“Uh… I truly don’t think this plan is a good one,” Viper murmured to Vyra, keeping his voice low as they stood embedded within the raging mass of spectators. The stands roared with cheers for the champions who had survived until the end. There were eleven of them still standing, but only eight would advance to Phase Two. Only those with the highest final point totals would earn the right to be marked as champions by the colosseum itself.

  Vyra watched with barely restrained excitement as they emerged one after another. Massive blue rifts still churned above the arena, swirling gateways that linked the great colosseum back to the distant Spirit Plane where Phase One had taken place.

  Ten of the eleven remaining participants had already returned.

  That left only one.

  And, predictably, the crowd was already cheering for her as if she were standing on the sands in plain view, even before her arrival. Most of the spectators still called her “he.” Vyra alone was stubbornly correct in using “she.”

  Watching Jade fight ignited something restless inside her. Vyra could feel it now, this sharp and persistent feeling. She knew Jade was enjoying herself down there, perhaps enjoying herself far too much. Enough that Vyra herself ached to be at her side instead of stranded in the stands. But she wasn’t ready. Still wasn’t at red core. Three years stranded at high yellow, caught at the same unyielding bottleneck. Even with Lysska’s guidance, enlightenment continued to elude her. The ascension of her own affinity refused to open.

  Sometimes, she even felt slightly out of alignment with her Ice.

  Vyra shook her head sharply. That wasn’t for now.

  When she looked back to Viper, he was sweating again, tense as ever. She flashed him a wide, toothy smile.

  “Well, Lysska approved the plan. So whatever the consequences may be, I imagine they’ll serve us in the long run.”

  “And I imagine Lysska’s judgment may be… compromised by a certain Jade-shaped influence.”

  Vyra giggled softly at his tone.

  “Well, who’s to say?”

  “I am,” Viper replied flatly. “And I am quite certain this is her plan from top to bottom. She probably wanted to spit in the elders’ faces before heading into her second trial. Lysska surely knew it wasn’t wise, but also knew it wouldn’t cause real harm, so she allowed it.”

  Vyra rolled her eyes. “Bah, bah, bah. Why must everything be weighed down with long-term intent and hidden purpose?” She was honestly baffled by how people thought at times. “Sometimes you just take delight in short-lived joys.”

  “I would prefer not to, if that joy involves sneering and baring one’s backside to the most powerful demigods in the city.”

  Truthfully, Vyra wouldn’t either. She knew her limits very well. But Jade was not bound by those limits. That was probably what drew Vyra to her in the first place, the uneasy kinship of watching someone do exactly what she herself only dared to wish for. So Viper could sweat all he liked.

  Vyra was here to enjoy what was about to unfold.

  “Well, our part is done anyway. Not that we had much to do in the first place, just make sure the timing lines up perfectly.”

  And that part, at least, had been handled with care. For all of Viper’s constant gloom, he had performed his role flawlessly. It wasn’t difficult to pour a healing potion down the throat of an unconscious, naked man sprawled across the sewer floor. It also wasn’t particularly difficult to rally a squad of guards toward a wounded, gutter-stinking naked warrior who loudly claimed to be the crowd favorite, “Toma?.” Even if he was an angry red core, the head of that patrol, and the entire team under him, were as well. If he had any reckless ideas, then his own bare, sewer-soaked backside would be the one paying for them.

  That thought earned another quiet laugh from Vyra.

  Jade had left not a scrap of clothing on the poor man. To be fair, she had needed it for the disguise, but that didn’t make the sight of him unconscious and stuffed into filth any less pitiful.

  By now, the guards must have begun to sense that something was off. The real Toma? would never need to prove his identity, as displaying his red core power alone would be enough. But they wouldn’t be able to decide what to do on their own. Someone among them would soon run to fetch a superior. And since the Flameclaw elders effectively held control over the Iron Pact at present, that report would land directly in their hands.

  A crow fluttered down and settled neatly on Vyra’s shoulder, giving a proud caw. The feathery fellow puffed up as usual. Then, quite strangely, it lifted a little wing and gave what could only be interpreted as a thumbs-up before cawing again.

  “Well,” Vyra said lightly, “seems like one of the guards is finally rushing inside.”

  “Should I take care of him?” Viper asked.

  “Nah. Let’s do that stone–paper–scissors game Jade taught us. Winner gets to go.”

  Viper stared for a moment, clearly baffled, then sighed and closed his fist. “I still think it’s juvenile.”

  “Shut up.” Vyra formed scissors. Viper formed paper. Vyra broke into a grin. “That’s ten to one. Also, you think it’s juvenile because you always lose.”

  Viper scoffed. “I don’t know how you’re cheating yet, but I swear, once I figure it out, I’ll— ”

  Vyra was already gone.

  The bottoms of her shoes crystallized into bladed ice as she slipped behind the crowd with practiced precision, burst-forward speed carrying her cleanly away. In moments, she reached the stretch the crow had indicated. The ice dissolved from her soles, and she dropped into a low, stealthy posture. Torchlight flickered along the corridor walls, shadows shifting as a thin fog of cold mist bled outward from her steps, dulling sound and motion alike.

