The crowd fell into a hush as the final match began.

Booker glanced at Snips, and said, “Hold back for the last round. You’ve exhausted your strength, rest, and let your brothers handle the start.”

The little mantis nodded wearily. Its two fights had completely drained it. While Snips was incredibly fast, his endurance wasn’t much, certainly not when he was pushing his speed to the limits. He needed time to recover before he could bring out his all again.

So it was Zhi-Zhi, not Snips, who faced the stone-bodied octopus. The tiny mole was shivering as the octopus crawled down the sloping walls to join it in the dirt, tendrils stretching in all directions as it slithered forward.

There was a silent moment of anticipation and then – “BEGIN!”

Like a whipcrack, one of the octopus’ tentacles swept out to snatch as Zhi-Zhi. But the mole had already disappeared, diving beneath the earth. For a moment nobody could tell where Zhi-Zhi had gone or where he might appear next…

And then a sudden yank pulled part of the octopus under the earth. It was so fast it almost seemed instantaneous, but in that moment, Zhi-Zhi popped up and grabbed one tentacle with his tiny paws, then sank back into the earth. The tentacle was pulled with him, and the moment he let go, the earth was no longer being pushed out of the way and displaced to let it move – it was anchored beneath the dirt of the ring.

Once, twice, thrice. The mole popped up, yanked down, and vanished, leaving the octopus with one immobilized limb after another. The crowd had been unaware at first, but now they caught on, leaning forward to catch sight of Zhi-Zhi as he burrowed in and out of view.

It wasn’t exactly a fight – it was more watching the capsizing of a ship. With every limb that got trapped, the octopus had less room to maneuver, tethered down by its own body. It was lifting its tendrils up from the ground, trying to snatch at Zhi-Zhi when the mole surfaced.

But there was no escaping an enemy that could appear from the cold earth.

Finally, just as six of its eight limbs were immobilized – when Zhi-Zhi could no longer sneak behind the octopus and attack the limbs it wasn’t defending – the whole crowd had come to hold their breath, waiting, waiting for the chance that the octopus would manage to capture Zhi-Zhi before its final two lifelines were immobilized.

And as Zhi-Zhi jumped up to grab for the left-side tentacle –

That tentacle wrapped around Zhi-Zhi’s waist, nearly yanking him out of the ground. The only thing that saved Zhi-Zhi from being plucked out of the earth like a radish was his ability to release his own power, causing the earth to become solid again and hold him down. As soon as the octopus strength was spent trying in vain to pull him up, Zhi-Zhi dived.

Instantly the tendril sank below the earth, but Booker’s heart was sinking. No matter what Zhi-Zhi did, that tentacle was wrapped tight around his midsection, squeezing the tiny creature’s innards with a crushing force. Even now, with seven limbs trapped – Zhi-Zhi was now trapped in the grip of the seventh.

Dive. Booker whispered under his breath.

There’s only one way to escape.

And it’s to keep diving.

His fists clenched in triumph as he saw exactly what he hoped for.

Slowly, the octopus was sinking into the earth. It was no longer limited to its tendrils – the beast’s main body was beginning to be dragged down beneath the floor of the ring, as if the dust had turned to quicksand.

On Booker’s face and on the face of the woman commanding the octopus, there were identical expressions of concern. Each of them knew that their spirit beasts were locked together until the end. The octopus would never let go of Zhi-Zhi, not until the little mole had been crushed into submission. But by the same measure, the octopus was being dragged deeper and deeper, the two little vents on the side of its bulbous, sack-like head getting closer and closer to the line of the earth. Once those went under…

It would begin to suffocate.

Ultimately, one of their spirit beasts would run out of stamina first, but it was their duty to sense that turning point. They would have to call the end of the match – and neither wanted to do so prematurely, but neither wanted to see their spirit beast die…

It was agonizing, unable to see the struggle as Zhi-Zhi swam down carrying the tentacle like a diver’s lead, forcing the octopus to sink deeper. As the crushing tendril retaliated by squeezing his breath out and suffocating him in turn.

