27 days until the E grade Advancement Tournament.

Twenty-seven days.

Midnight skies and cheerful commotion greeted Lyra the moment she left her home. Even the secluded side streets of Reveller’s Octant lived up to their name. Wrapped in a cowl to escape recognition, E grade’s second ranked gladiator weaved through the crowded alleyways until she emerged onto Reveller’s Avenue.

Lyra wrapped her cloak tighter. There were still a few hours until Reveller’s was at its liveliest, but it would never be as empty as she’d like. Lyra couldn’t bear the drunken shouts and stares. They weren’t aimed at her, but she felt them press against her back anyway.

Just twenty-seven days.

She squinted her eyes and spotted the oncoming tram, focusing her eyes there to avoid any interaction. After it arrived, the near-empty carriage became her respite from the jam-packed avenue.

At the crossroads of late night and early morning, most people were still making their way towards Arenara Fortunis’ spiritual home of debauchery, not away from it. A few people joined her on her trip into the island’s centre, but everyone who wanted to see tonight’s main event had already been inside the coliseum for a few hours by now.

The pavilion didn’t have the bright lights and eternal energy of Reveller’s Avenue, but the quiet glow reflecting off each statue suited Lyra just fine. They guided her to her destination as she circled around the coliseum. Even shrouded by nighttime, the towering coliseum still glowed almost unnaturally bright. The stony stares of long-gone gladiators weighed down on Lyra as she turned her back on them.

Flickering shadows, cast by the thousands of flags above, kept moonlight from the cobblestones of Mystic’s Avenue. Lyra walked a familiar path down the old street but kept walking after passing Pavan Hall. She wasn’t looking for a curse specialist tonight.

She was looking for someone to fight.

Of course, she could’ve just gone to any street in Gladiator’s if she wanted a fight. She could’ve gone to the Pits if she wanted a good one. But there were too many people there. Too many eyes. Sympathetic smiles and vulturous grins would come in equal measure if she headed to that side of the island. Even at this hour.

She wasn’t ready for that yet. Until she was, she’d fight where no one cared to watch

Hemmed in by overbearing walls, Lyra walked alone, almost blindly, through the alleyways of Mystic’s.

A crow perched atop a nearby rooftop, its ruby red eyes one of the only sparks of light in the alleyway. It stared down at her, so she stared back.

A bolt clicked. A chain jangled. The squeal of rusty hinges caught Lyra’s ear before a single footstep persuaded her to turn around.

“Walked right past us.” A low voice croaked.

Faint red light crept out from the freshly opened doorway, exposing the silhouette of a man stood just outside it. Lyra didn’t recognise the figure, or his raspy voice, but she wagered she was in the right place.

If he wanted to attack me, he’d have tried already.

Lyra didn’t think the man would start anything, but she prepared for a fight anyway. The essence of strategy surged through Lyra as dozens of her spectral twins, visible only to her eyes, filled the narrow alleyway. Each one showing a potential future.

Every one of Lyra’s twins walked a different warpath, but the man in front of her remained completely still. He didn’t spawn any ethereal twins; he had no intention of moving a muscle unless she did first.

“I was recommended this place by Ten-Tails.” Said Lyra. “He said I can fight here and nobody’ll ask any questions.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Fox had recommended this place to Vega, and Lyra had done everything in her ability to stop her sister from ever coming here. Not that it had worked of course. Cage fights away from the coliseum’s watchful eye weren’t exactly the safest place to go and train.

But the people here wouldn’t pry. And if they glanced in her direction, it’d be because of her opponent’s screams for mercy, not because they wanted anything from her.

The shadowy figure giggled slightly.

“Ten-Tails? Well, If you’re half as exciting as that monster then it’s our lucky night. Any preferences for your opponent?”

“Two of them.” Said Lyra, tightening her fist by the hand axe clasped to her waist. “I want to fight two people at once. Who they are doesn’t matter.”

The man giggled again.

“Very well. Follow me.”

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Lyra turned over her shoulder for a second. The crow was gone.

She followed the man down a stone stairwell immediately after entering the building. Dim, red light illuminated the subterranean stairs and Lyra could barely make out the man walking just two steps in front of her. He walked almost silently and ran his fingers against the rough-hewn walls as he descended. Sparks skittered off his sharp, pointed nails as they etched into the tunnel, shedding tiny flecks of light onto his wrinkly, paper-white skin.

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A wash of cold air hit Lyra. She stopped walking.

Is this the barrier?

The man leading her stopped.

He turned around slightly and Lyra saw the edge of his mouth curl into a smile.

“First time?”

He giggled, before turning back and descending further.

“Try opening your rankings.”

His quiet laughter bounced off the walls, pounding Lyra’s ears.

She went back to following him and opened her rankings.

Well, she tried to.

The same golden screen that she’d seen thousands of times appeared beside her.

Except, it wasn’t even gold anymore. It was more of a murky brown. The text was pure gibberish. Lyra made out her name, but after a few more steps down, even that vanished. Soon, the letters weren’t even legible, and the numbers morphed into mere blurs. The screen’s edges muddled and faded with each step. When she reached the bottom of the tunnel, it completely vanished.

“Don’t worry.” Said the man. He stood next to a door and only partially turned back to her. “It’ll come back if you make it out. We just don’t want those guys watching what goes on down here.”

He let out another giggle before pushing open the door.

