Even after the end of Lobster Quatjur, Vil Kayman was one hell of a party town. Music flowed through the air regularly, dancing through the window of my room at the inn. Much of my time there was spent relaxing at the lovely, wooden rolltop desk and taking in the harmonica, concertina, and soulful lyrics. I spent almost an entire day there in thought, considering a choice before me that Red proposed. We had yet to properly schedule a battle in the coliseum because in doing so we had the choice of how many espers to register; two or three. The more we fought with, the greater the prize for victory as the League recognizes much of a chainer’s finances are dedicated to feeding and caring for their espers, but we’d also be facing an equivalent amount of espers from the Gladiator. On one hand, more financial stability was a tempting prospect on the next leg of our journey through the desert and both Wysteria and Grajo were much more capable than they were in Astonia. On the other, the balayang was far too small to fight. Even if he’d already grown an inch or two since I’d first linked him, it would be quite a while before he were any size for fighting, and taking out three opposing espers might still be a bit much for just the rest of the team.

“I wish we knew more about the new Gladiator,” I lamented over dinner Cinjur evening.

“I mean, it’d be nice but it’s only so much help,” he shrugged after swallowing a sizeable bite of fried catfish. “I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about it. Would it help us strategize? Sure. But it’s not like Gladiators got any obligation to make their rosters public, so havin’ intel like that is a luxury in the first place.”

“If we weren’t so far behind the rest of the circuit, we could just spectate a fight,” I grumbled to myself. “Or just ask somebody.”

“Quick kickin’ yourself for somethin’ you can’t help, chief. Even if we were closer to the rest of the circuit, even if we did know exactly what we’re up against, it’s not like we’re guaranteed to have a counter for it. Sometimes you just gotta let the espers do their thing and hope for the best, y’know? It’s not like there’s any shame in takin’ multiple attempts to score a victory at the coliseum.”

“Maybe we should take a few more days to train, then?” It felt a bit like grasping at straws, but it would put my mind at ease having some kind of advantage, or at least feeling like I did. “I have some Xp left to spend as well, if you think that’d help?”

“Every little bit does, but I wouldn’t sweat too much about it if you wanna hold some back.”

By now, Tanis and Red had both become familiar with my tendencies toward spending my experience. If I’d followed up on my original plan and dropped some of my stash into my Aptitude, I could reasonably expect to have twenty in stock after the next interval, which would give me ten to spend guilt-free. Twenty if I was willing to risk not needing the extra ten for an emergency spell or Trait, which I was since I got so much bonus Xp last time we won at a coliseum. He had a point, though; nothing was stopping me from learning, failing, and trying again. Hell, I could put up stakes here in Vil Kayman, get a steady enough job to keep the balayang fed until he became fully grown, and then take on the Gladiator and still probably have plenty of time to make the rest of the circuit and participate in the tournament. Three Barbavian months was more like four and a half Earth months, so the math seemed reasonable, though I was much less inclined to take the risk of something unexpected and terrible happening, forcing us to miss the tournament until next year. We weren’t in a rush, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be dallying overmuch. At the same time, taking a couple of swings at the fight probably wouldn’t take but a week or so at most.

“Have you decided if you’re addin’ the newbie to the team or not yet?”

“I think I just did,” I responded after scraping the bowl for the last slurp of gumbo. I leaned back in my chair and patted a full, happy tummy. “I’ve been waffling a lot and every time I think I’ve come to a decision, five minutes later I change my mind for what seems like a glaringly obvious reason. But… if we’ve got the time and resources to stay here for a couple runs at the coliseum, then it’s worth it to get the bigger payout when we finally succeed.”

“Sounds like we better set it up before you change your mind again. The League office is open for another hour,” he inclined his head toward the door, having finished his own meal. “I’d be happy to join ya, as usual.”

“Yeah, we probably should…”

Despite my conviction just seconds beforehand, a lump formed in my throat as the automobile of my anxiety warmed up its engine. Still, Red was right; there was no sense waiting around for things to change that wouldn’t. I paid for our meals and we walked through the balmy evening streets of Vil Kayman, warmth mitigated by the cool breeze and the setting sun. The capital of Marekaj had wide streets to accommodate the massive size of its primary percentage of population, looking even larger for the lack of food carts and celebrants. Everything was very organized into grids of buildings unlike the scattered settlements in Teren Balt, and there was enough room between most of them for alleyways, unlike the tight, clustered buildings in Astonia. The League office was about as nice as Magnolia Meadows, although obviously much smaller. A lazy fan made of dried reeds woven into the shape of a broad leaf twirled over the head of the l’garto behind the desk. She wore a silk shirt and crisp white pants, putting on a much more casual air than the man in Brum.

“Evenin’, sha! What can I do you for?”

“I’m Glenn Anura and this is Red. We’re here to register our team for a fight at the coliseum?”

“Ah, Red Company, right? I done heard about y’all. Matter o’ fact, we been expectin’ ya.”

