The moment I was ejected from the Mindspace, I jerked back into my unfortunate reality of being both blind and deaf. Something hard jutted into my jaw and I tasted metal on my tongue, probably blood.
I fought against the rising sense of discombobulation, locking it away and attempting to rely on my sense of proprioception to rise to my feet. I might not be able to see my body or my surroundings, but I knew where my feet were in relation to my other body parts, and, using that sense of understanding, I staggered back to a standing position.
I poured large swathes of heart energy into my remaining senses of feeling, smell, and proprioception. The scent of blood clung in every direction, adding to my confusion about what had happened during my fight with the Mindscribe.
But I felt something. A ripple in the calm, a small yet quick wave of wind cascading over me. Then it stopped. Then it started.
When I felt the fluttering wind of the second beast slam against me with increasing pressure, my fingers curled reflexively as if gripping a blade in preparation to wield it. Instead, my hand wrapped around the air. No hilt. I must have dropped it at some point while I’d been unconscious in the Mindspace.
My heart thrummed with anticipation of battle while my mind raced through all the different scenarios and possible angles the second beast could be approaching. It really depended on whether, assuming it had wings, the wings blew air in front of the creature or to the side. Or behind it. Judging from the way the vibrations in the air increased with the waves of wind pressure, it was likely pushing air in front, most likely with a slightly downward angle.
Like a dragon lifting off. I tried not to think about the possibility of the winged monster being a small dragon. Or a Wyvern of some sort.
There was a sudden shift in the wind pressure as it completely vanished. My shoulders started to relax when I realized the wind pressure was gone, but the vibrations were increasing. I was being charged.
Without thinking, I threw myself to the side and felt something rough and scaled brush past me with another whoosh of wind. This time the pressure had enough force to propel me off my feet and tumbling in some unknown direction. The ground trembled as whatever the creature was blew past me and into the ground for what I guessed to be a really rough landing.
Then there were a few more light tremors from that direction and the vibrations also ceased.
With a pop, the latch behind my head keeping the Mask of No Sense firmly around me was undone, the magical item falling softly like a leaf from the bridge of my nose to rest by my foot. If I thought the silence and darkness of the Mask had caused me to be discombobulated, that thought was out the door compared to the sheer disorientation that threatened to swallow me whole once my senses were reintroduced.
I’d never been tortured before, but I assumed it would have been a similar feeling.
I clasped my hands tightly over my ears and shut my eyes as tight as I could, hoping to block out at least a little of the stimulation. It didn’t help at all. The roar of the crowd was thunderous and the sun was blinding to the point tears of pain threatened from the corners of my eyes that I knew would spill if I so much as attempted to open them.
Something heavy patted against my back. I couldn’t see what it was, but I recognized the voice. “Damn ‘em all to the four Hells,” Gronch said and I could picture spittle flying around his sharp tusks as he complained in anger. “Crazy bastards.”
“Did… did we win?” Romeo asked and I could hear the youth in his voice now, brought to the surface by their obviously hard-won battle.
“Define win,” Gronch muttered. Even despite what felt like complete disorientation to me and the heaviness in Romeo’s voice, I would have figured a war orc like Gronch, even a halfling like he was, would have found great joy in the victory. But the half-orc’s attitude was surprisingly muted.
After a while, though my hands remained firmly against the flat of my ears, my eyes began to readjust to the light. Enough that I could squint at my surroundings. When I managed to find Gronch, he’d moved quite a bit away from me, toward a blue creature collapsed next to the body of a human-sized creature with giant, bat-like wings. I couldn’t see the details of the beast, but my eyes widened at the sight of the fallen Selenian.
The light burned my vision and I quickly shut them. When I was able to squint, I once again found Marisar and made my way over to him. As I approached, I saw what had injured him. At the end of a large, sinuous tail was a black barbed stinger jutting through his stomach. All sorts of gore lay splattered around, ripped from where the stinger protruded. Black veins spread from the protrusion, the dark lines wiggling with the constant movement of the venom within.
Gronch’s large hand again found my shoulder as his voice came out, gruff and just barely holding back either anger or agony. Maybe both. “The cursed Selenian tackled the Drakoryx when you dodged it,” he said loud enough to just barely be heard over the still cheering audience. “Its tail would have pierced you. Like it did him. He moved to intercept like he was possessed or something. I didn't think he had it in him."
I took a squat next to the body of Marisar, examining the Selenian with a deep frown. Death of comrades was not new to me. I might even go so far as to say I was starting to expect it. But no one ever truly became numb to the death of allies. Despite that, I had no tears left to shed. All my tears of sadness had long since been spent.
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“How was this beast, what did you call it, a Drakoryx? How was it killed?” I asked, tracing the tail back to the winged beast. My voice was steadier than I’d expected. Steadier than Gronch had expected, given the curious glance he shot my way. I just felt empty. Cold and empty in the face of the inevitable.
The Drakoryx was something of a monstrosity. Its large, dead eyes stared up at me from where it lay. I couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of foreboding as I gazed into the unseeing slit pupils that, even in death, radiated a bright amber. Its body was covered in tough, overlapping midnight blue scales now splattered with its silver blood and Marisar’s blue fluids. Its head was sleek and angular, almost feline if it wasn’t so easy to tell its reptilian ancestry. Protruding from the back of its skull were a set of elongated, spiraling horns giving off a sense of being a nightmare. Its mouth hung open, razor-sharp teeth outlined the long black tongue that lolled slightly out the side.
