Every time Otis learnt something about the world he found himself in, it left him feeling smaller and more preyed upon than he thought possible. He got powers but some cult had immediately tried to kill him. He was saved but he was hated for having a "Path" that felt as if it were already set. He managed to survive the outcome of that hatred and made friends but he was now enslaved and forced to fight battles to the death. It kept getting worse and worse. This time, potentially targeted by people who literally owned him... it felt like there might not be a way out.

As a late bloomer, he should have greater flexibility. He should have had options. Where were they? Where had those options ever been? This label branded him as someone worthy of hate and whoever knew about it clearly wanted him dead because of it. Granted, if there was any worth to his being a late bloomer it was just as likely that someone else had abused their own powers. If he was linked to some magical despot or war criminal, it wouldn't have been surprising... in fact, he borderline expected it at this point. Maybe to these people, he was their version of some magical space Hitler.

Worse yet, there wasn't the time to digest this revelation. He was going to be targeted again and imminently so.

"In an ideal world, you'd make your shack a hidden fortress but it's pretty obvious you don't have the levels for that."

"and the mana toxicity appears to have a foothold this time... so even if you did have the levels you wouldn't have any way to leverage them currently," Mooch concluded, his realism dashing Zlatan's more positive but still dour outlook on the situation.

"Yep... I'm pretty screwed," Otis snorted. Valruck had cleansed him once but the psychological toll had been immense. If Otis could help it, he wouldn't go back. The hopeless lost causes either too injured or too poor to be worth saving. The outright agony he had suffered. Everything about the workshop was worse than any of them had thought it would be. Neither Mooch or Zlatan would suggest going but the possible inevitability of having to go back to Valruck filled Otis with dread.

Glancing above his companions, the white lettering of the arena leaderboard seemed dazzling, even at a distance. Each letter left Otis wondering what he would do if his friends lost.

Team Rictus Vs Team Ballard -- 00:00:59:48

He couldn't bear to be alone. Not again. He hadn't realised how much being alone had affected him, but now the prospect once again looming Otis realised how much he had needed human connection again... even if he had to fight and kill for the luxury.

"That being said, it's a good long-term goal and shaping up the shack might not be a bad idea in the short term," Mooch continued.

Otis sighed, but he had to admit even the seemingly impossible goal of fortifying himself was something to work towards. Other than the sound advice of ‘don’t fucking die’ from the pamphlet in The Veil, he'd had nothing to strive for. Everything he'd done so far had been more luck than judgment. A plan of action, regardless of how insurmountable, was something new and new was good.

"Any ideas?"

"I mean I can sure up the defences but large panels and the joinery that comes with the added size is too taxing for me to complete. Weapons that I can bolt together or bits of plate armour is one thing but real fortifications are a way out of my league."

Otis had told them about his powers and the limitations that had been placed on him shortly after knowing the two. Although a small part of him thought that exposing the weaknesses of his abilities was irresponsible he had needed the advice. If there was one thing he was lacking it was time. Time to level, time to plan, time to gather the information he so badly needed. Trusting Mooch and Zlatan had helped him massively in this regard. Otis hadn't felt the need to test their bond or their loyalties but the fight against Tarot and his lackeys proved that they stood with him, they were real friends. Their ability to help now was limited, none of them knew or had enough to dig himself out of his current position.

"You managed to fend off one of Tarot's lot well enough, how come?" Zlatan asked.

"I think I managed to disrupt the mana. I couldn't make their kind of forcefield but manipulating the mana within something is definitely easier. I wasn't really thinking about it at the time though... I just kind of did it."

"Make them use their abilities at a greater range to dilute the attacks," Mooch confirmed.

Whilst the idea sounded straightforward, Mooch and Zlatan looked at each other as they shared the same thought. It was rare to have such instincts come naturally, particularly in such a pressurised situation. Otis was rapidly becoming more familiar with life-and-death combat situations but the speed at which he was adapting was shocking. Although he had an ancillary or "support" class, there was every likelihood that his "Path" was adapting to the extreme environments he found himself in. Either this was a part of him that would develop naturally or it was a divergent aspect that could cripple him as time went on.

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

If you focused too heavily on developing aspects of yourself and your powers, your "Path", that were unsuited to you it could lead to deviation and corruption that would eventually disrupt and confuse your long-term progress, as you continued to level. This would slow down levelling progress and make each progression harder. As a late bloomer, Otis might play by slightly different rules but it was something the duo had seen kill off several long-standing slaves within the arena. There was only so much any one man could adapt. For now, a win was a win, they would just have to be careful to keep an eye out for further signs of deviation.

