Twain snorted, then nodded at the ground. “He reminded me of someone.”

“Zalazar? You know someone like Zalazar?”

“Yeah, I met him… he was imprisoned in the castle. Xenozar, I think, was his name. Had long blonde hair, manacles, ragged pants… a bit older than Zalazar, if I’m remembering right. They kind of acted similar.”

“No, seriously. You know someone else who acts like Zalazar?” Spar asked, flabbergasted.

Twain glanced at him. “That’s right, you weren’t there, you showed up later. It was me and Felix. Yeah, it was weird. Didn’t think I’d run into someone else with that same, er… personality so soon.”

“Personality? Is that what we’re calling it?” Spar muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Twain crouched and examined the ground. This is around where we dropped off Zalazar. Tentatively, he sent a probe of moonlight into the earth.

Black spiked up at him. It snapped out of the ground and lashed out at him, a physical whip. Twain jumped back, startled, and almost fell over.

Spar caught him, frowning at the whip-like shadow. “What is that?”

The shadowy whip retreated into the ground. The black faded away, as if it had never been.

Twain stood, dusting off his knees. “Blight-vines. Happens sometimes when a plant gets blighted. Nasty buggers. Luckily, they’re still young. Unless you provoke them with light magic, they’ll leave you alone.”

Spar nodded. Glancing at Twain from the corner of his eye, he said, “Should you… purify them, maybe?”

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He shook his head. “I can’t. It’d alert anyone far enough gone to the blight, and therefore whoever’s spreading the blight.”

But… the demon princess came to me. If she’s spreading the blight, then she already knows. Twain pressed his lips together thoughtfully. No, no, there’s someone behind her. The demoness princess knows, but I don’t think she’s alerted her backer. Whoever it is, she doesn’t mind if they get burned.

“Is that true? Or are you just enjoying the power that comes with the blight?” Spar asked, hooking an eyebrow.

“I’m not… I’m not happy to be blighted. I’m not enjoying it,” Twain replied.

“Twain, it’s already getting to you. It hasn’t even been a whole day. I saw you in the Arena. You were going to kill those princesses. You have to purify yourself. It’s a problem.”

Twain shook his head. “I can’t, Spar. Not yet.”

“Why not? Why not, Twain? They’ll notice, they’ll notice… Do you really think no one has purified themselves from the Arena? Moon elves don’t have an exclusive license to purification spells. Hell, even light-elemental humans can purify. You can purify yourself. You can purify this ground. No one would be any the wiser.”

He clenched his fists. “If I get kicked out of the Arena, that’s the end of the investigation. We lose our lead. I can’t afford to lose.”

“You have to be blighted for that?”

Twain rounded on Spar. “My partner is useless, thanks to someone! I have to win all the battles, on my own! Everyone else is blighted too! It’s impossible. I can’t do it alone. I need… something.”

“And that something is blight?”

“I know how bad this is! I know. Friends have died of blight. I’ve watched them rot from the inside out, I…”

Spar gave him a skeptical look.

Twain sucked in a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I know I’m not okay. I know I have to get purified. Just… not yet. Not yet.”

Spar put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I’m saying this because I’m concerned about you, Twain. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“I don’t want you to kill me either,” Twain laughed. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, then put a hand on the wall of the alley. When he lifted it, a silver handprint shone on the brick for a second before fading away.

“I’ve marked the alley. If the blight spreads too far, it should notify me. If I have no other option, I’ll come back and purify the alley, regardless of anything else.”

Spar nodded. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He punched Spar lightly on the shoulder and smiled. “Let’s head back to the Arena. Best if we rest up for the fight tomorrow. Gotta put on a good show for the princesses, after all.”