I walked around the stadium to get a better idea of it. It was about the same size as an entire floor in my hex, with crystal screens stationed around the outside of it that displayed the current match in the arena.

I looked at one of the giant screens. On it was an empty arena. I heard the voice of an announcer booming loudly, “Please welcome our most prolific, least successful fighter: Dean Dycune!” The audience inside erupted in cheers and laughter. The screen showed a thin man holding the handle of a large war hammer; the head of the hammer dragged on the ground behind him.

The voice continued, “and our challenger: she lost her debut fight mere hours ago. Will she redeem herself here or will she give Dycune his first ever victory?” The audience cheered again with less enthusiasm. The woman on the screen looked like the typical mercenaries that I had worked alongside since I was old enough to draw a bow: plain leather armor, battle axe, optional round shield hanging off her back.

“Place your bets, place your bets, 2000:1 to challenger, place your bets!” A woman wearing loud golden yellow robes with a tall twisted hat was yelling into my ear.

Her appearance was typical of money hounds: people that’ll take bets for you. If their annoying hat wasn’t enough, they made sure to continually shout at you as you walked by about the current odds. I had probably spent a few small fortunes in gambling over the years, so I was more than a little familiar with these types. Saying anything to them at all made them latch onto you for any scrap of money you might part ways with, so I stuck to the tried and true method of pretending they didn't exist.

The combatants on the screen had finally reached each other. Well, the woman had reached the guy at least. His back was completely turned away from her as he still continued to slowly drag the enormous hammer along.

She had her axe drawn, but opted to simply kick him in the back. He jolted forward, smashed his chest into the hammer's handle, landed head-first on the hammer's end, and flopped onto the ground like a dry fish.

The screen flashed brightly and the woman walked out of the arena.

The announcer's voice came back, “a match hard fought and strongly won! Or perhaps a match hardly fought and strangely won!”

If the fights are that easy, maybe I should try it out too. A pulse of excitement ran through me. I had grown up dreaming of being a fighter in the Arena. Now that the world was almost over, it seemed like as good a time as any.

The stadium had a couple entrances, each with someone stationed outside of it, probably to make sure people came in and out without trampling anything. Next to each entrance was a small window with someone sitting behind it.

I walked up to one of the windows and found a man who I can only describe as a perfect oval. His head was round with no neck to speak of and it connected to a pudgy body that rounded down into his chair. There was a wispy pile of hair on his head, but he was otherwise unremarkable. He was like a giant egg with a small scruff of feathers on top.

“Hi, I want to fight in the Arena.”

The man behind the window was impassive. “What’s your specialty, kid?” I’m a grown man.

“Ranged.”

“You don’t have any magic?”

“I’ve got magic. I’m just better with a bow.” Besides, I’ve killed hundreds of sorcerors in my time.

The man laughed. “I’ll put you against the summoner that just came in. Try not to bleed too much, our somators have more important things to do than patch you up.” He pressed his hand on a panel inside his booth and the wall next to the window opened. “Good luck.” Didn’t sound like he really meant that.

Through the opening was a very steep staircase leading to a narrow hallway that wound around a bit before opening onto a wide room with a short ceiling. I’m here, but I don’t really know where I’m supposed to go or what to do.

Quest Completed: Enter the Arena

The buzzing echoed in my head again, stopping once the words disappeared from view.

There were maybe a dozen people down here. A small group chatting in the corner. Including the mercenary who I saw win. A duo sitting on a couch. A few people by themselves: one meditating, one doing some kind of kinesis training, another staring intensely at the crystal screen hanging from the wall showing the current match.

In the far corner was one more person wearing deep red battle robes. Her eyes were scanning the room, but stopped when they landed on me. She walked over to me.

“Welcome, freshie. My name is Dragana, I run the Underground most nights. Have you fought in an arena before?”

“No, I’ve only fought out in the wild or in gambling houses.” She smirked at that.

“Do you know the rules for the type of match you’re going into?”

I had seen dozens of matches, but I didn’t see any rules. People go out, they fight, someone wins.

“No, I don’t.”

Dragana shook her hand, an illusory symbol glowed momentarily in her palm, and a circular collar-like thing appeared in her hand. “You’re fighting to the fall, meaning neither of you are dying out there. When you go up, you and your opponent will have one of these attached to your arms. The moment one of you is unconscious, the other one will be forced to stop by this. Try not to decapitate your opponent or sever anything too important. They can heal just about anything, but bringing someone back from the dead is a few steps outside their pay grade. If you win, collect from upstairs. If you lose, we’ll get you healed up. Questions?”

“Are there also fights to the death?”

“You’ll need to find someone willing to do it. Challenge them, set it up with me, and we’ll establish if there are any special rules you want.” I'm not looking to put my life on the line right now anyway.