“You… have?” I turned to Red, anticipating him nodding to inform me that was a thing; that the League communicated potential arrivals, but he shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. “Is… that a good thing?”

“Ain’t a bad thing,” she smiled. “Standard League rules, of course. Y’all are already registered, so that’s taken care of. Two espers or three?”

“Three,” I exhaled a breath I felt like I’d been holding since dinner. I didn’t like that she seemed to know the exact numbers of my dilemma. Both Red and the clerk back in Brum had suggested that they didn’t much keep up on people with a low media profile like us, so why did this lady know exactly what questions to ask?

“Still the terramor toad and the nachtkrapp, right?”

“And a balayang,” Red supplied with a nod.

“And a balayang~! Very good.” L’garto smiles still unnerved me a bit. Maybe it was from watching Captain Hook get swallowed up at the end of that Robin Williams film as a kid, or some kind of inborn concern for something with that big a mouth and that many teeth. I didn’t like feeling that way, but my stomach tightening at the sight of all those pearly whites wasn’t an intentional reaction. “We can fit y’all in as soon as tomorrow mornin’. Coliseum closes too soon to do it tonight,” she added.

“Can we do it at noon?” My mouth went dry as I blurted the time out. That was much faster than the fight against Alexsandr. I was expecting a few more days to work things out in my head, to train, but something inside me was inclined to get on with it. Maybe it was Michael’s voice urging his best Graham Chapman impression in the back of my skull.

“After breakfast, eh? Man after my own heart,” she purred, scratching down the appointment in her logbooks. “Well then, lovelies, you’re all set! Be sure to get yourselves a good night’s rest an’ eat well in the mornin’. I look forward to seein’ the show!”

Something about the entire affair didn’t sit right with me, but what’s done was done. I put any and all uneasy feelings from my mind and focused on the things I had influence over; making sure Wysteria and Grajo were well-fed and fighting fit, considering a Trait purchase before bed, and trusting in my team. Of course, believing in myself and making peace with the idea we might lose were also essential; if I wavered it would cost us victory, just like my unease in Yukiori undoubtedly had an influence on blowing the last fight. It wasn’t that I was blaming myself, I reasoned internally, just that I needed to be a stronger chainer for every challenge ahead of us. Red stopped me before I unlocked the door to our room, tugging at my pantleg.

“Hey.” He waited until I looked down to meet his golden-eyed gaze before continuing. “Relax. This ain’t life or death; it’s a League fight. There’ll be healers there besides you, an’ we do this for sport, not for blood. Don’t let that big balayang from before rent a room in your head, all right? An’ don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll either win or learn somethin’ so we win next time, right?”

“Right.” The words came a bit cracked and hoarse, my mouth still dry despite the humidity.

“You got this,” he assured me, patting me on the calf as I opened the door.

Sleep came more willingly than expected. I had anticipated needing to run through my own version of counting sheep at least once before submitting to slumber, but between the air conditioning orb in the room that was enchanted to emit a steady stream of frost and Tanis’ arms and one leg wrapped around my body, I felt comfortable and at peace. The last few hours of our night was spent talking strategy and discussing options for what we may need to do to make money if we ended up remaining in Vil Kayman longer than anticipated. Both of my companions were rather tight-lipped about their exact intentions, but they assured me they’d handle it if push came to shove. I suspected ‘minor crimes’ was their shared solution and didn’t pry any further to maintain plausible deniability.

Waking up felt like a chore, like I was going to my own execution or something. I lingered in bed well after my first brush with consciousness, drifting in and out of sleep for at least an half hour more before Tanis’ gentle voice urged me to get up and face the day. As much as I expected to feel detached from my eggs and crepes as I ate them, they were far too delicious and commanded my attention. A full meal left me feeling a bit more hopeful and a bit more confident as we made our way together to Vil Kayman’s coliseum; a large open-air stadium not unlike a baseball park. The reception chamber felt like an alternate flavor of the one in Brum with the same general structure of two registration desk with curved staircases beside them and concessions on the upper floor, but instead of the dark wood and bright colors of Astonia, it was a paler cedar decorated with woven reeds and spots of wicker. There was no esper statue standing regal in the center of the room, though there was a rather empty-looking pedestal with a very natural-looking pond full of flowers, plant life, and colorful catfish. In fact, a lot of the coliseum looked empty, but the other establishments in Vil Kayman did seem to prefer a more open-air, minimalist approach to design in their interiors. The five of us approached the right desk as we had in Brum while Tanis joined the short queue for spectator’s tickets, giving me a small peck on the cheek for luck before she departed.

“We’re Red Company,” I announced politely to the l’garto receptionist, who was altogether more scruffy-looking than I expected. “We have a fight at noon?”

“Sure do!” He laughed. “Glad to have ya. The Gladiator’s good n’ ready, so head into the hall on the right an’ we’ll fetch you just soon.”