  The guard arrived shortly after.

  As expected, he was only yellow core.

  The single thing that went off script was that he wasn’t alone. Two more followed close behind him, both yellow core as well. They paused when they noticed the unnatural fog, exchanging uneasy looks. But they were in too much of a hurry to linger. The first shook his head, made a quick decision, and stepped forward anyway, walking straight and willingly into Vyra’s waiting trap.

  The poor fool never even realized when the blunt edge of a massive icy axe slammed into his back. The fog swallowed every trace of sound. Even the other two didn’t hear what dropped their companion. Before they could react, they were already folding the same way.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Vyra dragged all three of them, one by one, toward an empty side corridor. “Why the hell are these idiots so damn heavy?” she muttered as she hauled armor-clad bodies across stone. All that metal surely wasn’t helping, but she complained anyway. Once they were stacked well out of sight, she wiped her hands together, smiling faintly as she retrieved one of Jade’s special brews, the kind that induced instant slumber.

  One drop each was the recommended dose.

  Who was watching?

  Vyra tilted one guard’s head back and was just about to empty several drops straight into his mouth when she felt it.

  A stare.

  She froze mid-motion and slowly turned her head. The crow, Lysska’s feathered spy, was perched nearby, beady eyes peering far too deeply into her soul for comfort. Vyra scowled at it.

  Tch.

  She adjusted with great restraint, letting only a single drop fall into each guard’s mouth. Then she straightened, the ice blades forming once more beneath her shoes. With a light push, she slid along the rough corridor floor, mist trailing faintly in her wake as she returned toward the arena.

  By now, the crowd had grown restless. Jade still hadn’t appeared.

  Voices rippled through the stands in swelling waves of speculation.

  “Oh, maybe someone stabbed him at the last moment?”

  “And we won’t be shown if he really died?”

  “Talk sense!”

  “What if some hidden monster got him?”

  Wild guesses piled atop one another, most of them swallowed whole by the roaring, chaotic hum of thousands of voices layered together.

  Yet the blue portals still remained.

  They would have vanished if all participants had already returned. A few in the crowd understood the procedure well enough to notice that detail. Most did not. Crowds, after all, rarely ran on careful logic.

  Vyra slipped back to Viper’s side and gave him a subtle thumbs-up. “Instead of one,” she murmured, “there were three of them.”

  “That wouldn’t have posed a problem for you, I assume,” he said.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be my first time dealing with Iron Pact cronies.”

  “I still don’t like this,” Viper whispered. “Not even a little.”

  Vyra heard him anyway.

  She hopped lightly and patted his shoulder. “There, there.” Why was he so tall, anyway? Or maybe it was her who was so damn small. Not that she would ever admit such a thing. In her own eyes, she was the tallest and most gorgeous woman alive. Case closed.

  Then, at last, the wait ended.

  One of the swirling portals rippled again. A shadow stepped through first, and that alone was enough. The crowd erupted instantly. Every lingering theory drowned beneath a violent, glorious uproar as several hundred thousand voices collided in screaming cheers.

  The final contestant had returned.

  And soon enough, Jade finally stepped out, wearing that annoyingly handsome face she’d borrowed.

  Even the announcers completely lost their composure. One of them, in particular, was being suspiciously enthusiastic about spinning a grand, valiant-hero narrative around her actions during Phase One. Vyra could almost buy into it herself… if she didn’t personally know Jade. The crowd, however, lacked that particular disadvantage, and so they swallowed the tale whole.

  Now, it was time for the second phase to begin.

  Well… yes and no.

  As the last of the swirling blue portals inside the vast arena vanished one by one, new marks appeared above the heads of the eight champions. A red sigil, shaped like floating runic script, hovered a short distance above each of them, like a crown formed of unreadable symbols. Vyra couldn’t decipher a single rune. A heartbeat later, the glowing constructs shattered into fine motes of crimson light. Those motes drifted downward, settled upon the backs of each champion’s hands, and engraved themselves into the skin like living tattoos.

  The crowd fell silent for a single suspended moment as they watched the ritual complete.

  Then the colosseum erupted once more.

  The colosseum finally had its eight champions for this year. The chosen ones who would perform for the Ancestors. The ones who would now enter the true “Spirit Hunt” portion of the Spirit Hunt Festival.

  There were many reasons people were always far more excited for the second phase than the first. Some even claimed that Phase One was little more than a bloodied sieve, a means to thin the numbers so that only the worthy would remain for the part that actually mattered. And, if Vyra was being honest with herself, she didn’t entirely disagree.

  It wasn’t just the patrons of battle, valor, and martial artistry who were watching, those who thrilled at the sight of peak performance and noble victory. The scholars were here too. The ones who cared nothing for glory or bloodshed stood just as tense, waiting for Phase Two to begin.

  After all, whatever ancient memory the colosseum chose to draw forth, they would be granted first-hand access to living history. Not secondhand retellings. Not fractured records written by victors and warped by time. But the real thing. An unfiltered glimpse into a past that often felt like it barely existed anymore. How could anyone who truly called themselves a scholar bear to miss such a thing?