"Even if I could make a minuscule little shelter to cower in and even if I didn't have mana-toxicity, there's no way I'd be able to channel the mana into the material for all that long. That and air holes really throw a spanner in the works," Otis rambled, as he realised the impossibility of such a scheme, unaware of the duo's thoughts.

The discussion was interesting but his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't do anything in the time he had left to prepare and even if he did his friends were about to face another fight to the death. Yet again he glanced at the countdown.

Team Rictus Vs Team Ballard -- 00:00:52:18

In less than an hour the men that had become the closest companions he'd ever known would be thrust into another team match. Zlatan and Mooch would soon be plucked from the city dwelling by the invisible hands of their jaundiced overlord. Even if they were familiar with the process the prospect made Otis' blood run cold.

In the time they designated as their evenings the two mages had told him how they had met. The team matches had shoved them together and built the foundations of trust that you had to have when fighting side by side. Having survived a handful of one-on-one combats, the duo met in their first bout of team combat, neither knowing what to expect, except that they could no longer work as lone wolves. The underground city was sprawling and it was unlikely they ever would have met without the team fight but their friendship hadn't been immediate. None of them had known each other before the match. Of those first five teammates, they had never gotten to know the names of the two that had perished and the third had died only two matches later.

Whilst teams generally fought in five vs five matches, they now fought in a specialised in "Totem fighting". Many teams had different mascots; some had animate suits of armour, more still had other forms of beast and creatures. Mooch and Zlatan had Bolo. Although Bolo, the stone golem, wasn't technically a slave they also weren't sentient. Supposedly, it was the creation of someone on the outside who wanted to train their skills and make some money. As such, their contact with Bolo was limited to when the creator deigned to channel their efforts into the golem. Although there were periods when they had been permitted to train with Bolo, these were rare. Any damage to Bolo wouldn't be fixable without the creator, so more often than not the golem sat in a mostly vegetative state. Currently, it sat in the corner of the camp not even the repetitive "I am Bolo" coming from it.

Having endured for as long as they had, the duo had accrued a following of loyal supporters. This support kept them out of the riskier one-on-one combat matches that Otis was currently forced to endure, but it also meant that they had to rely on unknown fighters when they lost a teammate. As they continued to fight, Zlatan's fierce grin in the heat of combat had earned them their team name. Zlatan became the evermore dominant face of the team as he bore the brunt of the fighting but Bolo had saved him from taking plenty of piercing attacks that his aura and healing factor couldn't overcome.

"I'm kinda screwed in the short term but do you think you're ready? It's almost time," Otis asked, giving voice to his thoughts.

"If the randoms handle themselves, it's business as usual," Zlatan smirked.

"The added armour plate should help," Mooch added, tapping the flat metal plates Otis had forged, currently strapped to his shoulder. They several other ergonomically shaped plates across their back, thighs, shins, and forearms. "Hopefully, we'll be harder to hurt and better at taking a hit, if it comes to it. It's better than rags or skins so probably the safest we've ever been, although Zlat is right too; keeping a teammate would be useful."

Mooch had explained a while ago that establishing yourself as a named fighter or as a specific team garnered loyal fans and loyal fans were directly linked to income. The arena had good odds but popularity gave some added leniency towards these named teams and fighters. Only rarely, when surprise underdogs arose were established players under greater threat, in the name of leveraging profit.

It was nice that even before their match, they were willing to comfort him, of all people. Without them, he would have perished to Atros. Even if he had survived, Otis suspected he would have succumbed to mana-poisoning or hopelessness soon after. It was selfish but at least if he perished first he wouldn't have to deal with the loss, he wouldn't have to be alone again.

"Even so, good luck. Not that you need it," Otis smiled.

————————————————————

When the invisible force of their overlord took hold of Zlatan, Mooch, and Bolo all Otis could do was watch. He watched them as they continued to rise, as two other silhouettes joined them in the air. Finally, moments before the arena floor opened up to them, he saw their brotherly fist bump. Otis felt his breath hitch as his worries overwhelmed him, he really didn't know what he would do without his two friends. He would even miss Bolo's constant unmoving presence.

As he stared at the ceiling another set of eyes strained in silent agony. If he had seen just the eyes alone, Otis would have recognised that piercing stare, such was the hatred within them. Otis was alone and vulnerable and Tarot refused to give up.