“Seriously, Miriam, why?” Wolfe asked, motioning around at the huge black limousine they were all riding in. It could seat four or five people beside one another on each side of the ridiculously large vehicle. Since it was just Wolfe, Shel, Derek, Ahmed, Victor, and Miriam herself in the giant car, it felt extra ostentatious.

And that wasn’t even talking about the ceiling skull motif, or the skull etched on the hood of the limo.

Miriam smiled at Wolfe as she ran one delicate hand across the plush seat. “It just fits my vibe, you know?”

“Couldn’t you just get a nice, slightly low-key vehicle with some protection?” Wolfe asked.

Miriam just laughed and smiled at Ahmed, then turned slightly away from him in the seat. “Massage please, Ahmed.”

The Egyptian man began to knead at her shoulders, and Miriam sighed contentedly, relaxing into his touch but keeping her eyes on Wolfe the whole time.

“I read about this for one of my police academy classes,” Shel said, quite seriously. “It’s called Deckbearer Apotheosis Syndrome. Someone gets some cards, can order monsters and maybe minions around, they can put mantles onto themselves… it goes to their head and they kinda go crazy with the power. More than a few deckbearers end up selling their cards to cover debts they acquire.”

Derek laughed, and Miriam frowned and opened her mouth.

Wolfe beat her to the punch. “It’s just old-fashioned ego, you don’t need a damned college degree to make up special words for it.”

Miriam glared and her cheeks pinked slightly. “It’s camouflage, assholes. I’m never going to be as scary as Dad, not in person, at least. He used fear and anger to rule and hide his intelligence and plans. It was easy for him. He was even bigger than you, Wolfe, and had a voice that sounded like the judgment of the Divine. But I don’t have any of that. So I do what you do, Wolfe—I conceal.”

“You conceal?” Wolfe asked skeptically.

She kept going. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, Wolfe. You act physically aggressive, but you’re always quiet with your intelligence and plans. You pretend to be a thug to conceal your real capabilities. You have cars that look way cheaper than you can afford, but you always get them quietly upgraded. Well, this car has the same upgrades—on top of that, the seats themselves are massively armored. We can simply lie down and probably survive anything short of a tank’s big gun, although the limo can’t take more than pistol and sub-machine gun type fire and keep functioning. But we’ll survive. It’s the same thing.”

Wolfe snorted. “Again, nothing about this is hidden, Miriam. You bray your existence and importance to the world.”

She was no longer glaring, but she had a serious intensity about her that Wolfe had only seen a couple times before, usually when she talked about her abuse at the hands of her evil older brother. Her intelligence and force of personality shown through in a way they didn’t normally, and for a moment, she somehow resembled Big Man Grimm more than anyone Wolfe had ever seen.

Miriam motioned down to herself. “I’m twenty-two, a club owner, beautiful—”

“Humble,” Derek muttered.

“—the daughter of a very wealthy dead man, and absolute top of my class in law school. No one is going to believe I’m dumb, or a ditz, or afraid… but they might believe I’m a spoiled, eccentric rich kid with idiot notions about cards and power and the games I’m playing.”

She relaxed again, and old Miriam, sardonic but playful, was back. “Not that it isn’t real, to a degree. I do love the pageantry and drama of it all, and…”

She reached her hands out, putting one finger one each hand on Shel’s and Wolfe’s knees and slowly dragging them back, “—I would actually, for real, love to take the two of you for some playtime. Offer will be open when you guys get bored.”

Shel blushed, and Miriam smiled at her and licked her lips.

Ahmed frowned, but kept kneading.

Miriam leaned back into Ahmed as she finished. “But that doesn’t mean a lot of my act isn’t a disguise—it’s my armor, Wolfe. None of the other Noimoire bosses spend too much time worrying about Thad’s poor, spoiled little daughter, in over her head. And even Victor never figured out what my escape plan for all this was till you showed up.”

Wolfe gave brief thought to what she had said and nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. I’ll stop talking about it.

With that in mind, we have a present for you,” Wolfe continued.

Miriam sighed and sensually stretched in Ahmed’s grasp, obviously hamming it up. “I love presents, Wolfy. What did you get me?”

“A card—a companion card. It’s called Malik the Soul Devourer. But I guess it’s only half a gift, as I expect your support in turn.”

Wolfe held it out, and Miriam leaned forward, all of the playfulness gone from her.

Malik, Soul Devourer

Unique Tier-7, Power-2 equivalent Undead/Shadow Companion

0 Power

Health: 15

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Attack: 0

Magic Attack: 10

Defense: 5

Magic Defense: 5

Special: Incorporeal (Immune to physical attacks)

Special: If Malik gets the killing blow on an enemy deckbearer, Malik’s deckbearer gains a card as if it was drawn randomly from a rare Undead or Shadow pack. This only works against deckbearers who received ‘god gifted’ decks on Drop Night.

Special: Considered a wraith for all things that would affect a wraith.

“Malik, Soul Devourer, was once a mere wraith. But a thousand years in the Deadlands, feeding on the souls of powerful departed he was lucky enough to find, has made him into something more.”

“Wow, a gift? Really?” Miriam asked. “This might sell for a million on the open market. Probably more, actually. Companion cards are crazy rare and free of power cost. I bet it’d go for at least two million. Sure you want to make a gift of this to me?”

Wolfe nodded, but he stared at Miriam. “A partial gift. Next dungeon Victor finds for you, assuming he does, Shel and I go and get equal shares, fair?”

“Of course,” Miriam said. “I owe you one whole dungeon, and one partial one, already. One more won’t hurt.”

“Well then, if you get your dainty little hands on any cards for my deck, return the favor. I know you’re trustworthy.” Wolfe paused, then smirked at her. “Even if you are a bit touched.”