  Vyra had already noticed plenty of non-beastkin scattered through the stands. Human tourists. Elves. Dwarves. All seated among the roaring crowd, all waiting with tightly wound anticipation.

  Even Vyra herself couldn’t deny the unfamiliar stir of excitement twisting in her chest. What piece of history would be dragged into the present this time? She couldn’t recall ever witnessing anything from beyond two centuries past, the point from which records were mostly intact and, if one searched hard enough, reasonably reliable.

  So what would it be?

  Another dungeon crisis like last time?

  A reenactment of some half-forgotten war?

  A catastrophic dungeon wave meant to overwhelm the eight champions outright?

  The possibilities, she had to admit, were endless.

  There was no time left to speculate, it had already begun.

  It started from a single point. A lone black dot appeared in the heart of the vast arena. It hovered there for a breath before multiplying, expanding outward as countless identical specks spiraled into motion. In seconds, it became a full-blown vortex of black points, swirling and folding into itself like a seed unfolding into a dark, unnatural bloom. And then, with a final inward collapse, a single enormous portal formed before the champions, its surface rippling with dense, shifting black.

  It was beautiful.

  And at the same time, unmistakably ominous and nightmarish, especially when set beside the gentle blue gates from Phase One.

  This time, the colosseum would not drag the champions in by force.

  From what Vyra knew, they would feel the second phase’s invitation as a strange, lingering pull, like an insistence rather than a command. They were granted a full twelve-hour window to rest. There was no need to resupply. No need to repair armor. Once they entered, they wouldn’t be using their own bodies at all. The trial would assign them new ones, and with only whatever resources were provided within that constructed reality, they would be forced to survive four brutal trials with absolutely no preparation.

  Jade, still wearing Toma?’s skin, was playing her role flawlessly. The crowd’s overwhelming intensity had clearly taken her by brief surprise at first, but she adapted quickly. Still, it didn’t look like she would need to maintain the disguise for much longer. Because within the next few minutes…

  It finally happened.

  A thunderous explosion tore through the corridor where Vyra had been standing not long ago. Lightning burst in wild arcs as dust billowed through the passage. Yet even that dust fell wrong— settling unnaturally fast, drifting back to where it had first risen. The shattered section of the wall repaired itself before the eyes could properly process what had broken.

  But the crowd wasn’t staring at the wall.

  They were staring at the man who had emerged from it.

  He was wrapped in ill-fitting clothes, smeared in filth from head to toe. And yet, despite that wretched state, the sheer density of power rolling off him made it impossible to dismiss what he was. Lancing bolts of lightning surged constantly along his body. And more damning still, he looked suspiciously identical to the celebrated champion, Toma?.

  “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU! YOU FILTHY BITCH!”

  The real Toma?’s roar shook the air as lightning detonated behind him. He lunged toward his distant double, who stood watching it all with a calm smile on her borrowed face.

  It took only moments for the Flameclaw elders to react. Before Vyra could even blink, three figures clad in sect robes appeared around the disguised “Toma?,” locking her inside a tight triangle of gold-core pressure.

  For this part, Vyra had no idea what Jade’s actual plan was.

  So even though her lips were curved in a pleased, cat-with-cream sort of smile, a thin thread of panic still slipped into her chest.

  Only about one percent of it, though.

  The other ninety-nine percent was pure exhilaration.

  She watched with wide eyes as Jade’s disguise finally collapsed. Toma?’s features peeled away as if they had never truly been real. Long golden hair spilled freely down Jade’s armored back. Her vibrant, heart-shaped face replaced Toma?’s sharper jaw. Brilliant golden draconic horns curved from her skull where dull bronze ones had been before. And at last— two swirling violet eyes, shaped like crescent moons, opened fully to the world.

  Even wrapped in armor and clothing shaped for a man’s build, Jade looked unreal. Ethereal. Untouchable.

  For a second, even Vyra felt caught by it.

  Then she snapped herself out of it.

  The real question remained.

  How, exactly, did Jade intend to escape the living death circle three gold cores had just formed around her?

  Jade (the unapologetic dragon):

  Currently surrounded by three gold cores, contemplating whether “step one: run?” or “step one: insult them harder?” is the superior tactical option.

  “Surely this will not have consequences.”

  Vyra (Ice Gremlin):

  Absolutely thrilled, 99% exhilaration, 1% “oh titty-dragons this might be bad.”

  “Mistakes were made. Not by me. But mistakes were made.”

  Viper (the long-suffering voice of reason):

  Has accepted his fate.

  Is sweating professionally.

  “Mistakes were made… by everyone. Constantly. Always.”

  Toma? (the very angry, almost naked lightning man):

  Still screaming. Will likely continue screaming for several minutes.

  “I will kill her. After I get pants. BUT THEN I WILL KILL HER.”

  The Crowd (collective idiot organism):

  Currently experiencing a universe-wide loading error.

  “Wha— that— that— TOMA? IS A— WAIT WHAT???”

  Unnamed Scholar #14:

  Has written seventeen pages of feverish notes.

  Thinks he just witnessed a historical revelation.