Tim's room swirled and he was again standing in the throne room of a god.

"You have prepared yourselves well," Sateus said, lounging on its throne in its blurry humanoid shape.

"I'd not anticipated such resources made available," Emma said with a wicked smile on her lips, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the hazy form of the god. She closed the book she was holding and pressed it to her chest. "Victory indeed."

"Where is the fifth?" Ir'alith asked.

Tim looked around, but it was still only the four of them and the god.

"Patience, fairest of the demons," Sateus replied. Several sets of grinning teeth game into view on its head and torso. "I wished to gaze upon my champions in this way once again."

"So annoying," Scipio muttered.

Tim felt his palms growing clammy as the god's uttered statement became a suffocating silence that left him glancing at the other three. Why does that sound ominous? Like it won't be possible anymore soon?

"I have been announced," Sateus said. "The time has come."

A naked kid, looking to be in his late teens or early twenties, appeared suddenly and let out a short scream as he dropped face-down onto the ground just in front of the throne with a thud. The new, black-haired arrival pushed himself hurriedly to his feet. "Where…" He trailed off, and his eyes bulged as he skittered backwards, tripping over the edge of the throne in his terror.

Heat blasted into the room abruptly as though it had become a furnace, bringing with it a bright red light. Tim squinted as he looked towards its source.

Ir'alith's eyes glowed with a fierce, burning radiance that was impossible to look directly at, and the rest of her body had grown a dense armor of sword-like spikes, letting off a dull red glow of their own. "Kill," she said in a strange, too-quiet whisper.

His surroundings vanished again, and he was now standing in the middle of a small stadium with hundreds of creatures and beings he couldn't identify packing the stands.

"Drake Storm, champion of Sateus!" bellowed an androgynous voice.

The assembled crowd erupted into equal parts booing and cheering.

What the hell just happened? Who was that, and why was Ir'alith going full murder demon?

A tall figure armored from head to toe and holding a long staff stood twenty or so feet away at the opposite end of the arena. It began twirling and spinning the weapon in a complex pattern, looping it over its helmeted head and around its body, eliciting further shouts from the crowd, and finally ending by pointing one end towards him in a challenging motion, which was amplified by the angry expression painted on the large helmet's visor.

"Do not be distracted, my champion," the voice of Sateus whispered in his ear. "Victory is already within your grasp."

Tim started, taking a deep breath to center himself. I can win this. A staff gives range that I'll need to overcome. Normally that'd mean a quick approach to get inside, but with magic in play it's a little different. Depending on his speed, let's…

"Begin!" the androgynous voice shouted.

His opponent dashed towards him across the stone floor, but he'd already made his plan. He adjusted for his enemy's pace and cast the first spell.

Wall.

The wall of rock rose up just under the charging mountain of green armor, clipping his running opponent's booted foot as it emerged from the ground and causing a slight loss of balance.

A ten-out-of-ten spellcast.

Tim had started running forward at a slight angle, and he now corrected his path when he saw that his plan seemed likely to work.

Thorn Snare.

Vines shot out of the ground, grasping the same foot that had struck the wall, tugging it backwards for an instant and pulling his opponent a little more off balance. One armored fist planted on the ground to avoid falling over, and the other held the staff pointed towards him and starting to glow faintly with red light.

A deep growl that felt like it must be rattling his bones assaulted Tim as he sprinted in the last short distance he needed and squeezed his eyes shut.

Bright Field.

Blinding white light burst into existence beyond his eyelids for a moment, and he veered hard to his left in a half circle to avoid whatever spell was being cast at him. He reached the prone figure as it flailed. Given the amount of armor he was faced with and the overlapping nature of its scale-like sections, he wasn't feeling confident about his ability to land strikes to any great effect. Nonetheless, he had an opportunity now to test it out.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Inventory.

He discarded his claws and retrieved the greathammer that he'd stowed into the page he'd prepared for this fight and wound up for a ten-out-of-ten downward swing at the back of his opponent's chestpiece, not wanting to chance missing the head as it whipped from side to side in a disoriented state. The sound of the impact was stifled by the lingering effect of his spell, but his opponent arched his back in pain, and the crowd roared in response. He launched into a second swing based on the reaction, even though he couldn't see any visible damage to the armor.

A snake-like hissing sound assailed him as his second blow landed, and his opponent stiffened for a moment before rolling onto his side, dropping the staff and clutching at his back.

The greathammer was a ten-out-of-ten choice. Tim brought it down on his opponent's right arm, and a ten-out-of-ten crunch sounded in addition to the dull sound of striking the plating, though the armor still showed no damage. There was a mighty roar from his downed foe, followed by a hacking cough, both of which told him that he was winning. He wound up for a fourth swing.