Miriam laughed. “Fair. I’ll be sure to make it up to you. What did you do with the rest of whatever deck you got this from?”

“We sold it,” Shel said, holding her phone forward. “We sold it at a discount to Gavin’s, the card auction company. But they gave us immediate cash for use—including when we get to the Hidden Arena. We’re hoping that some people there will have decent Mortal or Divine cards for sale.”

“Finally going to work on your deck, huh?” Miriam said, then wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “It’s so good to see my little girl all grown up.”

Shel blushed.

Something outside drew Miriam’s gaze, and she nodded to the window. “We’re almost there.”

Wolfe felt himself tensing. He understood the plan, and the necessity of it—but he didn’t like it. It went against all his animal instincts.

The limo turned into a parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence. A man at the front, with a suspicious bulge under his black suit, looked at their vehicle and then unlocked a gate, ushering the limo into the parking lot.

A separate van waited there—a van that gave off ‘want some candy, kid?” kidnapping vibes harder than any vehicle Wolfe had seen before. Tinted windows, duct tape on parts of it, and a large amount of wear and tear proclaimed how unsavory it was to the world.

“More camouflage?” Shel asked hopefully as they drove in.

“What?” Wolfe asked.

“Like Miriam, it’s just cover… that isn’t actually a van where everything terrible happens, right?”

Wolfe snorted. “Probably not.”

The limo stopped, and Wolfe, Shel, Miriam, and her three men all got out of the vehicle. Two men were waiting beside the van, and the third came up behind them.

He reached up to grab Wolfe, and Wolfe batted his hands aside. “Hey, I’m not judging your personal tastes, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Har har,” the guard said mirthlessly, a slight hint of a British accent detectable in his voice. “Pat down. No weapons allowed.”

“And if I don’t agree?” Wolfe asked.

“You don’t agree, you don’t go. That’s it. Now don’t make me make this a cavity search.”

“You know I’m a deckbearer, right? That I can summon doom at any time?”

The guard looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Yeah, fair, I suppose I am headed to an Arena,” Wolfe muttered, embarrassed.

He sighed and held his hands up. The guard patted him down, finding no weapons, and then went through the others. He might not have had a sense of humor, but Wolfe noted he did have a sense of professionalism—he didn’t take even the slightest liberty with Shel or Miriam.

“Alright, you’re either clean or you’ve got guns in your prison purses. Good enough. Now the blindfolds.”

Wolfe tensed, but allowed the other guard to come up and place a thick cloth over his eyes. He briefly wondered about the fact that even if the Arena was hidden, this transaction was semi-visible in the daylight—but he put it from his mind. If they got caught, it was their problem. No law against using any Arena, after all.

When the guards had tied the blindfolds in place, they carefully helped everyone into the van. Wolfe sat on what felt like a cheap wooden bench, as if the owners were now going out of their way to make the van as unpalatable as possible. He could smell sweat and fear, and tried to calm himself, adding to neither as best he could.

“Under the right circumstances, this could be hot,” Miriam said, but Wolfe caught a slight undertone to her voice. He would have bet his companion card that she was playing around to hide her own nervousness.

Shel coughed, and Derek muttered, “Sorry.”

A moment later, she leaned against Wolfe’s side.

The drive lasted all of five minutes, which at least told Wolfe what district the Arena was in, roughly. He was pretty sure he heard a metal garage being pulled down before the van door opened, letting in stale, dusty air.

Then one of the guards took his arm. “Follow me.”

Wolfe was led across what he was almost positive was a parking garage cement floor, then stopped. A slight chunk of metal settling into place came a bit after, and then a slight whirr of machinery.

The guard pushed slightly on Wolfe’s elbow, and he walked forward. He stepped onto what he thought was carpet, and the floor settled very slightly. Then the whole room began to move downward.

“Alright, you buggers can take the eyewear off,” the guard said in a bored voice.

Wolfe reached up and removed the blindfold.

“Thank the Divine, it is just an elevator,” Victor muttered, and the guard gave a more genuine laugh.

They were, in fact, just in an elevator—one slightly old and worn-looking, but not uncared for. It had a mirror on one side, and cheap brown paneling on the other three.

After a moment, the elevator clunked to a stop, and Wolfe saw they had reached “B2,” which he assumed was the second-floor basement.

The doors opened, looking onto a huge balcony, about fifty feet wide, that curved in a circle around the top of a massive arena. The arena itself was in an even larger cave—smooth stone made up the ceiling and the walls on the outside of the balcony, except for a few places where concrete and faux brick had been put up, around the elevators. Wiring ran across the natural stone ceiling, held in place by metal prongs hammered into the stalactites and ceiling itself. A few parts of the walls had power lines as well, and they snaked across the smooth wooden floor of the balcony to the tables across the balcony and the sitting bar that ringed the arena for easy viewing. It was cool, but not cold, in the giant natural cavern, and numerous people watched an ongoing fight in the arena that Wolfe couldn’t see.

A huge number of anthropomorphic rats, mostly women in slinky cocktail dresses that seemed like they should have come from an eighties casino floor, worked the tables that lined the place, and the bar that ran around the entire edge of the arena, passing out drinks and snacks. Near the wall on one side, a large makeshift bar and sitting area was where the drinks were coming from, and huge, plush couches dominated that edge of the cavern.

“Wow,” Shel said. “My Dad took us to the Three Fires Arena once, a couple years ago, but somehow, I never imagined that this place would have the same level of grandeur. Especially since it’s nearly empty.”

A man stepped up to them. He was thin and dressed in an expensive gray suit, and a cloud of cigar smoke trailed after him like a thought bubble. His hair was thinning as well, and even the hand he held out was long and boney.

“Welcome to the Rat Arena,” the man said.