The hall, again, was almost exactly the same as Brum with a small catering table, workout equipment, and seating. For the time being I preferred to stand, which was often my choice when my nerves were playing at me. The balayang was in my hands, awake and in a playful mood, so that kept me from going too deep into pessimistic thoughts. Unlike our bout against Alexsandr where the risk involved in approaching the fight was minimal and mostly in my head, we were walking into what amounted to a two-on-three fight. Grajo and Wysteria were tough and had only gotten stronger, but were they that tough? Was I that much more capable as a coach? It was me who threw in the towel while he was still willing to fight. Was my kindness holding him back more than helping him? Should I trust him better to know his limits? Wysteria was new to this, but Grajo was a veteran fighter. This was also a match with a lot more on the line than some extra money, although that certainly was a part of it. One of the most frustrating things about trying to put tactics was the truth to the old axiom ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy’. You had to have dozens of plans, hundreds even. Contingencies for everything that could and would go wrong. But that kind of behavior ultimately wouldn’t be very practical. One had to rely on the decision-making of their espers when the unexpected arose.

“Awright, Red Comp’ny. Allons!” The receptionist shook me from my trance with a giant, scaled arm and his snout peeking around the corner, beckoning us forward.

The sun hung fat in the air at high noon, and without the swamp’s heavy tree cover it forced me to squint my eyes. My purple and black dress robes were already sticking to me, skin damp with a sweat that was born of both nerves and heat. The stands were slightly fuller today, a dozen or so l’garto and a few mawon’nwa who were mostly silhouettes against the bright sky. Tanis was also easy enough to spot, the only humanoid shape among the rest. Just next to her was another l’garto whose hat gave him away as Sweet Henri. Unlike the previous coliseum, the circle of natural terrain surrounded by magic in the center of the arena was utterly barren earth. Solid ground seemed like a reasonable enough place to hold a battle, but I knew the kind of magic a Gladiator could employ before a fight and didn’t get too excited that Grajo and Wysteria wouldn’t have to deal with hazards.

“Entering the Vil Kayman Coliseum, the chainer Glenn Anura, Red Company, and their coach and namesake, Red the grimalkin!” I couldn’t quite see into the box and identify the League judge, but he certainly didn’t have a prominent accent like all the other locals I’d met possessed. His voice was rich and rolling with a flair for the dramatic: perfect for a sports announcer. Surprisingly, this time Tanis’ voice and applause weren’t the only ones I heard showing their support for the team. “They present challenge today in an entry-level contest under standard League rules to our new Gladiator… Yveline!”

My heart couldn’t decide whether to sink or eject itself from my throat as the mawon’nwa who saved my life and led us here stepped from the shadows below the stands at the opposite end of the pitch, so instead it fluttered sickeningly up and down. With every step, her magic expressed itself like a breath of life and the flat terrain within the barrier before me sprouted with verdant plant-life and blooming flowers. The earth darkened rapidly, moistening and softening at first to mud and then to the thick, murky water I’d become so familiar with traveling through the swamps of Marekaj. Yveline gave me a coy but somewhat apologetic nod, and I remembered the sound of her jeweled braids settling into place as she sat down more than I actually heard it above the roaring support of the crowd for their hometown hero.

“Three espers from each team will fight in single elimination format until that esper is unable to continue combat or the chainer concedes defeat,” the judge continued. I was, of course, familiar with the rules, but hearing them announced again put me into a place of calm focus that I welcomed. My heart stopped fluttering so much and I tried to ease out my nerves with a prolonged exhale. “Chainers can choose to withdraw and exchange their espers at any time during the fight by declaring their intentions, and the opponent is compelled to grant the competing esper egress until their replacement enters the arena.”

“Tree espers,” Yveline purred. “Wysteria, Grajo, and… piti?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“He is small for a fight, is he not?”

“He is.”

“Do you tink because of dis I will go easy on you? Dat my espers will hold back from what dey are capable of?”

“No,” I shook my head. “You’re a Gladiator, and you have the honor of your title to uphold. I expect you’ll give your best, just as you have in everything else I’ve seen you do.”

“Very well, den. Your first opponent will be against Ophelie, my first esper.”

“Then I’ll respond in kind. Wysteria?”

The terramor toad regarded me with a nod before hopping across the barrier and into the water. She landed with a splash, her eyes poking out just above the surface and indicating the artificial swamp couldn’t have been more than a few inches deep. Wysteria swam forward and met another small, swimming creature; a skrat with deep brown fur instead of the typical black I’d seen. On one hand, Wysteria had plenty of practice against this esper in particular. On the other, I wondered if it might not have some kind of special advantage indicated by its unusual coloration. Either way, we were about to find out. Wysteria was ready, Ophelie swam into place, the sun dappling every small wave made by her movement, and the crowd bubbled to a buzzing hype, all of us in anticipation of the judge’s magically-enhanced booming voice.

“BEGIN!!!”