Until…

“I concede the first round!” The woman called, holding up a hand. The octopus had been submerged past the eyes and past its breathing holes. Zhi-Zhi surfaced moments later, panting, and crawled over to begin dragging the octopus back up. Its one free tentacle wrapped blindly around the mole, and struggling like a beast of burden drawing a plow, Zhi-Zhi hauled his opponent back to the surface.

Slowly, Booker released his grip on the railing. Blood rushed back into his whitened knuckles and the joints stung sorely.

A second later and I would have called it…

But I had the advantage. If Zhi-Zhi did die, the octopus would definitely suffocate before anyone could save it. Even if I’d never go that far… she had to consider it.

“You put a lot of trust in these spirit beasts.” She said airily as one of her handmaidens descended into the arena to pick up the poor octopus. It looked totally exhausted at this point, and quivered like a lump of jelly in the girl’s arms.

“Before you arrived, I was confident they wouldn’t break a sweat.” Booker admitted.

“My spirit beasts have a high pedigree. They were made by a disciple from the Lodestone Pillar Sect in the far north.”

Is she… fishing for recognition of the name? They’re probably big shots when it comes to manufacturing spirit beasts.

“They don’t disappoint.”

“Where did you get yours?” She asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

“They aren’t mine.” Booker said calmly. “You’d have to ask the boy here.”

“Ah, my elder brother made them… I may have underestimated just how strong they were. Elder brother is truly a masterful alchemist.” Wei Qi stammered out.

“I see…” She nodded, and then snapped her fingers. One of her other attendants hurried forward carrying a large white-and-black striped rooster, a surly beast with beady eyes and a red comb hanging over its face like a war crest. It had two faint horns rising from its head and was the size of a small dog. “This will be my next champion.” She declared, petting the chicken’s head as the beast let out a burble of threatening noise.

In her position, facing a game point…

I’d definitely send my strongest fighter out now. And the question is, do I meet that fighter with Snips, who’s still recovering, or throw the match to Froggie and hope he draws things out for long enough that Snips can dominate the final showing?

Froggie… He’s no slouch, but he’s not competing against creatures in his own weight class, and he simply doesn’t have the overwhelming speed of Snips or earthy defense of Zhi-Zhi.

I want to cheer for him.

But it’s more likely that whenever I send him out, I eat a loss. That means if I send Snips now, and Snips is too tired to win, I’m out entirely…

The only sensible play is to send Froggie out not to win, but to buy time.

He turned to Wei Qi, saying quietly, “Send the frog out. We have to hold for as long as possible.”

Wei Qi nodded. He’d clearly lost control of this match, but– he was happy it was no longer in his hands, and the cold authority of a mask clearly had sway over him. Stepping towards the edge of the balcony, he held up Froggie in both hands. “Come out!”

With a single kick Froggie sailed down into the center of the ring.

A black wingbeat later, and the rooster had joined him, standing towering over the mighty toad. It stepped forward slowly, its head turning to meet Froggie’s gaze with an imperial condescension. The small white horns on its head vibrated and there was a discordant note, the crowd wincing in sudden pain as they all heard nails scrape down blackboards and knives scrape against plates.

“BEGIN!”

Froggie didn’t even get a chance to move.

That resonating note rose to an ear-piercing roar and there was a sudden hard THWUM of noise, a noise so loud it became a solid reverberation smacking into the crowd’s bones.

From its horns, a pulse swept through the air, shaking sky and earth and lifting dust from the ground. The expanding pulse slammed into Froggie halfway into the first motions of a jump and lifted him with a force that flipped him off his feet, leaving his long legs extended back behind him as his yellow underbelly flashed, landing hard on his back.

Instantly the rooster was lunging forward, wings outstretched, leaping up into the air to bring both talons briefly into play with a half-flying flurry of swipes.