Lyra followed him through it until he gestured to a room on their right.

“Wait in here. I’ll collect you when I find your opponents.”

Lyra paused. She considered turning tail and walking out, wondering if this was really worth it to avoid the spotlight.

Twenty-seven days.

Lyra entered the room, resting against the back wall. She clenched her fists and forced out a deep, heavy breath.

Just twenty-seven days.

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Sparks skittered off Lyra’s exposed left arm. Her opponent’s fangs slid down it, barely leaving a scratch. He tried to wrench her wrist away, but Lyra’s axe was halfway towards his head already. Her counterattack forced him to let go and retreat.

Nice try Furball.

Furball wasn’t actually her opponent’s name. Nobody used names in the Shattered Cages. They all got by via grunts and hand gestures. Even the universal translator barely worked down here, Lyra had to get creative with each person she met.

Velvety black fur coated Furball’s entire body, or at least it did right now. When he’d first entered the ring, Lyra didn’t notice anything special about her to-be opponent. The slender man had wriggled through the rusty cage bars with ease and had stared at his feet the entire time.

A few seconds before the fight, Furball claimed his name. His muscles ballooned to double their size, ripping open holes in his clothes. A wave of panther-black fur rolled across his entire body, his fingertips shrunk, and a retractable claw shot out from each one of them.

Lyra heard a guttural gulp as Furball’s jaw unhinged. He gnashed his teeth at her, and she saw two sets of canines frame his grin.

Lyra pushed Furball directly into his teammate. Even after his transformation, Furball still held a lithe figure. He could probably still squeeze through the bars of their current arena if he wanted to.

His partner couldn’t say the same.

Fat Face, as Lyra had named him, had to wade over three broken off bars just to enter the ring. His overhanging gut drew blood on one of their rusted tips, but the colossal man didn’t seem to notice. Lyra almost heard her teeth click into each other with every step he took, her ankles and knees squealed just watching the behemoth slam his poor feet into the ground. Fat wrapped around his neck like a bloated collar, the poorly shaved bristles around it still had a brown food stain smeared across them.

Furball bounced off Fat Face’s swollen gut, ricocheting into the cage walls and breaking off another rusted bar.

Fat Face charged at Lyra the moment Furball moved aside. He swung his two-handed axe in a wide arc. Lyra dodged it easily, but Fat Face moved surprisingly gracefully for such a large man. He twirled the axe in a figure-of-eight and reversed his missed swing directly at Lyra.

But grace meant nothing when your opponent fought one step ahead.

Grey outlines, visible only to her, flooded the arena the instant Lyra activated her twin foresight. Hundreds of ethereal twin Fat Faces leapt out from the original, each one a potential future. Lyra flicked her eyes side to side, barely able track every possibility. Her mind stretched thin, straining to acknowledge each future.

But every millisecond, a spectral Fat Face vanished.

Another twin taken from the world.

Focus!

A ghostly Fat Face faded from possibility, revealing a charging Furball behind him. The feral warrior dove into her chest, grasping wildly at her limbs. His jaws clamped onto her shoulder.

Lyra snatched Furball’s wrist. Twisting his extended claws away from her. She took half a step back, twisting her shoulder as a spectral axe harmlessly pierced through the beast-man’s gut.

But the axe’s physical twin soon replaced it. And Fat Face was far from harmless.

His axe tore through Furball’s abdomen before ripping out of his side, spraying bloody gore over the cage’s dirt floor.

Furball squealed. His bite loosened, but he kept clinging on, jaws clenched as his fangs pressed against Lyra’s stone skin.

Hairline fractures needled through her body. A shuddering crack escaped Lyra’s shoulder.

Every twin Fat Face vanished.

Another twin replaced them, surging from within Lyra’s body.

Lyra’s fists shone bright with explosive light. She dropped her axe and clawed at her opponent’s jaw. Empowered by her twin’s strength, she pried away Furball’s fangs. One snapped inside her grip, Furball squealed in pain as she swung him towards Fat Face like a club. The mammoth man raised his axe to block but Lyra let go of Furball and backed off to the other side of the cage.

Finally able to breathe, Lyra checked her injured shoulder. Even beneath her armour, she felt the grinding of loose stone.

She wasn’t bleeding. She never would. But this injury would take far longer to recover, especially away from the coliseum’s eyes.

Lyra’s spectral twin faded. She stared down her opponents. Alone.

Unlike her shoulder, Furball’s gut injury was beginning to stitch itself together already. Lyra flicked her eyes between him and Fat Face, weighing up their threats.

As a gladiator, Lyra’s Harmony, or rather her path to Harmony, had been focused heavily on 1v1 matchups.

It’s what she’d needed to survive.

The essence of the twin was intertwined with duality, yet Lyra could only see one person’s future at a time. Two futures involved too many variables. Each opponent influenced the other’s strategy, and more importantly their future.

Her twin foresight simply couldn’t keep up.

That’s no excuse.

That won’t help me against them.

I’ve got twenty-seven days to figure something out.

Furball hadn’t fully recovered, but Lyra had already underestimated him once and he’d broken past her defences. She focused on his future and dozens of ethereal warriors flooded the cage.

Twenty-seven days to get stronger.

Twenty seven days of suffering was a lot. Lyra doubted she could do it just to help out Jay. She doubted she could do it for herself either.

But twenty-seven days for Vega?

Twenty-seven days for revenge?

I can do that.