The skrat out-sped Wysteria, breeching of the water and landing on her back with a vicious bite before she could really react. In response, Wysteria unleashed her Venomous Vapors and rolled into the water, trying to dislodge Ophelie. Unfortunately, the rodent’s claws dug in deep, causing croaks of pain amidst the splashing fracas. Despite her many advantages, Wysteria wasn’t equipped for someone of similar size to be assaulting her from above, as her primary method of attack aside from her vapors was her own powerful jaws. I didn’t like how little I could see of her in the water, with all the mud occluding the finer points of their battle, but the skrat was making just as many pained noises, so I took that as a positive. Or, at least, less negative than my sweet Wysteria getting her ass handed to her in a one-sided contest.

“Come on, Wysteria!” Red whooped it up and began clapping. I wasn’t sure how much she could hear, but encouragement sounded better than silence, so I joined him.

“Get out from under her! Come on, Wysteria! I believe in you!”

It’s impossible to know how much cheering her on really helped, but in any case she finally managed to dislodge the skrat and waddled to a small bank of dry land. Ophelie stayed in pursuit, an incredible swimmer in her own right, moving through the water with a determined wiggle of her hips and long tail. The poison seemed to be having more of an affect on her now than when she first arrived on the pitch, however, and she frequently had to poke her bone-covered nose out of the water to gasp for air. This slight advantage granted Wysteria enough opportunity to dive from the land and into the water, splatting directly on top of her opponent in a literal frog splash.

“Órale, vato!” I slapped my chest a few times in excitement, but stopped short of the chest-shaking gesture Eddie Guerrero was equally famous for. Was it gauche to mark out for my own esper? Perhaps. But I was overflowing with pride for her in that moment.

Cloudy bubbles began floating up from the water where Wysteria had pinned Ophelie, the occasional squeak or croak eking from the water as they began their struggle anew. This time it was the terramor toad on top, and while the skrat had a neck more capable of reaching around and biting at her opponent, Wysteria was holding on tight and using her commendable weight to keep her down, focusing any spare moment to unleash the noxious lavender fumes. They seemed to be not doing quite as much as they had against other skrats, but the water may have played a larger factor in their successful dispersal and, as a Gladiator’s esper, Ophelie was no doubt more tenacious, more durable. Eventually the fight in the water grew still, only Wysteria’s blinking eyes visible protruding above the surface.

“Enough,” Yveline snapped. Dutifully, my friend the terramor toad backed off her opponent and Ophelie limply began paddling her way back toward her team’s end of the court. “Typically I am de one pushing opponents to de brink of drowning in mini-Marekaj. I assumed your amphibious ally would have de advantage here.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The skrat climbed up out of the water and collapsed beside Yveline, who nudged a cup of broth toward her with a paw. After a moment of labored breathing, Ophelie righted herself and lapped at the brew, which seemed to abate the effects of Venomous Vapors. Within the swamp, Wysteria had at some point made her way back to dry land, perched proudly with something of a smile on her typically implacable lips. There were a couple of small scratches and bite marks on her body, but only one deep enough that it was still bleeding. I winced at the sight, a motherly instinct within me burning for the pain she must be feeling. The toad, however, looked unshaken. Emboldened, even. She blinked the left eye, then the right, and looked over her shoulder toward Red and I.

“Good job, Wysteria!” I smiled. “Are you all right to stay in?” She burped in response, then brought her attention back to the fight.

“The first fall goes to the challenger,” the judge announced, and the healthier Vil Kayman crowd gave its response of mixed cheers and boos. It kind of sucked to have people actively rooting against me, but the unquestioning support from so many people I’d never even met tempered those bad feelings. “Yveline, please prepare your second esper. Red Company, do you wish to substitute at this time?”

“No, we do not.”

“Well done, Glenn Anura. You may not know dis, but I have not long been a chainer. Only last year did I make my first challenge to become Grand Champion, and while it was a failing effort it impressed de people of Marekaj enough dat I was nominated as Gladiator when my esteemed predecessor swam on to his next life.”

“Something we have in common, then,” I nodded. “Both being new to the sport, I mean. This is my first attempt.”

“I know,” she smirked. “I would have remembered you, an’ you would have remembered me. But de ting to remember most is dat I have been across Barbavia myself, and not every esper I train is native to Marekaj. Raphael!”

A leathery flap of wings beat down from above, and out of the sky came a round silhouette, blackened by a dive straight out of the sun. He entered the pitch and slowed to a stop, hovering in place with steady flaps. The massive singular green eye at his center brought an image I hadn’t ever quite seen in reality before; only through sketches and the dim haze of the veil on that fateful night Red and I made our first acquaintance. Unlike the others, this oeivolant was red in color, and several small fang-like spikes dotted its brow, spine, and pointed tail. He opened his equally toothy maw to bellow wordlessly, though Wysteria took the intimidation tactic about as well as she took anything else; with unperturbed silence. Despite her stony resolve, I was more than a little worried for her. She’d taken a few hits from the skrat to be sure, and I don’t know how many uses of her poison gas she had remaining before she was too exhausted to continue. Assuming the energy she needed to fuel her powers worked like my relationship with mana, there couldn’t be that much left in the tank. Switching her out for Grajo seemed like it might be the wiser course of action, but she didn’t look half as worried as I was, so I put my faith in her determination and kept my mouth shut for now.

