Sidrick staggered to his feet. His ankle stabbed with pain. Some of his ribs were definitely cracked. His right hand was barely able to form a fist—he held onto Cyrina with sheer willpower at this point. That he wasn’t a pile of crumpled bones and flesh was a testament to her strength and his own enhancements.

Above him was a hail of incoming rock shards. He limped as fast as he could toward the largest rock, ducking behind it as the first shards landed.

Rocks shattered all around him. Small pebbles and a wave of dirt struck against him as a large shard crashed close by. Then a horrifying boom crashed out from above.

Sidrick scrambled out of the way as his cover fell to pieces. A few small shards—more like large knives—struck him. Two glanced off. A third cut his side. The fourth stabbed into his good leg.

Sidrick cursed and ripped it out. He winced at the pain but steeled himself as he stood.

He would not be killed by falling rocks.

The rest of the shards fell painlessly around him. As Sidrick hobbled away, he made the horrible decision of looking back.

The top of the pyramid he’d ridden was being cut through. Its own claw had failed, and its opponent wasn’t wasting the opportunity. Tendrils of lava lashed out in desperation, their ends solidifying into blades, blunt weapons, anything the crabs thought of. Molten rock sprayed around the battlefield. As a collection of tendrils was severed by the opponent’s rock blade, a curtain of lava was thrown toward Sidrick.

The larger rocks were too far.

He was too injured to run.

And he was out of mana.

What was he supposed to do?

#

Oswin appeared in his safehouse and fell to his knees as he caught his breath. The coordinate anchor had worked, but teleporting always left him aching. Rielle stirred in his arms, flickering in and out of consciousness.

“Oswin!” Neria cried. She rushed over and streamed healing magic into him. It felt like settling into a nice warm bath.

Alaratt came in next, stone plates shifting on his skin as he knelt. He placed a hand on Rielle’s head. Mind magic pulsed through her.

“She won’t be up for a day or two,” Alaratt said.

Oswin nodded. “Is Navir—“

“Present? Yes,” Navir said, slipping out from the shadows. His eyes were a soup of color with a dozen pupils each, all of them shifting about as they surveyed the local space. “Our plan went perfectly.”

Oswin stood. He felt like a damn fool as he met Navir’s gaze. “There’s a man that helped me. One of his projects. I promised him safety. He doesn’t have a marker.”

Even if he had just attacked him… Oswin clenched his fists. He knew she would heal. He knew. But still.

“If he’s involved, it could just be a trap,” Neria said.

Oswin’s gaze stayed locked on Navir’s.

“Transport to this location is impossible,” Navir said, his voice tinged with a grating rasp. “However, I can intercept the Arches’ marker and send him to the other participants.”

“Do it.”

Neria tensed. “Oswin—“

“Some idiot killed the march’s leader,” Oswin said. Sidrick would die if he stayed.

“Then I suggest we leave once I cast my spell.” Navir gestured. The currents stirred around him, flowing past their feet in a twisting fog. “The Arches will be alerted as soon as I’m done. They’ll trace us.”

“Just get him to safety,” Oswin said. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Of course. Then… Ah.” The currents came to a stop. Navir’s pupils merged into one. “He’s been swept away.”

#

Sidrick felt space pull against him. For an instant, he was thrown into the Ethereal, the torrent of raw, arcane mana ripping into him. Then he landed on stone tiles. He groaned and took a breath as he steadied himself. His vision swam, and it took all his willpower to stay standing. If his wounds were bad before, they were a fourth of the way to fatal now.

Stumbling, his vision recovered enough to make out a figure coming toward him. A healer?

No, he thought. Nothing ever went his way. Why would it be different now? Besides…

He had invaded an important trial, worked with another invader to kidnap a legal contestant, and his teleport had been incredibly delayed.

A warm reception was unlikely.

As if to answer his thoughts, the approaching figure lit his hammer up with ghostly green mana. An enhancement spell or visual trick. More likely the former. The man didn’t look strong enough to be carrying the hammer, which probably meant he already had enhancements. Then again, this was nonhuman territory. Maybe he just had muscles that were twice as dense…

Sidrick blinked as he stopped his thoughts from wandering. Not every mage needed deep consideration. Just the ones throwing rocks when you threw scissors.

Layla’s hammer techniques flashed through his mind. He stepped forward. Only to have something strike him in the back.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He staggered and whirled around. A boy with illusory gauntlets advanced for a follow up. But the strike was slow, with the boy balancing on just one good leg. Sidrick moved and struck the side of his face with Cyrina, then jerked him down into a knee strike. Before the boy fell to the ground, he picked him up by his neck.

He looked at the hammer mage. “Take another step and I squeeze.”

“Go ahead,” the mage said as he took another step.

Sidrick did.

The boy squirmed in his grip, gagging as he flailed his arms. Sidrick cried out as one strike drove into his cracked ribs. Gritting his teeth, he cracked Cyrina’s spine into the boy’s side. He cried out in pain.

“Next one shatters your ribs,” Sidrick said.

The boy stopped and started to cry. Tears ran down Sidrick’s hand.

“Come closer and I squeeze harder,” Sidrick said, his gaze fixed on the hammer mage. “Rush over and you might even hear the crunch.”

The hammer mage stopped.

“Good choice,” Sidrick said. His sight was finally clearing… With a quick glance around, he found an array of the March’s participants. Most of them were pretending not to pay attention. Some had already loaded their spells. A few cradled the dead and wounded. The room they were in was elaborately decorated with runes and arrays. The nonmagical decor hovered between gaudy and good taste, with all the inlaid gold reminding Sidrick of Yenoriha’s palaces.

Doors… None that he could see. No guards either. Well, none he could recognize as such.

