1 HOUR AGO
"Ugh, why haven't we killed him already?" Arivia groans, slumping back in her chair. "And this mask keeps blocking my breath! Every breath just gets harder and harder..!"
"No. Do not take it off. We are extremely fortunate we were caught with them on," Kors responds. "Goblins possess near-perfect facial recognition. They can even pass it down genetically. Had we escaped, they would have marked us as mortal enemies."
Kyros nods silently, seemingly confirming the fact.
Arivia leans further back, letting the chair teeter on its hind legs. A loud creak erupts in the process.
The table the group is gathered around is wide and uneven, its surface worn from years of use. Said table currently sits under a hut in a makeshift town square. The hut itself possesses no doors, and seemingly functions as a mere seating area. Straw adorns the ceiling, protecting it from any escaping light that had poured from the surface.
From outside, Goblins walk past, some glaring, some dismissive, but ultimately letting their suspicions fade.
There must have been some kind of communication between them and Tyrox.
Navi sits quietly, polishing her saber with the black cloth she always seems to have. Her arm moves almost mechanically, no complications present.
Asakawa closes her eyes, listening to the conversation without engaging.
Kors rests his forearms on the table, addressing Arivia.
"I understand your frustration. We could have eliminated these creatures easily. But Tyrox himself radiates quite a large amount of strength. Under his rule, I suspect even these goblins could become a force worth noting."
"Huh, huh."
Arivia lets the chair fall forward with a thud, shifting her attention and body towards Navi.
"Hey, Navi, are you missing your little boyfriend?" she asks, resting her chin in her palms. A grin forms behind her mask. The intention is obvious.
"..."
No reaction was emitted from Highergald. She continues wiping her saber as if never even being spoken to.
"I wouldn't mind if he came after me, y'know? I like older-looking guys."
"..."
"Haaa… you've been so dark and broody lately. I can't handle another one of you. I already got Asa over here."
Asakawa cracks an eye open, shooting her a dull glare before speaking.
"I've noticed you've been speaking with the slave less. Did something happen between you two?"
Navi's hand stutters, just slightly. Barely noticeable. Only someone who had been watching closely would catch it.
Arivia, of course, catches it immediately.
"Aw, did he hurt your fee–"
A blur.
That is the only description that can be attributed to the next course of events.
One heartbeat, Navi is sitting, the next her boots are on the table, and her saber is leveled an inch from Arivia's mouth.
"Keep talking, and your tongue's going to be the centerpiece of this table."
"...Gh."
"…You're so weird." Arivia sighs, unimpressed.
"Ms. Highergald. Settle down." Kors commands, not even looking her way.
Asakawa remains unbothered.
Kyros however, had the body language of someone watching a bomb countdown.
When in a group of mercenaries, such infights were fairly common. Such was the case when it came to these freelance organizations.
An army is raised together, trained together, and forced to get along. They may initially dislike each other, but they will inevitably get along. Such companions will rarely turn against each other, given that fact.
However, while the same can be said for mercenaries, at their core, they are simply groups of individuals that will kill or steal for money.
That is at the forefront of their minds. Family and relationships come second, or in other cases, third.
Sable Veil, as an organization, was no stranger to these sorts of things. While they were more organized than other organizations, they still had small bouts of infighting. Nothing that would be resolved without the group's assigned leader, of course.
Navi sheaths her saber and sits down, arms crossed. Her bangs shadow her eyes, giving her already sharp expression an even heavier edge.
"Korshak, what is our next move?" Asakawa asks, eyes narrowing.
The Wight's posture slightly tenses.
"I believe we stay put until Tyrox's 'game' begins. I know we are being monitored, but we should at least attempt to gain as much information as we can. He had let us go free, so we should take advantage of that."
Asakawa crosses her arms.
"I had attempted to scout the fortress he's housed in, but it's infested with guards. There are also spell-cancelling runes around it, so attempting to use surveillance that way is out of the question. Assassinating him is currently impossible."
Kors turns toward the goblin.
"Kyros, do you know anything about this 'game'? Any details at all?"
Kyros shakes his head.
"I do not know what this game entails, but if it is entertainment-related, it'll likely be held in the colosseum."
He gestures toward a large, crude structure in the distance. Its design is rough, but there's an intention behind it. Above it, the ceiling of the cavern has cracked wide, letting harsh beams of sunlight illuminate the entire city.
Arivia whistles, then elbows Kyros.
"I'm surprised they didn't kill you instantly. You being exiled and all."
"I am surprised as well," Kyros admits. "If Tyrox is letting me live, let alone you all, he must be planning something dangerous."
