The arena. The dirt. Cassidy always called it “the grinder.” Cyril clung to that name for it.

About sixty yards across in either direction, Gwyllion Hall’s training area was little more than a level surface for its wardens to make each other bloody and call it “practice.” One of the dorms worked as a shed for some exercise equipment. When Bu got that new couch in his office, the old one was thrown out back for voyeurs to watch the fights happen. They had gotten rid of that in Cyril’s absence.

Instead, a balcony had been built out of the second floor. Two passages above the boss’ office led to the raised platform overlooking the arena. Also vacant. Curious bystanders could look in on the action through the perimeter, but no one was there either. Bu appeared on the balcony just after Abine stormed out of the hall to meet Cyril in the grinder. The latter started stretching his legs, rocking his hips back and forth.

“Some over-the-hill daffodil wants to stand shoulder to shoulder with me?” Abine barked. “I’m about to kick your pasty arse back to the Central Continent.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Cyril said. It was hot. Bu was watching. He wanted to hit something.

The woman pulled the loops of her suspenders over her shoulders to fall limply at her side. Mana swelled in her body. Even inside Cyril could tell she was possessed.

Talented wardens almost always were. On its own, the mastery of mana offered some benefits; strength, speed, a faster recovery time for injuries and sickness. But, that’s all. Humans were incapable of channeling mana into any sort of spellcraft. Only by housing gwyll inside of their bodies could that mana be used to summon certain powers. This was the same process that produced monsters, the difference being that wardens can keep control of their own bodies and the powers that came with spiritual infestation.

When he was expelled from the SDO, they also relieved him off his denizen, the gwyll occupying his body. Cyril was confident he was the better warden than Abine, but he wasn’t absolutely sure he could defeat her without a denizen. It would depend on what kind of power her spirit had endowed upon her. And, of course, how well she could use it.

Some strange figures joined Bu on the balcony. With the sunlight behind them, Cyril couldn’t easily identify the strangers, but he was pretty sure that lanky kid was one of them.

“Sure you can look away?” Abine asked. Cyril hardly had time to glance at her when a beast was all over him. To exercise a denizen’s powers required a loss of humanity. Wardens transformed based on the gwyll inside of their bodies. The woman’s transformation had partially taken over. Her arms now bulged under her large shirt and white fur poked out from under it, growing up until there was a shallow collar around her neck. Empty black spots decorated the fur. Cyril was pretty sure her teeth had sharpened further into short knives.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The woman’s strength had grown tremendously, and it was all he could do to keep her claws from his throat. She reared back and threw her hands, paws, on his head. They shattered the earth on impact, growing little cracks in the surface. Cyril had swung his head out of the way. He could not escape her pin on his legs. She tried again and missed.

Cyril threw up his own hand at her neck. She easily swerved out of the swipe. Cyril threw his other and she dodged towards the opposite direction. He capitalized on that moment of leverage and spun their entanglement over to put Abine on her back. Somebody from the balcony was cheering for her.

Abine released her arm from their mess of limbs and scratched at Cyril’s eyes. The arm was too short to reach, but dust from the ground painted his face. He was blind and spat up the loose pebbles and dirt. Abine released the pin on Cyril, coiling her legs and burying her boots in the man’s ribs. He lost his breath and was tossed off of the woman.

“How ya like that, daffodil?” Abine asked. Cyril swiped the mess of his eyes, coughing up a lung. “I ain’t done with you just yet… no.” Cyril could only squint to see a big, blurry catgirl sauntering on up to him.

He did not cross an ocean just to get pummeled by the first warden he fought.

Cyril rocked his weight onto his back foot and kicked off of the ground, sliding through the dust to sweep Abine off of her feet. To the woman’s credit, she deftly somersaulted over his head. He noticed she had also grown a tail with her transformation. Abine fell to all fours and pounced, claws out. Cyril tried to copy the woman’s move, channeling mana into his legs and jumping over her.

His attempt was considerably more clumsy. He ended up skittering to the ground, where her landing hardly threw her off balance. Abine positioned herself for another lunge, shaking her tail in anticipation. Cyril crouched like he would try to jump over the cat girl again.

Abine was no slouch. Cyril was willing to concede that. She attacked quickly, and made use of his limited visibility. The man had very little opportunity to regroup from her speed. She adjusted for the man’s tactics, aiming her pounce too high to vault. Cyril wouldn’t try. He kicked the ground and slid under the path of her leap until he was directly underneath her. Half-blind, it might have been hard to judge such a thing, but he knew the moment he felt her shadow cross over his body.

Once that coolness braced him, Cyril stopped sliding. He swung his legs over his head and pushed with his hands off of the ground. The man’s leg impaled her belly. He felt something crack. Abine gasped and tried to suck in air. Cyril landed on his hands and knees, where Abine collapsed onto the earth.

Some meager applause could be heard from the balcony. Abine’s transformation retreated as she assumed a fully human form. Cyril swept the muck from his eyes to see his audience. Bu was the only one clapping.

Cyril shouted up to him, “Does this mean I get the job?”