“BEGIN!!!” The judge’s amped-up delivery shocked me a little, and I almost jumped.

Raphael the oeivolant swooped down immediately, catching Wysteria in both sets of talons and flinging her upward. They were smaller than Grajo’s and looked less built for strikes and more equipped to grapple a branch or small prey, but when he was using them to fling her end-over-end I wasn’t sure their inherent sharpness was much the point. Wysteria’s limbs flailed as she soared, but fortunately she landed in the water with a thick ‘plop’. Before nerves could turn my pride into fear, her head bobbed up out of the water just in time to belch poison in Raphael’s open mouth. This caused him to cough and sputter, and while he had been diving in for a follow-up attack, he was now rolling through the murky mire himself, squeezing his eye shut and flapping at his own face with both wings.

“What do you think her odds are?” I said quietly to Red, hand covering my mouth from the crowd for a little extra privacy.

“Hard to say, chief,” he shrugged and spoke in a similar tone. “Wysteria’s got a lot of fight in her, but without some kinda ranged attack or a crazy-high jump she’s gonna have a tough time against somethin’ that can fly. An’ I’ve had my share of run-ins with these winged eyeball bastards; they ain’t slouches at the worst of times.”

The toad followed Raphael as he rolled, exhaling what appeared to be the last gasp of her thinning poison cloud at him. He threw a weak kick her way, then battered her with his wings before taking off into the sky once more. Wysteria squared herself in anticipation of a return attack, and when he swooped low enough she leapt, throwing tiny toad slaps straight into his open eye. With a peeper the size of a basketball that took up most of your head, it was hard to miss, and I was surprised they weren’t more protected from direct assault. He swore in Esperlang as she struck and flew upward, though Wysteria held on, digging her toes into his lower eyelid as she continued to slap him right in the sclera. Everyone seemed to collectively cringe at the ocular assault as Raphael tried in vain to bite Wysteria, both of them soaring higher. Visions of Grajo’s finishing move against Ingvar the rock troll played in my mind, and even with water below I questioned Wysteria’s response to being dropped from so high up.

“Don’t let him drop you!” I cried out.

At this altitude I wasn’t sure what her options were, but her grip on Raphael’s body seemed tighter than one might expect from hands and feet that were neither sticky nor terribly dexterous. After reaching what the oeivolant must have felt was an acceptable height, he rolled forward in an attempt to pitch her off his body, but she held fast and stayed in the same spot, slapping him a few more times in the eye for the temerity of trying to shake her. Raphael rolled again, losing altitude as he did, but still Wysteria refused to relent. This was when his plan seemed to change, and instead of trying to maintain flight between his spins, he began speeding up the forward roll, tucking in his wings and swinging them both at an impressive plummet toward the muck below. I gritted my teeth as they struck, Wysteria sandwiched between the mud and Raphael’s spherical body. Water spraying from the point of impact, hiding all but the red-skinned creature backing away from the spot. My heart was in my throat and pumping like the twitchy nose of a hare scenting a predator on the wind. Eventually, Wysteria weakly burbled to the surface, her eyes half-lidded and seeming to point in different directions.

“That’s enough! Get back, Wysteria!”

It took her a moment to remember which direction our team was in, but she eventually made her way out of the water and rolled to a stop beside us. I rushed to meet her, throwing magic into her body to mend as many wounds as I could, just as Yveline had given her skrat some restorative brew upon her removal from the pitch. In that same vein, like when I had substituted Grajo out between fights in Brum, I had officially withdrawn Wysteria and she was no longer eligible to compete. That was fine; the more important thing was that she survived, and I saw not a trace of argument from her about the decision. My magic seemed to be filling her back out in addition to mending her wounds, though I doubted it would’ve restored the energy spent to activate her abilities. Perhaps there was a spell for that? I’d have to do some research.

“The second fall goes to the Gladiator! Red Company, please call your second esper to the pitch! Yveline, do you wish to substitute at this time?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Raphael will see this to its conclusion.”

For someone who had so selflessly tended to my wounds and brought me back from the brink of death, Yveline seemed to have a much stronger competitive streak in her than I did. Red had suggested long ago I find that within myself and bring it out to give me more drive to fight, so instead of letting the attitude roll off my back as was typically my preference, I took her smug words and balled them up, tossing them into my own inner furnace.

“Raphael’s already almost choked out from Wysteria’s poison. You sure you don’t wanna tap him out before things get worse?”

“It may only be by a year, but I am still a veteran compared to you, Glenn. He will remain in play.” A smile tugged upward at the corners of her muzzle that I couldn’t quite place.

