reveal himself publicly will stop Shirasil from pursuing. With the threat of Widengra just above us, I might be able to slip away.

I’ll just have to hope it’s not out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“So, what, I’m just some kind of pawn to you?” I demand, trying to buy myself time. “A disposable piece to use in some cosmic game?”

“Oh, that’s got a nice ring to it.” Shirasil chuckles. “But everything’s disposable, dear. Everything.”

I turn and leap at the door. My still-bloodied hand slips over the knob, but I’m able to grapple for purchase, squeeze, turn—

It doesn’t open.

“Please, I thought we were having a nice chat,” Shirasil says, leaning against the door only inches away.

I stumble back, startled. I hadn’t even seen him move.

“At least wait until I’m done,” he continues, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Aren’t you even a little curious as to what I have to say? I’ve an offer you can’t refuse.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m not going to make deals with gods,” I say. “You’re all complicit. What Maru did—how Widengra ordered it. You all let that happen. You’re sick.”

“Yes!” Shirasil pushes off the door, gliding over the ground toward me as I quickly backpedal. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s a sickness. A stagnation. Things need to be shaken up. A change to the status quo. And you can be that catalyst. You, who would dare try what no one else will. Let me ask: where do you intend to go from here?”

The question catches me off guard. Where do I go from here? I killed Maru. I got my vengeance. But it doesn’t fill me with the satisfaction I expected it would, and it doesn’t feel like anything’s really changed.

Before I can think of a response, Shirasil spins back toward the door.

“Look,” he says, grabbing the doorknob.

I don’t move.

“No tricks,” he insists, throwing it all the way open. But something isn’t right on the other side. Instead of showing the underbelly of the stadium, we’re looking back into the spectator box. Widengra is at the other end of the box, seething as he looks down onto the stadium.

“Hurry up,” Shirasil says, beckoning me over. “Look, but do not step through. Once you pass through, the way will be revealed, and if Widengra notices you, I won’t intervene.”

Hesitantly, I approach the door.

“Filth,” Widengra hisses, and I pause for a moment, afraid he’s spotted us. He looks up, but he doesn’t turn our way. “I feel your meddling. I know you’re somewhere nearby. It was a mistake to intervene. When I find who you are, I will put you down, just as I’ve put down every other Tainted. Your efforts are for naught.”

“Dramatic, isn’t he?” Shirasil chuckles. “Given enough time, he might even be able to suss me out. However he’s scheduled to return to the Heavenly Palace in a matter of minutes—which he will do, as he’s such a stickler for the rules—and I’ll need to depart before him so as not to be discovered.”

Good, I think. If I can just play along for another few minutes, then he’ll be gone. I can make it that long. Right?

Outside, Widengra shakes his head. “No matter. Whatever your machinations were, I will finish what I came here for today. Nothing has changed. I will simply have to ascend two Champions instead of one.”

Blood pools out from beneath Widengra’s feet, melting into the surrounding gore of the room. His tattoos bleed out over his skin, entombing him in a red shell. Then he sinks into the puddle, and with a final ripple, the god vanishes.

My heart sinks, and Shirasil turns to look at me as if he can hear it.

“Again I ask you: where do you intend to go from here?” Shirasil says. “You killed one Champion, yes, but two more will rise in her place. And you may certainly be able to kill them as well, if your luck continues, but the gods will only create more. What did your little quest of vengeance achieve? What has ultimately changed?”

I swallow around a knot in my throat. “I got justice for those Maru killed.”

Shirasil scoffs. “An eye for an eye only perpetuates lack of foresight. Maru is dead. And so is Talia. And with her killer already slain by your enemy, how do you intend to get justice for her? What does any of this violence ultimately mean? It’s a never-ending cycle.”

Anger kindles in me at his words. “Then I will break that cycle.”

“How?” Shirasil demands. “You are just a weak human, ignorant to our history and magic. You might have killed a demigod, but you also had help from Talia, and those kind innkeeps, and that naive little assassin boy. Not to mention, me. You couldn’t even get your vengeance alone. What hope do you have of changing things? Of challenging the system? Of challenging the gods?”

Each of his words needle deeper and deeper beneath my skin, burrowing into my insecurities and frustrations. The worst part is that I’m not even sure if I can argue with what he’s saying.

“If this were a game of stones, you’d be placing pieces one at a time, entirely unaware of the rest of the board. Meanwhile, your opponent is thinking four steps ahead. Yours aren’t moves made with a plan or strategy in mind.” Shirasil sneers. “Those are the plays of a child.”

Something in me snaps. “I’m not a child.” I plunge my hand into my bag of frost seeds. “And I’m not weak!”

I grab all the remaining frost seeds and throw them at Shirasil’s eyes. In the same move I pull a shard of broken glass from my bandolier, dripping with orchid poison, and stab it toward his neck.

The seeds disintegrate into dust before they even touch him. The glass skips off his skin and goes spinning away. Frustration boiling over into tears, I throw a punch toward his head, and he catches my fist, almost dismissively.

[0 points of Slashing damage dealt.]

[0 points of Bludgeoning damage dealt.]

“You are weak,” he says. “Come now, you don’t think you could really hurt a god?”

I try to pull my hand away, and he lets me; it almost hurts more knowing that. “I know you’re immortal,” I growl. “I know you can’t be killed. But I can’t just do nothing. I won’t just roll over and let things happen to me. I have to fight back. I have to try.”

At this, Shirasil smiles. He leans in close to me, and I have to fight every instinct to not shove him back. He doesn’t touch me, though. He only whispers in my ear.

“You’re wrong.”

Then he skips back, clasping his hands together like a child who’s eagerly awaiting the reaction to some disclosed playground secret.

I frown. “Wrong about what?”

“About the gods,” he says. “About immortality. What if I told you: the gods can be killed.” Shirasil’s grin grows even wider. “What if I told you we’re not as immortal as we might seem?”

I eye him suspiciously. He can’t be serious. If that’s true, why would he even tell me? What would he stand to gain? “Everyone’s said the gods are immortal.”

“I suppose it’s close enough to the truth, practically speaking,” Shirasil says. “If everyone believes it, they’d have no reason to try to prove the theory wrong, now would they?”

He begins to circle around me, and I have to fight against every instinct to run for the door again. He’s just playing with me. A cat with a bug.

But he doesn’t want me dead. If he did, I already would be. I try to hold onto that as I force myself to stand up straight, shoulders back, defiant.

“Just because I said we can be killed doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Shirasil says. “Surely you recognized Widengra wasn’t even fazed by the little smoke bomb stunt that took down Maru. Champions only hold a fraction of the power of their gods. A borrowed strength; a spark of our fire. No, the idea that you could kill a god with all the world’s poison is laughable. You’re not strong enough.” He pauses. “Not yet.”

“You’re saying I could become strong enough?” I ask, the possibilities spinning within my mind. Gods didn’t exist on some unreachable mountain. They aren’t immortal, which means they have vulnerabilities that can be exploited—vulnerabilities like Maru. And if the gods can be killed, then change is possible. Real change.

Assuming Shirasil’s not lying.

“It’s possible to gain enough strength to rival the gods?” I ask him.

“Oh yes,” he says, and stops pacing, standing before me. “Very possible.”

“How?” I demand.

Shirasil grins madly. “I was hoping you would ask that.” He holds out a hand. “The first step is simple. Become my Champion.”