"He is either extremely confident in his defenses," Kors concludes, "or he is preparing an entirely different offense."
"We may have to storm this said coliseum during the games, or before. I presume that this game will have something to do with the slaves' release." the wight concludes.
"...Kyros? Is that you?"
All heads turn.
A small goblin stands there, holding a basket of food.
"—Uryos?"
"You guys really love putting 'os' at the end of your names, huh—Ow!"
"Be quiet," Asakawa orders, flicking Arivia sharply on the head.
____________________________________________________________________________
PRESENT
I step into the bright sun, the light erupting across my body, forcing my eyes into a squint. Yeah, being in the dark definitely takes its toll. I'm half-tempted to ask Wall, who somehow looks as chill as ever, for his sunglasses.
Surprisingly, Stiyl seems completely unfazed by the sudden barrage of light, too. Are his eyes even open? I still can't tell.
Even our new companion, the one who introduced himself as Arax, is fine. Well, I guess it makes sense; he's literally an anthropomorphic insect. Seeing something like that should mess with me way more, but after everything I've already seen, he's honestly not that crazy.
Arax is a Thamite. If I recall, it's some kind of higher-tier mage species. I don't know. I'm still getting used to this world's rules. I'd give the rest of his explanation, but right now I'm too busy being overwhelmed by my surroundings.
Chants erupt from all sides as my eyes finally adjust. The blurry masses sharpen into crowds of goblins stacked on rows of seats, jumping and screaming in excitement.
My gaze drifts along the stands—
—and freezes.
A masked figure with two revolvers at his waist.
Kors?
And next to him, long black hair. Asakawa?
And Navi?
Why the hell are they here watching me?!
Have they given up and decided to enjoy the show of me dying? No, that's stupid. They must have some plan brewing. After all, disregarding me, their real job is freeing all these slaves, who are also the ones paying them to kill that one guy… uh…
Right. Gorthro.
Wow, it's really been a while.
I sigh. Would they really care if I died right here and now? Would they hold any kind of resentment towards Tyrox? Would they even blink an eye if I died right here?
…
That's right, I'm just a slave to them.
My eyes travel around the seats once again, a sort of second look.
These goblins have gathered to basically watch me die. If I somehow win this whole thing, they'll probably riot, then do like some kind of flooding into the stadium, then all of my allies will fight them to the death.
…
This is bad.
Media has ruined me; that's literally what I expect.
This entire thing feels like a scene straight out of that one movie, appropriately named Gladiator.
Well, minus the actual fighting. It's just hide-and-seek.
Hide-and-seek with death conditions, sure, but still.
Speaking of hide-and-seek, the entire arena is coated in thick brush, with artificial fog rolling through the trees. Old structures peek out through the mist, save with rotting houses swallowed by vines. This place must have been some kind of settlement before the walls of this colosseum were built around it.
"Man, this place's bigger than I thought," Wall mutters, voice fading into the fog.
"Agreed," I reply.
Then a voice booms from all directions at once.
We raise our heads toward the source.
"MY SOLDIERS! IN FRONT OF YOU LIES MY ENEMY! THE ONE WHO, LIKE ME, REJECTS VIOLENCE WITH HIS HANDS AND RELIES ON TACTICS. THIS PATHETIC USURPER WILL MEET HIS END! I HAVE EXPLAINED THE RULES. THE GAME HAS ALREADY STARTED. I AM THE SUPERIOR INTELLECTUAL."
I wince.
God, his voice is the verbal equivalent of a migraine.
"TO THE CONTESTANTS, WHEN YOUR TIME LIMIT RUNS OUT, THE UMBRYOS-TYPE CURSE WILL SPREAD THROUGH YOUR BODY AND KILL YOU. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO FIND THE 'HIDER'. IF THIRTY MINUTES HAVE PASSED WITHOUT FINDING A HIDER, YOUR ARCANA RESERVES WILL BE ACTIVATED ONCE AGAIN."
"Tyrox…" Arax growls, fists clenched.
As soon as the message cuts off, the fog that had only been hugging our legs suddenly swells upward, blanketing the entire arena. The crowd vanishes behind a wall of mist, leaving only silhouettes shifting in the fumes.
Why would he hide us from the viewers? No clue. Maybe it's a one-way mirror situation. My thoughts travel back to the Goblin that had been hiding next to Tyrox. Why in the world would he make one of his hiders, the guys that are supposed to hide, right in front of me?
That had to be on purpose, which further fuels the idea that this whole thing is just a battle between me and me. Am I being narcissistic for thinking this entire thing is just for me?