"When is my match?"

She gestured to a crystal reader on the wall next to the only other door in the room. "You can see the order over there. When it's getting close to your time, show up at that door. If you take too long, the people upstairs won't be happy about it. Do that too much and you'll be barred from competing."

"That's all I need for now."

"Good luck." She headed back over to the same corner she was in before. As she walked away, I noticed a creature emblazoned in gold on the back of her robe. It was a ghilain, a mythical creature that was commonly associated with elemental magic.

According to the reader, there was one match between the current one and mine. The screen on the other wall showed a thin man standing triumphantly over a larger man laying facedown on the ground. I could hear the cheers of the crowd through the thick ceiling above. These weren't competitors I'd seen before, but the crowd was still ravenous for the fight. I can only imagine how loud it would be for a match between champions.

The reader updated with a small chime: next was a guy who specialized in kinesis and a woman who specialized in somatic magic. The screen didn’t have any names displayed for most of the competitors, only their specialty.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The dup stepped up to the gate. He had a solid build: average height but athletic. He had a traditional wooden staff that curled above his head into a spike of wooden tendrils that would focus his magic outwards. He specialized in kinesis instead of elemental magic, and he used a staff instead of doing magic by hand. Both of these factors pointed to him likely being a novice at best. He didn't have any other weapons on him from the look of it.

The woman who stepped up next to him was the picture of the typical somator: overly tall, overly broad with solid muscles. She held a short polearm in her hands. The polearm’s design was clearly from Mius with the sharply curved blade on the end of the main pole. That was a solid weapon: long reach and a sickeningly sharp blade. If she knew how to use it, she was going to be a tough match.

Each of them had the arm brace placed on, then went through the giant door, turned away from each other, and disappeared through the tunnels beyond.

I should watch this match to get a better idea of the arena; the first one didn’t show me much. The man staring at the crystal screen hadn’t moved at all since I had entered. I walked over to him, but felt a bit unnerved. His eyes almost bulged with intensity and I could hear him muttering to himself. One of his arms crossed his chest with the other elbow resting on top of it. His fist rested against his mouth, making it look like he was eating his hand as he mumbled.

I kept some distance, but I did need to get close to him to see the screen well. This screen provided a broad look at the arena instead of the constantly shifting perspective of the ones outside.

The two competitors stepped into the arena from opposite sides. The arena was laid out in a pretty typical manner: a large wall surrounding the boundaries, an audience raised up in the stands, a dirt floor, with large columns and blocks strewn throughout (enough to give the competitors places to hide, but not so many that it blocked the audience from seeing).

“Two freshies,” the man suddenly spoke to me in a deep voice. “Can’t say for sure, but I suspect the woman will win. Not just for her strength, but for his incompetence.”

“If you’re so sure, you should place a bet,” I quipped.

“I don’t bet. I only win,” he said simply. Somehow that sounded more grumpy than it did overconfident.

On screen, the competitors were about to reach each other. Both of them had approached directly, closing the distance quickly. The man raised his staff at one of the chunks of column on the ground; the groove along his staff glowed blue, pooling at the top with brilliant light. The column rose in unison with his staff. A quick flick of the staff sent the column flying toward the woman.

Despite her size, she ducked under it with ease. Two more steps and she was breathing down his face. She swung her polearm. He raised his staff and managed to desperately catch the blade with his magic. She tensed, her muscles visibly bulging even on the small screen.

She raised her tree trunk of a leg and slammed it squarely into his chest. The glow on his staff disappeared and he went flying backwards into the dirt. He began to raise his staff toward her, but her polearm sliced into it, knocking it from his hand and sending splinters flying.

If he were talented, he would have been able to still do magic easily without the staff. Instead, he turned over and tried to scramble away. Her blade swung cleanly across his back. He had no armor to stop it, just plain robes, now with a large gash and blood seeping into the back.

He fell forward onto his hands and knees, facing away from her. She flipped her polearm around and used the bottom of the pole to do one quick strike at the base of his skull. The arm braces on each of them flashed brightly, signaling the match was over. The crowd cheered loudly as she left through the door she had entered and a somator began healing the man and floating him out of the arena through the other door.

The grumpy guy spoke, “Hope you were paying attention. You never know when you might have to fight someone you’re watching.” The reader chimed. I was up next. “Now go out there so I can see how to beat you.” I’m not sure if I like this guy or hate him. Even when I walked away, his eyes stayed pinned to the screen.

I stepped up to the large door. The man who was meditating before walked up next to me. The far side of the room he was at has a statue of Neitra, the god of war and victory. The man himself was plain looking: a little over average height, simple leather armor, a straight sword, and various knives strapped to his sides. He didn’t look particularly strong, either.