The pain from his wounds was getting worse as the adrenaline wore off. Fighting was about to get much, much harder. The chance of a sympathetic healer here was slim, and it wasn’t like they’d be swayed by…

Well. The hammer mage didn’t want the hostage harmed.

Sidrick found a healer wearing a bloodied green uniform. He was tending to someone with almost half their right side crushed. Not moving. Well, the only thing occupying the healer was denial.

“Healer!” Sidrick called.

He looked up. His hair was an array of clay-like branches, and it looked like there were roots growing under his skin. As if the body was just an article of clothing. A tree healer… Nice to know the story books weren’t off by much.

“I need you to heal me. Worst wounds first.”

“No.”

Sidrick shook his hostage. “Do you want the song and dance or do you want to start doing your damn job?”

The healer was about to reply when a girl appeared in a clear part of the hall.

Everyone went still.

It was the sniper.

A bell rang above them. Sidrick looked up, half expecting it to be Oswin. All he saw was a disc covered in arrays. It began to spin, each rotation throwing a small array into the air to hover around it.

“Chosen, on behalf of the council, I, Jiet Hof, congratulate you for making it past the first round,” a man’s voice played as one of the scripts evaporated. “Your first reward is relief from your injuries.”

Another script evaporated.

Foreign mana surged through Sidrick’s body. The boy he was holding was pushed away from his grasp. All around him, the Chosen were healed. Small cuts to crushed limbs, all recovered.

Not him.

Sidrick grit his teeth and started toward the healer. Someone grabbed his arm from behind. He was about to lash out before realizing who it was.

“Please take this,” the sniper said as she placed a vial of thick red liquid in his hand. “It’ll heal you.”

Sidrick blinked. The sniper was short, and her presence was softer than it should’ve been, like a whisper given life. Her red hair was covered by a half shredded hood, and her mask was half shattered, revealing ghostly silver eyes. They were blank and aimless. Blind?

“I don’t need…” Sidrick stopped. “Thank you.”

He quickly uncapped the bottle and stared at its contents. Half of him screamed poison. The other jabbed at his injuries, pointed to the rapidly healing, hostile Chosen, and called him stupid for hesitating even half a second.

Downing the potion, Sidrick almost gagged at the taste. Red liquid surged through his channels, setting his skin alight as his wounds rapidly closed. He groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry. Dragon Red is effective but… Sorry,” the sniper said, her voice sincere. “It’s the best I can do.”

“It’s… fine…” Sidrick managed. He gripped Cyrina tight as he fell to a knee. Rather than regrow his tissue properly, the potion seemed to burn it off, then fill in the gaps according to its own whims. The flesh came out a gnarly red that sparkled in the light. Like a type of gemstone.

Like a dragon scale, he supposed.

Some of the potion wormed into his reservoir. It dripped onto its clear surface and dyed it with hideous blotches of red. They could be cleansed with effort, but his magic would be just a little harder to control. Still… the trickle of mana now filling his reservoir outweighed any damage being done.

“The second reward,” Jiet Hof said, “is the pick of an enchanted item from the council’s collection. Choose well. It may become a symbol of your House, a key to your advancement, or even a crutch that destroys your future growth. Our eyes will be turned away, so choose freely. As per the rules of a broken march, the last to enter this room chooses first.”

The sniper placed a hand on Sidrick’s shoulder. “Hold on until—“

Space pulled, and she vanished. Cool air and a puff of fog fell over Sidrick’s shoulders. Switched, not teleported.

He staggered to his feet as the potion finished most of its work. His mana reservoir was only a quarter full.

Eyes turned to him. Rage, fear, and above all, blame.

Sidrick opened Cyrina.

“Our brothers and sisters are dead because you helped her,” the hammer mage said, stepping toward him.

“Stop!” the tree healer said, coming over to stand between them. “We can’t fight until the next round. You know that, Kausett. It would only hurt our standings. Even disqualify us.”

Sidrick raised a brow. He glanced around and noticed most of the others backing down. Even the boy he took hostage.

The healer glanced at Sidrick. “He can be judged in the competition. And if not there, by the Arches themselves.”

“Fine,” Kausett growled. He set down his hammer with a heavy clang. “As a favor to House Durlendire.”

The healer made a face but didn’t reply.

“Wait!” Sidrick said. “Why—“

“Galgua’s laws might mean little to you, stranger, but not to me,” the healer cut him off as he went back to his dead partner.

Sidrick watched him go, unable to find a reply. He looked around at the other Chosen. A few stole glances at him, but most… Most sat crying or mourning. Or cradling the dead. As if all the rage, the fear, and the blame had melted away. Like the moment had simply passed. Maybe the hammer mage had a point. If he had just let the sniper die, how many would still be alive? All he had wanted was to…

Sidrick took a deep breath, doing his best to set those thoughts aside. He would destroy himself later. For now, he needed whatever trace amounts of sanity he had left.

He spotted one girl sitting on the ground trying to sweep the fresh blood off her clothes. All she did was smear it all over her hands. Did she not know how to draw blood from her clothes? It was a simple affless spell, so general and boring you could use it no matter your affinity. Most soldiers knew it.

Sidrick approached her. She only noticed when he kneeled next to her. Panic blossomed in her eyes as her mana surged.

“Stop. Please. Let me help you. I can get the blood off,” Sidrick said as he set Cyrina down. Drawing the array was harder with his hands as a patchwork of scale and skin.

The girl watched with fearful curiosity as he gestured to her bloodied clothes. The undried blood rolled down from her clothes and skin, pooling on the floor between them. Thankfully, the spell still worked when translated to Linean.

The girl watched him silently withdraw.

He looked around and saw others like her. He… Sidrick swallowed. It was an utter waste of mana. A pointless gesture. Most of them would probably push him away.

Still, it was all he could offer.