The crowd clustered like heat-seeking scavengers, drawn to violence, spectacle, and to Nyxia herself. She stood at the edge of the arena wrapped in Boo's scandalous gift, black lace clinging to her curves beneath a sheer robe already damp from the steam rolling up from the pit. The fabric barely qualified as coverage. Every pulse of air from the turbines above made it shift and slide, teasing skin and shadow in equal measure, promising more than it gave. Her arms were crossed beneath her chest, stance wide, gaze locked on the goblin orchestrating the event like she was measuring how long it would take to drop him with a blade to the throat. Eyes followed her everywhere. Men leaned forward on the rails, jaws slack. Women watched just as openly, some with admiration, some with hunger they did not bother to hide. Whistles rolled through the stands, low and appreciative, mixed with laughter and shouted bets. Nyxia felt it, the weight of their attention sliding over her like heat, and it only made her spine straighten. Let them stare. Let them choke on it.
Perseus stood beside her, shoulders squared, jaw tight, doing his best not to look and failing more often than he cared to admit. "You don't have to do this," he said under his breath. Nyxia didn't turn. "Do you have twelve hundred crowns hiding in those pockets?" He exhaled hard. "You know I don't." "Then I'm stepping into the ring." He shifted like the words physically hurt. "You could wait. There might be another way." She finally looked at him, one eyebrow lifting. "When have you ever known me to wait?" His mouth tightened, then he said nothing more, because they both knew this part of her too well.
Skivv shot into the center of the arena like a goblin fired from a cannon, arms flung wide. "Welcome, scoundrels and seekers! Misfits and murderlovers! You've stumbled into the Serath'Kai Skill Showdown, where grit meets guile and pretty bruises earn you glory!" The crowd roared. "Three trials! No entry fee! All we ask is courage, quick hands, and enough confidence to pretend you're not scared out of your boots!" Nyxia's mouth curved, small and wicked. "And the prize? Armor fit for a godslayer. A name whispered in neon alleys!" Scrap planks and plasteel surged up from the floor, forming a brutal ring lit by crackling runes. "Trial One," Skivv announced. "Blade and Blink!"
The crowd answered with a thick, hungry ooooh. Nyxia tilted her head. "Sounds like a bad date." "Only if you're slow," Skivv chirped. "We only had two testers explode. One survived!" Perseus muttered that it was not comforting. A Vulpera stepped forward, offering twin duskbone sabers humming with charge. Nyxia took them, gave each a lazy twirl, then reached up and let her robe slide from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. Perseus looked away, then, despite himself, looked back. The swimsuit clung to her like wet ink, lace dark with steam, every line of her body bared under the lights, and the crowd surged like they could smell blood before it spilled.
The chime sounded, and the air around her cracked. Over twenty illusions tore into existence around the ring, then more, a second line forming behind the first like they were trying to drown her in bodies. They came all at once. Nyxia spun, ducked, slashed. One shattered. Another vanished under her blade. She leapt, twisted, felt steel kiss her calf, hot pain blooming, but she landed and answered with a brutal cross cut that tore her attacker apart in sparks. She could hear the pillars crackling now, see the runes along the floor brighten, feel the ring itself wake up under her feet.
Blink phase hit like a punch. They started appearing where there should not have been space. A flash at her left, she turned too late, a blade bit her ribs and static tore through her shoulder, bright agony that made her vision stutter. Blood followed, warm against pale skin, slicking her side. Perseus tensed at the edge, knuckles white, a half step forward and then forced back by the ring's boundary. Nyxia only got faster. She wove between strikes, sabers blurring, breath ragged, skin slick with sweat and blood. A cut split her cheek. Another tore her thigh. She hissed through her teeth and kept moving anyway, because stopping meant dying, and she was not giving this city the satisfaction.
Final wave. Six forms blinked in and held a heartbeat longer than the rest, as if they wanted the crowd to see what they were about to do. One stood like Perseus. His posture, his weight, the angle of his shoulders. Nyxia's eyes narrowed. "Cheap." It lunged. She met it head-on, locked blades, let it press her back two steps, then twisted her wrists hard and drove steel through its throat. It shattered. The others rushed her. She hurled herself into them, taking blows, giving worse, until the last illusion fell under a savage crossing strike that left her arms shaking.