But Froggie was no fragile creature. With a gulping ribbit, he vented fire from the holes on his golden back to push himself into a tumbling roll, landing on his feet as those raking claws passed where he’d been a second ago.

“CRO-AK!” With a battle-ready roar Froggie’s tongue exploded from his mouth, whipping through the air with a fiery glow around its club tip, snaking wildly to strike for the chicken’s head from an unexpected angle.

THRUM.

That same horrible, screeching note, and another pulse of sonic destruction erupted from the chicken’s horns, swatting Froggie’s tongue back and punching the poor creature off its feet again, an eruption of dust showering up from the arena floor as Froggie got sent tumbling head over heels.

Booker leaned forward and hissed through his teeth. Goddamn, that one move is… insane.

It wasn’t that hard hitting but it was lightning fast, requiring only the motion of turning its head to aim. There seemed to be no matching the speed with which that move arrived – and only a half-second pause before it could be used again.

A more powerful enemy might have been able to wade through it for a counter-strike but…

Froggie was already badly outmatched!

As the poor creature rolled onto his feet and puffed out the yellow sac on his throat, Froggie was clearly not surrendering. He braced himself, venting more flame from his cratered back and letting his tongue glow like the filament of a lightbulb inside his mouth, shining blue-hot and making his skin turn partly translucent.

The rooster simply… waited… standing imperiously on a single leg, the other claw lifted and scratching at the air.

Froggie shot forward, his spring-loaded legs kicking off against the ground with cannonshot force to propel him forward. His tongue whipped out, scything through the air on a left-hook course towards the rooster’s skull and for a moment–

For a moment even Booker thought it would connect.

THRUM.

Froggie was sent flying into the wall. Reality made Booker’s teeth sting and his jaw ache as his bones shivered against the sudden thunderous force.

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The crowd was heating up now. The fight with Zhi-Zhi and the octopus had certainly been unusual, but there had been no blood, no hard hits to cheer for. Now, in this one sided battle, they were finally getting a taste of the violence they came here for. Their feet stomped down in rhythm, their shouts and jeers echoing as they leaned over the barriers.

To his side, somebody yelled in his ear – “That frog looks mighty tasty! When he loses, do you think he’ll be better fried or stewed?”

Booker simply turned and drove his fist into the man’s face in the same motion, launching him back into his drinking buddy’s arms with a broken nose and his smart remarks smeared over Booker’s knuckles. The guards clustered in, stopping those same drinking companions from drawing knives.

But in the ring below things were only getting worse.

It was clear now the rooster had been taunting Froggie. Letting him nearly land a hit, then throwing him back. And as that bare fact became more and more obvious, it let the game look more and more unfair, refusing to even let Froggie get close now.

Now, as Froggie tried to leap and scamper back into the ring’s center, the rooster was playing keep-away. Sonic shocks exploded from its horns in resonating pulses, ripping up the dirt as Froggie desperately zigzagged and swerved to evade them, flickering from one jump into the next as he dodged across no-man’s land.

It was no use.

Time…

And time again…

He was caught by a blast and sent tumbling, legs extended, an awkward croak bursting from his mouth as the air was punched out of his stomach.

Time and time again.

Booker’s own stomach began to turn, but he held on. Every second this match dragged on was another hope for the future, balanced by another drop of resentment at having to use Froggie as a living shield…

Across the arena, he caught sight of Wild Swan. The boy was watching with a thunderstruck expression, mouth faintly agape as Froggie endured the beating of a lifetime. A strange intensity had filled his eye.

For three heartbeats now, Froggie hadn’t stood up. The creature’s chest was rising and falling with steady breath, but it made no move to climb back to its feet.

He started to lift his hand, ready to call the match to an end. It wasn’t ideal but…

It was as much time as he could ask. More than I could ask…

But even as he raised his hand, Froggie let out a last, defiant ribbit, calling him to stop. It was as directly as any of his spirit beasts had ever ‘spoken’ to him – and now, with that last warcry, Froggie rolled onto his feet.

