Sam

Sam made her way through the crowds and caught Ratcatcher a short way outside the pit. She hit him with a brotherly handshake, but she must have been a little too enthusiastic, because he winced and yanked his hand away until she eventually let go.

“You did it!” she said, catching him under the armpit and propping him up when it looked like he was about to tip over from exhaustion. “How’s it feel?”

“Good, I think,” Ratcatcher replied in a thick voice, eyes half-lidded. “I still might puke and/or shit myself, but at least it’s for different reasons.”

“Yeah, you don’t look so good. Let’s get you back to your tent, yeah?”

Ratcatcher did not object, so she got him moving in that direction.

“You didn’t kill that guy, did you?”

The Artisan threw her a lop-sided grin. “It’s funny how people’s minds work. Everyone else who came up to me assumed I did kill him.”

“I won’t judge you if you did. I understand that things work differently here. It sounded like he was a bad guy, too.”

“No, you were right—I guess you inspired me.”

Sam nodded with a grin of her own. “Nice!”

She had to let him stop and rest several times on the way, and he actually did throw up once before they made it to the tent and she could get him vertical. There was no bed in there, but at least the floor was covered in thick tarpaulin to keep him off the dirt, and there was a pail of clean water so he could wash the bile out of his mouth.

“All right, where’s it hurt?” Sam asked, squatting beside him with a small towel slung over one shoulder.

“Stomach,” Ratcatcher groaned. “And sort of… all over. My head feels like an elephant’s been using it for ballet practice.”

“Is it all from skill fatigue?”

Ratcatcher nodded weakly. “That and the Strike I got hit with. I’ve never used so many skills all at once before.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I think so. Just need… a bit of a breather.”

Sam hiked up his tunic and found his entire midsection gone a dark, angry red. “Oof,” she murmured. That was going to make one epic bruise.

“How’s it look?” Ratcatcher asked, trying to crane his neck, but promptly let his head fall back down when it proved too much effort.

“Looks like the elephant did a couple spins on your belly, too.”

“Nice.”

“We’ll get you right, don’t worry. I’ve got healing gear back at my tent.”

“Thanks. You don’t need to waste it on me, though—I’ve already accomplished what I came here for. With the shape I’m in, I was thinking about dropping out.” He avoided her gaze like he was ashamed of saying it, looking up into the tent’s slanted top.

“That’s your choice to make,” Sam said in a tone she hoped was reassuring, letting his tunic drop. “You have to decide what’s right for you.”

“You’d never drop out of something like this, though, would you?”

She shrugged. “Probably not. But that’s me—I wouldn’t put much stock in that if I were you. Some people I know would call my approach to life suicidally stupid.”

“I don’t. I think it’s brave.”

Sam flashed a smile. “Thanks—I do too.”

Catcher’s voice got small. “But… I don’t want to die. Even if I were at my best, I doubt I could ever beat someone like Henke. And the way I am now…”

“Like I said, that’s your choice to make. There’s no shame in knowing when to bow out, live to fight another day.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The tent flap came open to admit another person. Looking back, Sam smiled and waved when she saw that it was Serene, a small canvas medicine bag tucked under one arm.

“Great timing,” Sam said. “Saved me a trip over to Hell-5.”

“I sincerely hope you weren’t planning on tending to him yourself,” Serene replied, crossing the small space so that she stood looking down on the supine Artisan. “No offense babe, but I don’t think you’ve got the delicate touch needed for that kind of work.”

Sam snorted with mock derision. “Good thing Dr. Serene came along, then.” She turned to Ratcatcher. “Oh, uh, this is Serene. She’s a buddy of mine.” Then, with a look back at the woman in question: “And I guess you already know who Ratcatcher is.”

“That’s right.” Serene got on her knees beside Ratcatcher and shooed Sam away with an insistent gesture. “You should go take a walk or something. Your friend here needs space to rest—the less people gawking at him, the better.”

Sam complied, standing away from the man with a shrug. “Whatever you say, doc.” Making her way to the tent flap, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Thanks for this. You’re a good friend.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Serene rolled her eyes. “Just go already.” But before Sam had made it a step, she said: “Wait! Almost forgot—your opponent for the next round has been decided.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, that Trader I told you about—Jax. I’ll meet up with you once I’m done here to talk strategy, so don’t go anywhere I can’t find you. You’re on soon.”

“You got it.”

* * *

Serene

As soon as Sam left, Serene turned her attention to Ratcatcher and gave him one of the practiced smiles that she knew looked perfectly charming and natural, even though she was dead on the inside.

“I caught some of your fight,” she lied. Nyx had received a report from someone else, and she, in turn, had informed Serene of the major points. “You were very impressive out there.”

The meek little man blushed deeply. “Oh, thank you. I mostly just got lucky, though—it was a pretty risky strategy.”

“It didn’t seem like luck to me.”

“Well, that’s good. In that case, maybe I didn’t look scared shitless, either.”

“You looked like you knew what you were doing.”

“Do winners always get this many compliments? I think you’d better stop, before it goes to my—” He cut off with a startled squeak when Serene hiked up his tunic, letting her fingers trail very lightly across his stomach as she went. When he failed to stammer out a coherent excuse for his unmanly display, he went even redder.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” Serene asked, putting on a servile, slightly vapid inflection.