Silence hit like a drop. Then the arena exploded with noise. Nyxia staggered off the platform, blood running freely down her leg. Perseus caught her elbow, steady and warm. "You okay?" She smirked, breathless. "You just wanted an excuse to touch me." His voice came out rough. "Can you blame me?" She tilted her head and murmured, "Careful. Crowd might start charging you admission."
The arena shifted beneath Nyxia's feet before Perseus could say another word. Platforms rotated with a grinding whine, carrying her away from him and locking into place over a wide pit of steaming mud. The slurry below was thick and glossy, alchemical in sheen, the kind that dragged at the legs and clung to skin like it meant to keep whatever fell into it. Heat rolled upward in wet waves, turning breath heavy and skin slick almost instantly. At the center, a shrieking automaton rat skittered in sharp, frantic arcs, red eyes flashing as it juked and darted with deliberate cruelty. Nyxia climbed in first. Mud splashed up her calves, warm and heavy, clinging to bare skin as the dark fabric of her swimsuit soaked through and darkened further. Steam kissed it until it molded to her like ink, outlining every curve with merciless clarity. Her opponent followed, tall and broad shouldered, a troll woman marked in pale war paint. Tusks gleamed as she stretched, muscles rolling openly beneath the lights, entirely unbothered by modesty. "Hope you don't mind gettin' dirty, pretty," the troll rumbled, eyes roaming without shame. Nyxia wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand and flashed a sharp, unapologetic smile. "I was born in it." On the edge of the pit, Perseus's jaw tightened. His hands flexed once at his sides, then curled into fists as he forced himself to look anywhere but the way steam clung to her skin. The crowd, unfortunately, had no such restraint.
The horn blew. They ran. Steam burst from vents along the platforms. Metal tilted treacherously underfoot. The Cograt juked left, then right, then shot through a narrow gap like it was laughing at them. Nyxia lunged and missed by a breath. The troll dove, fingers closing around cold metal for half a heartbeat before her footing slid out from under her. The Cograt went over the edge with her. Nyxia swore and launched after it, body committing before thought could catch up. She caught the troll around the waist mid fall, momentum dragging them both down. They hit the pit together with a wet, concussive splash, mud swallowing them whole.
The crowd erupted. They surfaced tangled and slick with muck, hair plastered to skin, hands grappling for leverage that did not exist. Thighs slid. Bodies collided and rolled, laughter turning breathless as the fight became heat and strain and balance stolen by mud.
The troll managed to get on top for a heartbeat, weight pinning Nyxia down, forearms braced on either side of her shoulders. The crowd went feral, a wall of noise and want crashing down on the pit. For half a heartbeat, Perseus felt it too. The heat. The pull. The way the crowd's hunger rolled over the arena and caught in his chest like a fist. His gaze dragged back to her without permission, traced the slick of mud on her skin, the way steam clung to her curves, the raw, unguarded power in the way she strained beneath her opponent. Want flared, sharp and physical, instinctive and dangerous, a thoughtless spark that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with mine.
It scared him how fast it came. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Perseus tore his eyes away, turning sharply, fixing his stare on the rusted railing as if it might anchor him. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms until the sting cut clean through the heat. Not like them. When he looked back again, it was deliberate. Controlled. Not to take, not to hunger, but to make sure she was still standing. Still breathing. Still herself.
Nyxia bucked hard. She twisted and rolled them, coming up on top, breath hot and eyes bright. In the scramble, a halter strap slipped. Lace shifted dangerously, fabric sliding just enough to bare slick, flushed skin beneath the lights. The stands lost their minds. Nyxia hissed under her breath, fingers slick as she shoved the fabric back into place without breaking eye contact. Her chin lifted, defiant. If anything, the near miss only sharpened her grin. "Crowd likes you," the troll teased, laughing, tusks flashing as she tried to twist free beneath her. Nyxia leaned close, voice low and sharp. "Focus."
The Cograt screamed and bolted again. They surged after it together, bodies pressed close, arms colliding, hands clawing while mud dragged at their legs like hunger. For a heartbeat it was all heat and breath and slick skin, the kind of mess that made the crowd forget how to blink. Then Nyxia dug in. With a guttural sound she wrenched the automaton free and hurled it through the steam. It slammed into the buzzer with a metallic shriek. Confetti burst. The troll fell back into the mud laughing. "Hell of a throw." Nyxia offered a hand, breath still unsteady. "Hell of a tackle." On the sidelines, Perseus finally exhaled, long and tight, eyes locked on her like he was reminding himself she was real and still standing.