Most disturbing, however, were the wings. They spanned nearly twelve feet and were covered in horrible iridescent scales that seemed to sing with blood, death, and other horrors. Attached to each wing’s edge were claws that gleamed with the Drakoryx’s casual deep blue coloring.
A single dark blue-gray ball hovered above the corpse of the Drakoryx. Next to it was the chimera, a terrible combination of a griffin’s head, a lion’s body, and the end of a snake all mashed into a single entity. Large hammer dents concaved its entire left side, pulverizing the beast. Gronch’s work was vicious.
“The healer cast some sort of magic,” Julius said, pulling up to Marisar’s other side with a downcast expression. “It kept him and the Drakoryx in a stasis so we could attack it while it was pinned in place.”
Romeo nodded solemnly. “Only reason we won.”
The four of us stared down at the still-bleeding body of our comrade, of our healer. Marisar lay there, empty and without even the smallest of lights.
“Wait, that’s weird,” I muttered, focusing my energy on my vision while I stared hard at the Selenian.
“Do not bring ‘im back,” Gronch warned, his usual gruff but somewhat good-natured tone completely gone. “He died a warrior’s death. Do not taint his worthy death.”
“I don’t see his soul.” No matter how much I focused or where I looked, I couldn’t see his soul. And if I couldn’t see his soul, then—
“In the very first year of our Kingdom, of the old world, Gideon’s trusted healer was struck by his adversary and was near death!” Jarold’s voice suddenly boomed through the arena and the audience’s cheer froze. “The voice of the Gods called down to the hero Gideon and told him he had only two options to save his healer. If at least one of the options was satisfied, the Gods would save the Healer who was on the brink of death. The first option was to prove his loyalty to the Gods by stabbing a sword through his own heart and giving his life for his ally. Or, second, to test his strength and win against the might of the divine.” The announcer paused for an obvious dramatic effect. I thought it was rather corny, but the audience seemed to love it. “Which choice will the Gideon of today choose?”
I didn’t answer right away, though I knew which I would pick. It was unlikely the Slavers who’d planned the show would allow me to pick neither and simply let Marisar die. And if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want to let him die. Each of the warriors had grown on me and they would be extremely helpful in my eventual escape. Should the need to force them to remain in the world of the living occur, I would do what was needed to increase my chances of victory and survival.
Now, however, was not the time.
“I choose to challenge the Gods,” I said, not quite answering the question posed but providing one close enough that Jarold did not seem to have an issue with it.
“So be it! Let today’s Gideon, our saintness candidate, test her mettle against the Gods!” Jarold screamed as armed soldiers exited from both ends of the arena, just as they had previously when I’d killed the King’s son-in-law, flooding into the combat zone. Each fighter, other than myself, was swiftly surrounded by half a dozen guards and was roughly forced back through the passageway we’d entered from. Within a moment, I was alone, surrounded only by the corpses of the dead beasts and the Selenian. “Today, our Gideon is challenged by the three Fates: Lyrielle, Thaloria, and Eirindel. All are the great enemies of our Goddess of Light and Life, Dhalia. As our champion of the Light and Life, Gideon must defeat all three and take back the soul of her comrade.” The announcement was followed by a round of cheering. I was becoming so incredibly sick of that sound.
A large shadow fell over me, and I glanced up at the sky where I saw a great beast flying no more than a few hundred feet above me. It looked almost exactly the same as the Drakoryx we had slain, but larger. Much larger. Sweat swam down my back as I faced the underbelly of what looked to me like some type of Dragon or Wyvern.
I hoped to the Gods that this world did not have true dragons. At my current level, I would be easily squashed by one.
Fortunately, the monster did not descend. Three smaller shadows leaped from its back and dropped into the arena with three synchronized thuds. They each landed on a different side of me, so I was stuck in the middle of the trio.
The figure directly in front of me raised her hands and waved at the crowd. She towered over me, clad in shining silver armor that gleamed with an otherworldly light the instant the beast overhead moved and the sun resumed its heated glare. Her helmet, adorned with small, angelic wings, framed her blue eyes that seemed to dance where her armor gleamed. Shoulder-length blonde hair extended out from under the helmet, signaling to me that either the woman was not as trained as she pretended to be or was not taking this seriously. A large golden hammer rested on her shoulder, its head pointed instead of flat, making it look more like a pick-axe than a hammer.
“Playing the First Fate, Lyrielle,” Jarold continued, “is Brynhildr, our very own Shieldmaiden of Caelos!” A bright light descended on Brynhildr. “Next, we have Eir, our ferocious and deadly Valkyrie.” A second light descended around the woman to my left, who wore black armor over what looked to be a flowing green and white robe. However, where Brynhildr’s armor had no decorations, Eir’s was covered with different images I didn’t have time to bother deciphering. “And last, but not least, we have Skuld, the Seer of Caelos!” A third light illuminated the woman to my right.
The third woman worried me more than the other two. I’d thought she was clad in black armor like Eir, but she wasn’t. Rather, the woman was clad in heavy shadows. Even under the authority of the sun overhead, it was as if the woman somehow melded into her own shadow, which I was struggling to comprehend. A book, marked with hundreds of runes, floated around Skuld, its pages flipping randomly as if they were being blown by a nonexistent wind.