Ratcatcher squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. “No, no, I just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“I see. I’m going to put some ointment on that bruising now, is that all right?”

The man’s eyes shot open again, swiveling onto her before sliding meekly aside. “Maybe I’d better do it myself.”

“Nonsense. Just lie there and rest.”

Reluctantly, Ratcatcher let his head drop. “Right. Sorry.”

Serene took a small jar of ointment out of the bag and scooped a whitish glob onto the ends of two fingers. It really was all high-quality stuff, and meticulously labeled too—she wondered idly how an odious fellow like Mongrel could have such a good eye for medicine. Maybe Nyx had procured it for him.

Ratcatcher flinched when she touched him, but to his credit he didn’t make any undignified noises this time—maybe because he had been bracing for it, jaw clenched and lips pressed white.

“I happened to hear you mention forfeiting the tournament when I came in,” Serene said casually as she rubbed the ointment into his battered skin, soft but assertive.

“Yeah, I’m thinking that might be for the best. I’ve already had more than my share of luck just to win the first match—probably shouldn’t push it further than that.”

“I don’t think you should drop out.”

“Why?”

“You’re too self-critical. You wouldn’t have made it this far without real talent, and I can tell you’re the type who thinks things through. You probably already have a plan figured out for how to beat the Hero, am I right?”

Ratcatcher hesitated. “Well… I guess so. But it would never work.”

“You’re only saying that because losing repeatedly has taught you to dream small. But you’ll never achieve greatness if you can’t even make yourself believe it might actually happen.”

“That’s…”

Serene rubbed a little harder, letting her thumbs trace the contours of the man’s abdominals, and he let out a small gasp that killed whatever he was about to say. She smiled reassuringly at him, and hated the lie of it.

Tell him, some small, altruistic part of her urged. Tell him to drop out. Crush his dreams. This man doesn’t need to die. He seemed nice. Too nice for a place like Darkside, anyway.

But she had her orders.

I should have kept my fucking mouth shut back there. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten dragged into this mess.

But something told her that she had been caught in Nyx’s web since the moment the demon laid eyes on her. Regardless, all she could do now was obey and hope to be released eventually.

“Do you really think I could win against Henke?” Ratcatcher asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Serene lied, and was surprised that a serpent’s hiss did not escape her forked tongue.

“But…”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Serene pulled her hands away and began wiping them on the edge of a towel, her skin hot and tingly from the potent ointment.

“Sure, I guess?”

She leaned close to the man, tucking back a stray strand of hair that fell over her face, and let her breath touch his ear as she whispered: “I’ve been with a lot of men. Weak, strong—everything in between. I only need to see a man once to know his measure.” She placed a finger against his chest when he tried to wriggle away, pinning him in place as though she had skewered him on a fork despite barely touching him. “I see a winner in you. And every girl likes a winner.”

She would have pushed a little more, but was interrupted when a pit attendant came into the tent, and she was forced to drop back to rest on her heels.

“I’m here to Donate AP for your next match, sir,” said the young attendant, bending slightly as he held out his left hand.

Ratcatcher hesitated, and Serene could see the conflict going on behind his eyes. If he was going to drop out, now would be the best time for it. Then, slowly, his gaze firmed, and he took the man’s hand. After a few seconds, seven of the attendant’s eight AP crystals had gone dark, and five alighted on Ratcatcher’s arm. After that, the attendant swiftly glided out of the room with only a few formal words in parting.

Ratcatcher looked down at his arm, as though in disbelief of what he had just done, clenching and unclenching his fist. Then he smiled. “Thank you, Serene,” he said, and looked her properly in the eye for the first time since she had walked in. “You’re a really kind person.”

Serene caught the compliment like a blade through the ribs. She had the fighter drink an analgesic, gave him another dose to take just before his fight, then all but fled from the tent.

Why am I like this? Why do I do these things?

Because of her, the young man in that tent was going to die. And for what? She didn’t really know herself. She had been told to do it, so she had simply carried out her orders like a good dog.

“Hello, dear,” came a smooth voice before she’d gotten a dozen steps outside, making her flinch. Nyx fell into step beside her, yellow eyes blazing.

“Most calamitous,” Serene murmured. “I did as you asked. Ratcatcher’s condition is not good, but he will fight.”

“I know these things already,” Nyx replied dismissively. She’d been listening in. Of course she had. “You did well, Catherine.”

Serene stopped in the muddy path, and a man swore at her as he shouldered roughly past her. She barely noticed.

No one called her Catherine. She definitely hadn’t told the demon her name, and she always kept her mental guard tight against being Identified, so how…?

“What’s the matter?” Nyx asked, turning. She carried herself like an empress—back straight, chest forward, and chin high—despite wearing an outfit that would have been better suited for Serene’s line of work. “Oh, I see. Yes, you can run along now.” She shooed at Serene with a little waggle of her fingers. “I’ll find you when I have need of you.”

Rather than voice any of the boiling outrage she felt, Serene slunk away, the shame over what she had done drowned under the relief of being let off the hook.