He lowered his hand and clenched it into a fist. Damnit…

The stubborn creature hadn’t given up. So neither would Booker.

Once more the scene played out, the rooster watching with imperious nonchalance as Froggie got up painfully, on limbs that shook now, deprived of strength. Whatever was coming next, it would be the last salvo in this fight.

Froggie kicked up into the air, launching himself backwards for once, instead of ceaselessly trying to advance.

And for once…

Although its head turned to track him, keeping him in the crosshairs…

The rooster didn’t dare fire off another destructive pulse.

And that was because Froggie had landed on the railing off the opposite balcony, directly in front of the elegant woman. In the whole battlefield, he had found the one place he could stand, and the rooster wouldn’t dare strike at him!

Wild Swan was biting his thumb, chewing and twisting fragments of nail away.

Froggie’s legs shifted, bracing for the leap. Fire licked up from his back, golden-green flares tightening down into solid jets as they condensed, becoming streams of blue that spat off brilliant white sparks. For a moment he drew every inch of power he could into his legs.

The rooster let out a strange croak, suddenly less confident…

Froggie roared. Like a comet-streak of blue – leaving scorch marks and splintered craters on the railing where he kicked off – he launched himself towards the rooster, an arrow leaving a bow. There was no escaping. The rooster wasn’t particularly quick or strong, besides its overpowering offense.

The crowd exploded into screams and shouts as the two met, head to head, Froggy’s craggy skull against the rooster’s horns, both lit up by blue flames.

Booker saw it happen. Saw one of those horns break open in a trail of embers, with a sound that clawed at his ears. Saw the rooster stumble back, struggling for footing.

Across the arena, Wild Swan let out a savage yell, cheering the toad on.

One more strike–

A grapple–

And Froggie could close the insurmountable distance between them.

But Froggie wasn’t standing back up.

Embers drifted to the ground, and Booker let out a reluctant sigh. It was over. Even though Froggie had landed his one decisive blow… Even then, it wasn’t enough… Froggie simply didn’t have the strength to stand up and finish the rooster off.

As the crowd let out a collective sigh, realizing the battle had come to such an unfortunate and premature end, Booker slid down the arena’s slopes to retrieve his beast. Lifting Froggie into the crook of his arms, he fed him a Wound Closing Pill and whispered, “You did good.”

Clambering back up with Froggie breathing slowly on his shoulder, Booker nodded to Snips. “Your turn.”

His wings flicked out, and the tiny mantis sailed down into the ring. On the opposite side, the lady’s final beast was padding down the slanted walls. It was a shaggy wildcat, its feet dyed midnight and the rest of its body banded in gray, brown, and black, the colors of flint. Its yellow eyes followed Snips with an air of a hunter facing down its prey.

Even the crowd was holding its breath now. The fights had gone from an excuse to see this upstart lose, to a genuine battle. Some were cheering for him – more for the woman.

“BEGIN!”

The cat dove forward– and vanished. Booker saw its paws strike the earth where its shadow lay, and sink through, vanishing and leaving its shadow behind like a dark stain.

“ASCEND!” He shouted, just in time for Snips to leap upwards. Even as he did so, the cat was emerging from beneath, erupting out of his shadow with claws outstretched. Snips barely wove aside in time, flickering up higher and higher.

But as he did, the cat’s claws raked across his shadow.

A tear ripped across one wing, and one leg came off entirely, yellow insect gore filling the sky as Booker flinched and clutched at the surface of his mask in sympathetic agony. The cat wasn’t just able to move through shadows – it could attack them as well.

Snips dodged back, flickering left and right to keep his shadow gliding out of reach, but his movements were awkward, weighted to one side. The cat prowled after, sliding smoothly in pursuit as Snips tried to zigzag out of its grip.

What a power… it’s a dead counter to Snips. Not purely offensive or defensive, but a pure movement technique, allowing you to strike from strange directions and move unpredictably. For an ambush predator like a cat…

It’s perfect.