Grajo dutifully soared into the arena, lighting on a sturdy bit of greenery jutting up from the swamp. Raphael, meanwhile, coughed up a few lungfuls of Venomous Vapors before turning back to quirk a quizzical eyebrow at his chainer. Neither esper was supremely equipped to fight in the water, which was perhaps precisely why Yveline employed an oeivolant; both as a counter to espers better in the air and to surprise someone with only land or water-based options. Hell, just throwing an unexpected surprise onto the field in general would be more than enough to shatter a lesser chainer’s expectations. It certainly would’ve cost me my wherewithal not so long ago. Having an ace in the hole might benefit my team in the future, and I resolved to also keep that option in mind; if I could stick to a team of six espers with a few options for alternates, it could play to my advantage. I wondered if that was legal once we hit the tournament, and reminded myself to ask Red later, when more pressing matters weren’t at hand.

“BEGIN!”

Being a faster esper who wasn’t currently full of terramor venom, Grajo had the initiative against Raphael. He flew into attack with both legs, talons scratching at that already-injured eye. This time, Raphael was anticipating the attack and squeezed it shut. Thick though it was, a nachtkrapp’s predatorial claws slashing at one’s eyelid couldn’t be pleasant in the least. In response, Raphael beat his heavier wings and opened his mouth, snapping it for any bit of Grajo he could grasp. The oeivolant had stronger wings, and it was becoming more difficult for the avian to keep up his assault while maintaining position in the sky. This opened him up to get his ankle chomped down on, the same one that was twisted the wrong way during the fight against Alexsandr. The injury was old and long since healed, but the flashbacks of it being bent out of place curdled all of breakfast’s eggs and sweet cream within my gut.

Grajo squawked in pain, then forced his body forward to rain pecks down upon the oeivolant’s dome! Raphael opened his mouth to let his opponent go and re-position, revealing that Grajo had clamped his talons down around the mighty tongue of his foe! A massive, sloppy tear rolled out from Raphael’s closed eye, poison coursing through his body as claws dug into what was likely the most sensitive part of his body and a sharp, pointed beak drilled repeatedly into his skull. He only managed a few cursory swipes with his own talons and a few forced flaps of his leathery wings to throw the bird off his body before he relented and hung helpless at Grajo’s mercy. His eye opened and lolled backward toward his chainer, and Grajo paused his assault to meet her gaze.

“Patetik,” she spat, then raised her voice to be heard by the judge. “I withdraw Raphael.”

“Third fall to the challenger! This is Yveline’s final esper! Red Company, do you wish to substitute at this time?”

“Nope.”

Grajo released his quarry and let him fall. He caught himself with his wings before he could hit the water and fluttered weakly back across the barrier that kept the chainers and spectators safe from the effects of the fight. Noticeably, I didn’t even have the slightest damp stain on my robes, despite the various spurts of water that were kicked up over the course of the battle. My nachtkrapp friend looked back at me with his good eye, nodding. He rolled his ankle joint to keep it loose and mobile, and it was thankfully still pointed in the appropriate direction. This was it; Grajo was my last functional esper and only a little worse for wear against Yveline’s final combatant. For a moment, I thought she hadn’t called a replacement forth, but as two eyestalks popped up above the water, I recognized her bunyip for what it was. My interactions with them in the wild were brief, merely glimpsing them as I followed the path that would eventually take me to the balayang ‘father’ and son. The entry in the Grimoire di Magi e Mythe I’d read earlier was a jumbled mess, even with Arcane Sight, as I’d gathered one would have to be linked to me before I could learn more like I had with grimalkin, terramor toads, and nachtkrapp. It looked unassuming enough, sort of like a cartoonish, black-skinned frog-thing with blueish lips. But Yveline would have to be a special kind of idiot to save her weakest esper for last.

“Yindi…” her voice was almost a growl, “finish dis.”

“BEGIN!!!”

There were a lot of forms of attack I could’ve expected from the bunyip, though her neck elongating unnaturally and stretching up to bite at Grajo was not one of the. Even he seemed unnerved by it, and I wondered if he ever had occasion to do battle with a bunyip before. Grajo dodged out of the way of Yindi’s snapping jaws, a flutter of feathers easily outpacing the almost laboriously slow approach of her head. He continued to try evasive maneuvers, but she seemed to be able to easily change the direction of her elastic neck and it showed no sign of stopping the chase. Her mouth was so toothy, so upsettingly similar to a human’s. It was almost like she was grinning at him before her hungry jaws attempted another bite. Shaking the disturbing image from my psyche, I took a deep breath and cried out to the nachtkrapp.

“Don’t let her get in your head, Grajo! Go on the offensive!”

Wysteria was notoriously unflappable, even fighting Alexsandr’s midgarsormr with minimal panic for how obnoxiously outsized she was, but there was a vast gulf between ‘this thing is bigger than me’ when you’ve always been small and the abject horror of ‘this thing isn’t obeying physics and is smirking at me about it’ that the veteran esper was currently experiencing. My voice seemed to calm his nerves somewhat, however, and he opted to assault an earlier point in the bunyip’s apatosaurus-like neck. Claws scraped into flesh, and Yindi made less of a cry of pain and more of a giggly ‘oops’ sound before suddenly retracting the whole thing back into her body with a squelchy snap. Grajo took off like a rocket, doubling back to swoop in with a dart-like attack from his beak. The bunyip attempted another extend-o-snap, but the nachtkrapp still had her outclassed in speed. Confidence taking him, Grajo rounded again, a clash of claws drawing crimson before he bolted away out of range of Yindi’s slow approach.