Sure, to someone who doesn't understand.
I slick back my hair.
"The bastard fogged the canopy so we can't even scope the terrain," I groan.
"Hm, you seem way more lax now, dude." Wall comments.
"True. You seemed way more anxious only a few moments ago." Stiyl adds.
My eyes travel down towards the two.
"I just realized that this whole situation isn't as bad as I thought, that's all."
The two of them look at each other, then give a shrug.
Right now we're just standing here, all of us waiting. I'm pretty sure everyone has at least some idea where to start, but out of courtesy, or maybe some misguided chain of command, they're waiting for me.
Arax's antennae twitch.
"What do you suppose we should do? I have a plan, but I'd prefer to hear yours first."
I tap my chin.
"You go first. You've been here longer. You probably know stuff we don't."
He nods. "I propose I dig underground while the three of you cover the surface." He raises his hands, his chitin gleaming.
"Hm. Tempting, but no. This area's massive. Going underground won't help much; how deep can we even go? We're already thousands of miles under the surface. The terrain is sparse. Having four people covering the above ground is optimal."
I plant my hands on my hips.
"But the fog's insane. We need beacons or a trail so we don't get lost."
Stiyl points at a nearby tree.
"We can use that. Make this place the 'base.' We set up a fire here as a beacon."
"Good idea."
"I can cut the tree down," Arax adds, "and turn the excess into chips for marking our path, using my mandibles."
"Another good idea."
"While you guys do that," Wall says, already halfway looking at the nearest trunk, "I'll climb one of these trees. See if I can get any visibility above the fog."
"I'll just help with fire-starting," I say.
"Alright," Arax clicks. "Let's get to it."
____________________________________________________________________________
Obviously, since we've got a time limit, we've worked surprisingly fast. It only took about ten minutes total. When I asked Wall if he saw anything, all I got was a resolute: "Nah."
Didn't even hesitate. Didn't even pretend to look harder. Just "nah."
Arax had managed to make around forty wooden chips each. Thankfully, our outfits have enough torn pockets to shove them into. Not stylish, but practical. Rags with storage.
The fire crackles in front of us. Embers drift upwards, floating right past our faces like tiny souls escaping. It's almost hypnotizing.
Almost enough to forget we're about to run around in foggy monster turf with a magical death timer ticking over our heads.
We'd already hashed out our plan: Stiyl and Wall run one side of the colosseum's outer ring, me and Arax take the opposite.
Drop chips, don't get lost, don't die, find hider.
Really simple stuff when you say it like that.
"It's decided then. This place'll be the beacon if we ever get lost," I say, watching smoke twist its way up into the sky. It rises straight through the fog, clear enough to spot from miles away.
"Good luck, K-man. You'll need it." Wall grins.
"Aren't you searching too…? And again with the nicknames…."
"Hard work and surpassing where you've been previously is where it's at! Luck is a fake concept!" He gives me a thumbs-up, his sunglasses flashing.
"The contradiction merchant strikes again!!"
"Yes, good luck to you as well." Arax adds, one antenna flicking like it's agreeing with him but reluctantly.
I nod to Stiyl. He gives a slow nod back. The kind of nod people do when they're mentally preparing to kill something with zero hesitation.
"We'll get out of here, guys. Just trust the process." I say, trying to smile. It feels dusty on my face.
Positivity shines on all of the men's faces, even if for a brief moment.
"All right! Operation start!" Wall shouts, immediately sprinting into the fog as if he can't physically enter situations at normal speed. Stiyl glides after him, barely making a sound. In seconds they're swallowed completely, like the fog erased them from existence.
Those two definitely go way back. The classic duo: the loud idiot and the quiet executioner.
I turn to Arax.
"Alright. We'd better get searching too. You've got your chips?"
"Yes." He taps the side of his thorax like a toolbox.
We stand there for one extra second. Probably both are waiting for the other to say something inspiring. Neither of us does. Just two guys stalling.
"Welp," I say, clapping my hands once like that'll generate courage. "Time to wander into a horror movie."
"I do not know what that is, but let's."
____________________________________________________________________________
It's been ten minutes.
We've torn abandoned houses apart, flipped cellars, and crawled through every creepy corner this place has to offer. Right now I'm panting like a dehydrated dog while trying to shoulder a door open, something way too suspicious for this moment. Only a hider would barricade themselves.
"Arax, help me with this door!" I shout.
"Kaito. There is nothing inside." His voice echoes from the other side.
"Oh."
"…"
A giant hole on the opposite wall comes into view as I step in. Just empty boards and cobwebs. Nothing.