Dragana came over and placed one of the arm braces on each of us. “This is the first fight for both of you. Don’t kill each other, and good luck.” She walked away and the door opened before us.

The tunnel looked nearly pitch black until I walked through the door. It trailed off in both directions and was lit by simple torches with illusory flames on them. We walked down the tunnel in opposite directions. The flames were different colors further in the tunnel. The first ones were a light green, shifting to yellow, then orange, and finally two large red torches framed the entrance to the arena. A heavy gate sat closed before me. My heart was pounding; I had fought before, but not usually with my opponent expecting it and definitely not in front of a giant crowd.

A booming voice echoed around the arena, “welcome the next competitors! Two fresh fighters ready to show you what they are capable of!” The audience erupted into cheers and the gate began to rise.

I shook the slight nervousness off and pulled my bow off of my back. I had about 20 arrows on me: more than enough to take out one person. I stepped through the gate. The arena felt much larger now than it had watching the screen. The beauty of the clear night sky shining through the glass dome above was almost striking enough to distract me.

I couldn’t see anything past the walls and columns in the middle of the arena, so I couldn’t know where the summonor was. I needed to approach this with some thought. The summonor didn’t know which way I would be coming from either, so an ambush was still possible.

I quickly ran to the left toward one of the lower walls. I jumped on a collapsed column and deftly pulled myself up the wall. No sign of the summonor yet. He wasn’t rushing in the way the fighters in the previous match had.

I crouched down as low as I could while jumping up to a higher wall and finally to a tall pillar. Found him. He was pressed against a wall, carefully peaking out to find me. His sword was drawn, but his knives were still strapped in place.

I carefully notched an arrow and took aim. We weren’t supposed to kill, but a good shot would put him down so he wouldn't be able to struggle. I pulled back on the string. The tension of the bow felt good, it had been a while since I had the chance to use it.

I aimed for his leg. If I hit it just right, he should bleed quickly enough to pass out in a minute, with enough time left for the somators to save him. My fingers released the arrow and it closed the distance. He shifted a bit, but the arrow still embedded in his leg.

He shouted out and fell to one knee, his sword clattering against a nearby stone and landing in the dust. I thought he would jump for his sword, so I started to notch another arrow to shoot his hand. Instead, a knife appeared in his hand and was instantly flying at me.

It sliced the edge of my arm. I panicked and jumped off the pillar, away from him. Now there was a wall between us. This isn’t good, he knows where I am and has time to recover and grab his sword.

I notched another arrow and sprinted around the wall. A knife flew just past my face as I rounded the corner. I jumped back behind the wall, pulling the arrow fully back. I took one deep breath, turned the corner, and released the arrow.

I felt time slow as the arrow struck him in the shoulder and a piercing pain shot through my side. My vision started to become red. His knife was embedded in my abdomen. The moment hung in the air as we reeled from our new wounds. He was lying on the ground and I saw that his knife vest was empty.

He was out of knives, but I had plenty of arrows; it was time to finish this. I reached for the next arrow. He raised his hand at me, as if he could stop the last arrow with his will. I doubt he’ll be fast enough with his magic to catch this.

Suddenly, my vision pulsed red again and I stumbled back. The knife he threw into me was back in his hand. This pile of dragon dung. I’m not messing around with this anymore. I grabbed my dagger from my belt. He made one last attempt to throw his knife at me. I instinctively swung my dagger and deflected the knife away.

I flipped the dagger in my hand and threw it at his core. It sank deeply just below the center of his ribcage. I was blinded with rage by the pain from my wound. I swiftly notched another arrow and aimed it directly for his neck.

Our armbands flashed brightly. My muscles froze. I couldn’t move or even twitch in protest. The pain was gone, though, returning some sense to me.

I relaxed my body and feeling returned throughout. I put my arrow back in my quiver and stared at the fallen summonor. A somator moved toward him to begin healing his wounds.

The booming voice returned, “congratulations victor! You have shown your worth and may now have a well-deserved rest!” The audience cheered from above. The chorus of their voices was enough to lift me fully out of my stupor. I looked at them all, thousands of people cheering for me. A far cry from slitting throats in the shadows. The somator magically pulled my dagger out of the summonor and floated it easily back into its sheath on my hip.

I walked back through the gate I had entered from and followed the torches back to the Underground. It felt almost too quiet after the deafening cheers above. The other fighters were still chatting in various groups, professional and focused. I felt high off the adrenaline and feeling of success. I need more of this.

Dragana walked over to me. “Congratulations on winning a match. Your payment is upstairs. Heal up, and come back once you're ready for more.” She pointed to the end of the room farthest from the entrance when she mentioned healing.

Level up!