“Chanje taktik! Mete l 'nan dòmi!”

If there was one way to obfuscate tactical suggestions, it was through using a language your opponent didn’t speak. Yindi got the message well enough, of course, and instead of using her too-human teeth to snap at Grajo on his next dive, she exhaled a cloud of glittery, pearlescent gas. Not expecting that in the least, Grajo got several deep breaths of it before he could react, and his good eye immediately rolled back into his head. The nachtkrapp hit the dirt like a puppet with his strings cut and my heart sank, until it sank further when he rose like those strings had been reattached. Moving in sickening pantomime of flight las though some great invisible child were playing with his body like a toy, he abruptly began to scream for a few seconds before it suddenly stopped. Reflexively I cupped my hands to my ears, never being a fan of movie jump-scares and even less fond of the ones in real life. My skin crawled with terror watching my friend at the mercy of whatever it was the bunyip had done.

“What the hell is that!?”

“Dreaming Mist,” Yveline supplied, no small amount of pride in her voice. “A couple of follow-up techniques as well, all within de powerful purview of de bunyip. Your nachtkrapp is currently living out some of his worst, most painful memories an’ nightmares. Yindi is an exceptional user of its many nuances, of course. She very nearly won de tournament for me not dat long ago.”

“That’s messed up!” I shouted in protest.

“That’s esper battlin’, chief,” Red shrugged. “Ugly, but no uglier than claws an’ teeth.”

“I have a spell that mends wounds; I don’t have one that clears up nightmares.” It might not be the most articulate defense, but I felt strongly about it being a screwed-up way to approach the fight. I added ‘spell that reverses psychological damage’ to the list of arcana I wanted to research. “What the hell do we do about this!?”

“Nothin’ much we can do, besides withdraw him. Unless Grajo snaps out of it himself, he’s kinda at Yindi’s mercy.” I liked that even less.

“GRAJO!” My fists struck the barrier between myself and the fight, drawing the bunyip’s attention for a few seconds, but apparently not long enough to break her spell. I pounded against it a few more times, the sparking energy electric and warm against my hands. Tauntingly, the bunyip extended its eyestalks toward me and blinked its weird little humanoid eyes, which only made me pound against the barrier harder and yell louder. “Wake up, Grajo!”

Instead of another round of shrieking and spasming, the nachtkrapp just sort of twitched. After another moment, he dropped from his puppetted position into the water, but Yindi still had her eyes on me. There was no rule I was aware of about being a distraction to the espers in the fight, so I kept up the façade, trying not to give away that it was only a delaying tactic. Grajo bobbed out of the water, shaking his head off and seeing the entire display. He looked the worst I’d ever seen him, feathers puffed out and his good eye dilated in terror, but his resolve was even stronger than mine. He puffed himself up, then took flight again. Yindi heard him exit the water and began to retract her eyestalks, but not before Grajo bit clean through one of them. The other retracted quickly, like a tape measure shooting back into its wheel upon the stopper being released, and Yveline’s esper screamed in not-quite-human-but-still-too-close fashion, like a goat or deer.

“That’s esper battlin’,” Red repeated with something of a smug grin. There was a point made beneath his pride in Grajo’s ruthlessness that severing an eyestalk was probably just as bad as psychological torture, but I knew for sure one wound would be forgotten by tomorrow.

Perhaps as a defense mechanism, Yindi began releasing cloud after cloud of prismatic smoke from her mouth. Fear shuddering through his body, Grajo backpedaled away from it so hard he tripped and fell backward into the water. He found his feet again, half-flying, half-running to hop out of the barrier. I tried to hold up my hands to discourage him, but he was much too quick and passed cleanly through to light beside me.

“Not again,” he shuddered.

“Fourth fall goes to the Gladiator,” announced the judge as the crowd went wild. “Red Company, send in your final esper!”

But in truth, I had no final esper. I ground my teeth to stop myself from raising my voice to Grajo or anyone else. Before the fight I had resolved to trust my espers more, and if that included their determination to fight, it had to include their desire to forfeit. Looking in his eye, still too large for the calculated, proud being he was, there was no way I could force him back into the fight, even at my angriest. A loss was a loss, and though it crushed my chest to admit defeat, I turned to face the judge and offer our surrender. We could try again another time; we had worked out a contingency for exactly this. I drew a preparatory breath into my lungs, but before I could get out more than a monosyllabic grunt, the balayang suddenly flew off his perch on my shoulder.

“What are you doing!?” I hissed, but it was too late. He was past the barrier and into the small, artificial swamp. He looked over his shoulder at me and made a chirping sound of enthusiasm, then continued his flight to the center of the ring. I turned to Red, and I’m sure my eyes were wild with unexpected fear and exasperation. “What is he doing!?”