She must have known I was locked to sending Froggy out in the second rebound – and held this beast back to counter Snips.

Suddenly, the tempo changed. As the cat lunged for Snip’s shadow, Snips dropped, wings suddenly folding as he executed a plunging scythe-strike from above. The cat barely managed to twist its body and reverse back in time.

But that move had planted Snips firmly on top of his shadow– right where the cat could explode up from beneath for the finishing blow.

Even now, the cat was recovering from the dodge with fluid and feline grace, sliding down into its shadow, ready to lunge–

And Snips began to glow. His wings fluttered behind him like a cape, and his body flared with points of blue luminescence. His shadow vanished, and there was suddenly nowhere for the cat to go. Nowhere but back the way it came–

Brilliant. I didn’t even know he could do that.

And Snips was waiting.

As the cat jumped free from its shadow, Snips flickered through the air and arrived with his scythe-claw ready to strike, kicking the cat off-balance with the force of his flight. In an instant the cat was sent tumbling onto its back – and Snips was left perched atop its shoulder, his claw raised above its neck.

There was a moment of silence…

And then Wei Qi screamed in victory, throwing his fist to the sky and grabbing Booker into a one-armed hug.

The hush in the fighting arena slowly broke into groans, howls of agony, and a few delighted cheers. Most of the room had taken early bets against Booker, back when his spirit beasts appeared laughably small and toothless. There were only a few who’d reaped the rewards of a long shot bet.

Booker forced his grip on the railings to relax, let his shoulders slumped, and breathed out a slow sigh of relief as Snips floated up to his shoulder, leaving the arena behind. Good job, little guy… The cat dropped through its shadow and reappeared in the arms of its master.

“Three impressive battles.” She said, gracious as ever. “The Mantis Sect is truly sheltering an interesting harvest this year.”

“You say that, but you appeared from nowhere, with a trail of hangers-on and strange spirit beasts. If I wasn’t here, you would have walked away with this tournament. Who are you?”

She smiled gently. “Take off your mask and I’ll give you an answer.”

Realizing there was no coming back from that, Booker simply bowed and stepped down from the balcony, Wei Qi beside him as they both shouldered through the crowd towards the gambling counter.

“I… I can’t believe we won that…” Wei Qi admitted.

“I didn’t have any doubts until she showed up.” Booker replied. He had to be cautious about what he said in this disguise, so he wanted to escape from Wei Qi as quickly as possible, before the apprentice pieced anything together. That ruled out celebrating together.

“Snips, you were incredible! And Froggie, and Zhi-Zhi! You all did great!” Wei Qi enthused.

As they reached the betting desk, Booker put down the slip of paper they’d given him with his bet. The clerk glanced at it and whistled, signaling for a moment and slipping into the back. When they returned the master of the betting house limped out with a cane alongside them, bowing to Booker.

“Extraordinary foresight, young master.”

As he spoke, the clerk counted out fifty ingots of silver into a velvet lined box. Each silver ingot was cast into a strange shape like it had been stamped by a hoof and written with authorizations from Mantis City and the Mantis Sect.

And for Wei Qi…

The deed to a plot within Mantis City, worth at least six hundred liang. The only complication was… there was already a dingy little hospital built there.

Two prizes Booker desperately needed. “One more thing.” He held up a gloved finger. “Can I count on your house guards for an escort out of here?”

The old man chuckled, and his rheumy, clouded eyes met Booker’s gaze through the mask. “I’m afraid they can’t be spared…”

Booker nodded wordlessly, and put his hand on Wei Qi’s shoulder. “We have to go.”

Wei Qi looked at him in confusion, but after a second, bit back his questions and nodded in blind trust. “Alright.”

Together they pushed to break free from the crowd as soon as possible, flooding out the doors with the drunken clientele. People pushed and shoved them blindly, or yelled angrily about the money they’d lost, some even grabbed at Booker – but at least they still respected Wei Qi’s robes as a symbol of the Sect.