His opponent jerked suddenly, pivoting on the uninjured arm underneath and swinging around in a flash with his long, armored legs to connect in an unexpected sweeping kick.

Tim shouted his dismay as he fell backwards in what felt like slow motion towards the ground. He started to push and roll away, but his opponent was the quicker, shoving off with that same, uninjured arm to land on top of him, resting a huge, armored leg to either side of his torso in a mount position.

Stoneskin.

His opponent's right arm dangled uselessly, but a gauntleted fist smashed into the right side of his helmet in a hammer blow that snapped his head painfully to the side. He raised his arm up to deflect the next strike.

"Bind," his opponent said in a whispered voice accompanied by a hacking, wet cough that ended with a thick liquid dripping down out of the painted faceplate of its green helmet.

Tim's arms were wrenched backwards until they touched the ground behind his head, and he was unable to move them no matter how he tried. He flailed with his legs and torso as best he could, but his opponent's armored body was too heavy for him to dislodge it even the slightest amount. His eyes widened in panic.

The left hand of his foe came down, landing with a clank on top of his helmet. "Sorry," the giant whispered, lapsing into more wheezing coughs that ended with more crimson blood dripping down its green armor.

Think. Think! What—

His helmet was wrenched from his head and tossed aside, and a fist slammed onto his face. His Stoneskin spell absorbed the blow, but it cracked immediately, and he felt the comforting tightness of it fade away on his left cheek.

Poison Web.

A web shot out, affixing itself to the armor, but there was no skin to make contact with, and his opponent did nothing more than let out a deep cough as it took a second to stretch its arm far enough to free it.

Armored fingers clenched once more and descended towards Tim's head. He needed to come up with a way to get out of this. He found himself wishing he'd spent time practicing grappling with Ir'alith, who he imagined would have pointed out this exact scenario and pummeled a defense for it into him.

There had to be something he could do to still win though.

He just had to think of it.

A brief sense of falling enveloped him.

Did I fail?

The fist stopped abruptly just in front of his nose. Fingers uncurled and picked roughly at the stone shell covering his face using the claws at their ends, gouging his skin lightly in the process. His opponent coughed more and with increasing frequency as it worked, clearing the stone away until his face was almost fully exposed. Then it stopped.

Shit, how fucking long does this bind spell last?! He continued to try moving his arms, but it was as though they had become one with the rock beneath him, and he remained unable to budge them.

"You," whispered his opponent, pointing at him with one clawed finger. "Understand?" It slipped into an even longer series of coughs, these ones weaker than those before.

"Yes?" Tim said, hoping to stall until the thing died from its wounds.

His foe let out a single laugh that was mostly a cough. "You. Promise," it said like it was forcing the word out, tapping his forehead with a clawed finger. "I yield."

Tim stared up in confusion. "What?" It wants me to promise something, and then it'll let me win? "Promise what?"

The armored hand rose up in a fist over his face just as the last of his Stoneskin spell crumbled away, a red orb of light beginning to form on it. "Promise," it whispered again. It coughed once more, swaying a little before it steadied itself. "Please."

Well, anything's better than getting punched to death. That thing broke through my Stoneskin in one punch, and I don't want to find out whether I can heal myself long enough that it'll keel over. "Alright, I promise. What am I—"

"Yield," his opponent whispered, collapsing and falling over onto its side. It disappeared immediately after.

Tim lay in place, still unable to move his hands. What the hell just happened.

"Railleth, champion of Igyn, is defeated! Drake Storm, champion of Sateus, is victorious!" shouted the announcer, though its androgynous voice was nearly drowned out by the booing.

"Rise, my champion." The indistinct, but still somehow crisp and clear voice of Sateus reached his ears, and the magic binding his arms vanished. He grabbed his nearby greathammer and rolled quickly to his feet, finding the god's indistinct form standing next to him.

"Look upon them," Sateus said, gesturing with a swirled arm to the furious crowd as the stadium seethed, many in the audience beginning to throw various objects ranging from food to spears. "This is your reward for the victory you have obtained for me here, Drake Storm."

Tim flinched as a giant spear veered slightly from its trajectory and passed by his head. "Some reward," he muttered as he considered the one-out-of-ten victory he'd earned. I'll do more grappling training to figure a better way out of that. Shit.

His surroundings changed, and they were again back in the throne room.

"What the fuck just happened anyway?" he asked after taking yet another deep breath.

Sateus stood in front of him, somehow managing to loom intimidatingly despite being shorter than him at that moment. It remained silent for several maddening seconds before it began to speak. "This is the story of a victory that will be witnessed by only a few," said the god.