“I guess he wants to fight,” Red shrugged again, his eyes still on the balayang. “Kid’s growin’ up fast. But then, they all do.”

“He’s a child!” Emotion rose my voice above the conspiratorial whisper we usually talked strategy in, but it didn’t seem quite enough to alert anyone else. “It’s not safe in there, does he even know what he’s doing?”

“He is young in years,” Grajo began, “days even. But he has learned much in a short amount of time. This, perhaps, will be another lesson.” He had a point. I wasn’t used to beings with such a short development cycle. Was a matter of days to him equivalent to years for me? Had he gone from a baby to a six-year-old in that amount of time? A sixteen-year-old? Was there even an appropriate comparison?

“What if he hurts himself?”

“Then it would be a particularly important lesson, yes?” Try as I might, I could not argue with that. Something between a steadying breath and a sigh ran through me, and I turned to face the battlefield.

“… BEGIN!!!”

The balayang was fast. Faster than Ophelie, Raphael, or even Grajo. Like a dragonfly he darted in a zig-zag pattern toward Yindi’s missing eyestalk, and though the bunyip stretched her neck out to reach around and try to bite him, he stayed well out of the way of her gnashing teeth. The blind spot was increased by her having retracted the one that was still attached into her body, giving her even more the impression of a strange ‘uncanny valley’ humanoid face. Still, every time she closed those denture-like choppers with a snap my stomach churned at the thought of how easily she could crush his body, or even swallow him whole. Esper fights weren’t supposed to be to the death, but how could one teach something so self-motivated temperance? Surely a composed woman like Yveline hadn’t encouraged the mocking gestures Yindi had made at me. My muscles ached from the tension I was keeping in my body. The balayang was doing well enough to outpace his opponent, but eventually he’d have to go on the offensive and I couldn’t imagine his tiny claws and teeth would be much more than a minor irritation to the bulldog-sized esper he was battling. Well, bulldog-sized save for the ever-elongating neck. That she chose this method of assault and not the incredibly effective Dreaming Mist made me wonder if she was out of energy or whatever other mojo was required to produce it. Perhaps with the balayang’s size, she felt it wasn’t worth the effort. The little winged creature finally paused and hovered in place a few feet in front of me, making a big show of huffing and puffing from the effort of flight. I almost cried out at him to keep moving as Yindi’s jaws came creeping closer, her neck extending under itself and her head upside-down. But then the balayang stopped putting up a show, smiled at me, and zipped away suddenly. The second his plan came to fruition an hysterical laugh cracked from my throat.

It was genius.

Yindi sped ninety degrees after the balayang in an attempt to consume him with such a sudden lunge that it drew the rest of her neck taught. Her mouth contorted into a concerned grimace and she risked popping out her remaining eyestalk to assess the situation; through the balayang’s flight and that final snap, she had managed to tie her entire neck into a knot. Once realization sunk in, Yindi lost her own unnerving composure and started wailing again, trying in vain to retract her neck from itself. After a few celebratory victory laps around the pitch, the balayang swooped in and began gnawing on her remaining stalk, causing her to retract it once more. Though she was still healthy, she was far too panicked to continue the fight, and Yveline hung her head in bemused defeat as Yindi wobbled back to her chainer, pleading for assistance.

“Your winners… RRRRED COMPANYYYYY!!!” My skin tingled with the judge’s announcement as a rush of intermingled relief and pride exploded through me. I was instantly exhausted and energized, disbelief fighting with joy as the balayang came fluttering out of the pitch to chirp enthusiastically at me.

“You clever little bastard!” I laughed. Not wanting to deny him his due, I turned to Grajo and gave him a small bow. “You were right. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

He bobbed his head and gave the impression of a smirk in response, but that was soon overtaken by Red rushing up to heap praise on the balayang and celebrate with us. He lighted on my upraised fist, and Red clasped my hand and Grajo’s wing to the celebratory crowd. Even though they may have wanted Yveline to win, it was an exciting fight, and every spectator was thrilled to be going home happy having seen a hell of a fight. That was the Vil Kayman way; any opportunity to rejoice was more important than sour grapes.

“Dat was an embarrassing defeat,” Yveline admitted, having made her way around the pitch to meet my team. “I’ll be sure not to allow it to happen again.”

“Glad I could show you something new,” I chuckled. “I really thought you had us, there.”

“I very nearly did,” she agreed. “I am surprised you put so much faith in an esper so small. Have you committed to a name for him yet?”

“I’ve been thinking about that… that language you speak sometimes, that you said ‘piti’ came from—”

“Nupale,” she interjected. “It is the ancestral tongue of the mawon’nwa.”

“What’s the Nupale word for ‘bravery’?”

“Kouraj.” She was careful to enunciate each syllable instructively, but again a smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth to show those brilliant white teeth.

“Kouraj it is, then.”

“I expect to see him at the tournament, then,” Yveline added as she turned to make her departure.

“Count on it.”