When they broke free of the crowd, Booker was counting seven people trailing them. Seven rough-cut, disheveled creatures of the mountains, carrying clubs and knives. As the crowd dispersed across the city, their tail became more and more obvious, until even Wei Qi had noticed and was glancing nervously behind him.

“Don’t do that.” Booker advised.

“What?”

“Don’t look back. Then they know you know.” He explained.

“I– They can’t do anything here. It’s a main street. There are guards.” Wei Qi insisted.

“And there’s enough silver in this case to turn them into bandits too.” Booker shook his head. “Why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll handle this.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? You're– I mean– ah– thank you.” There was an uneasy moment, and Booker sensed Wei Qi holding something back. He's probably got a pretty fair suspicion who I am by now. I really need to be more careful, but I can salvage this. I just need to create another suspect and rule myself out, somehow.

Bowing his head, Wei Qi added, “I don’t know why you’re helping me, but that’s twice you’ve saved me. I– I’m grateful, and if the day ever comes where I can help you, just let me know.” And then he turned and departed down the street, leaving Booker alone to turn, facing their assailants.

The street thugs and toughs chuckled, people on the sides of the street retreating from the market stalls or gathering to the edge of rooftop balcones as it became clear a fight was brewing.

Ah, I just wish Wei Qi could have left Snips behind… He’d make this much simpler…

“Are you sure this is worth dying over?” One of the bandits said, stepping forward. “Could just walk away now, freak. Would keep your insides in.”

“I don’t think tonight is going to end well for you. Retreat, now.” Booker replied.

The man smirked, flipped his knife into a different grip, and advanced. The fight began like any other street brawl – with petty tricks. A feinted twitch, the start of a lunge, to psyche him out. A greasy yellow-toothed grin. And then the real attack, starting just the same, with a sudden half-lunge forward, to make him think it was another false start –

Only this time the knife flew from the man’s hand, arcing in a trail of silver towards Booker’s throat.

It landed quivering in the briefcase’s side as he lifted it to shield himself.

In the moment it took to lower his guard, the man had drawn the club off his belt and closed the distance, aiming an underhand blow for Booker’s hip. Booker twisted into the impact, but it still stung, nearly dropping his leg out from under him before he managed to square his stance, push up off the street, and whip the briefcase up in a harsh uppercut colliding with the man’s jaw.

A king’s ransom of heavy silver drove the wooden corner of the briefcase into the man’s skull.

He reeled back and Booker grabbed him, yanked him off-balance, and cracked the flat of his masked forehead down into the thug’s nose with a squishy, cartilaginous crunch.

With a shove, he threw the thug back into his compatriots, knocking two of them off balance. Another was rushing towards him now, a blade lifted high–

It never came down.

Instead, there was a peal of thunder and a flash of silvered blade, and the man’s sword shattered into a dozen pieces.

Wild Swan had arrived, holding his blade in one hand as a strange wind whipped through his robes, making them flutter behind him depicting the arc of the strike. He had descended from a rooftop, arriving without a footstep.

The thugs took one look at him and fled.

As they stood together on the street, Wild Swan sheathing his blade, people began to applaud the Sect’s young master for stepping in. He waved briefly, but his attention was all on Booker.

“You…” He said, his voice still faintly shaky from recent sickness. “Are you the same masked man who helped me?”

“I am.” Booker admitted. “But I don’t have long.”

“That’s fine. I wasn’t looking to talk, I just – I wanted to ask you to forget anything I might have said. I was sick and delirious, not in my right mind. Whatever I said – it was all meaningless babble. I hope you’ll be understanding.”

Booker looked at him slowly, then nodded. “If you wish.”

“You said I controlled my own destiny…” Wild Swan sighed. “I’d like to ask you someday, what that means.”

I hope I have a good answer… Booker thought. But all he said was, “Until then.”