"Damn it."
"We still have forty minutes. That is enough. Let us continue."
I nod and follow after him. My panting picks up again as my eyes scan the fog-shrouded ground. We're wasting time by the moment. Time feels like it soars by, faster than a fighter jet.
A thought slowly sinks into my mind, despite the circumstances. It's not particularly important, but still…
"Arax, what's got you so riled up against Tyrox, if you don't mind me asking?"
The second I say it, regret hits. Of course he'd hate the monster enslaving him. That's not exactly deep.
Our footsteps thud against the wet grass. The world around us is quiet. Only his insectoid back is in front of me, like a shell that keeps everything hidden.
He slows down. He isn't exactly stopping, he's just… loosened. Before, he was yards ahead. Now he's right at my shoulder.
"I'm sorry if I—"
"—It's strange saying it now, huh?"
I stay silent.
"Just days ago, she was right there. Real. Someone who existed." His voice lowers. "I could see her. I could feel her."
The wind shifts. Leaves hum. Even the fog seems to pause.
"Just saying 'was' instead of 'is'… it's like someone pulled something out of my chest. Something I didn't know was holding me up."
"She pulled me out of a dark place. She was the one light that didn't flicker."
"And…"
"And that ray of light…"
His breath breaks.
He's barely jogging now.
"That light was reduced to a corpse. Snuffed out by a monster with no remorse. She faced everything with iron. At least that's what I believed. I thought nothing could break her."
He slows to a walk.
"Maybe this is the final nail. Or maybe I'm still in shock."
His voice wavers.
"Once, she had a splinter in her arm. Or… that's what she told me with a smile. Later, I found a stick nearly the size of a sword in the bathtub, covered in blood."
He stops. Entirely.
"...Now it's sinking in." His voice breaks.
He turns to me.
"...She's gone, isn't she?"
His hands shake. His voice is small, simply too small for someone built like him.
"Scyla… if I sought revenge, would you be angry?"
"If I killed that bastard for you… would you cry? Would you tell me you weren't worth that much?"
I look at him.
The man who kept moving forward because grief hadn't fully swallowed him yet. That's how it works, isn't it? Grief bites you first, then slowly lets the venom sink into your nerves. You may be shocked for a while, but it'll still come regardless of that fact.
And Tyrox was the one who let the snake loose.
How many families, livelihoods had he destroyed up to this point? How many things did he tear apart? For what? To raise some kind of army? He's clearly got intelligence, and he isn't a mindless monster, so why can't he just speak? Why can't he just ask us for something? Why does he see us as nothing more than bags of flesh?
My fists clench.
"It's worse that you're intelligent," I mutter in my head. He means to choose this.
"Scyla… please. Just one more time. I want to see your face one more time…"
His back trembles. Tears hit the ground, catching the faintest glint of light.
I close my eyes.
After three long minutes, without warning, Arax straightens. I'd say time had been wasted, but seeing him, I feel as if these moments were therapeutic for him.
"Ha. Time wasted, isn't it?" he says, his mandibles curving upwards. "Let's not waste any more."
"I… hoped that helped in some way."
"The only way is forward."
I nod.
"I—"
A scream erupts.
Not human. Not animal. Something in between. The trees shudder as birds explode into the sky. The fog buckles, thickens. Something massive moves through it, each step pounding like a drum.
Arax freezes.
I feel my body go cold.
The shape emerges before I understand it.
A skinless humanoid, attached to a horse.
A skinless humanoid, attached to a horse.
A skinless humanoid, attached to a horse.
My mind keeps trying to rearrange it into something sensible, but it won't fit. It can't fit.
A skinless human attached to a horse.
My brain keeps repeating it because it refuses to accept it.
What the hell am I looking at?
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT—
A M O N S T E R
Its muscle fibers glisten, raw and wet. The humanoid torso sticks out of the horse's spine like someone grafted it there as a joke from hell. The face is a skull with dangling eyeballs swinging like broken lamps. Its arms drag across the horse's belly, scraping the ground.
The horse, if you can call it that, screeches with a pitch sharp enough to rattle my teeth. Its back is lined with fin-like protrusions. Its legs bend wrong. Everything bends wrong. This is an abomination, something so ungodly it nearly drives me to insanity.
The humanoid head jerks, then cocks back, winding up an arm. Something wet and stringy follows the motion. Said thing is its intestines, hanging like a rope.
"What the fuck is that?!"
Arax hisses, mandibles flaring.
"Damn it. A Nuckelavee."
And the forest seems to shrink around the word.