It took four sages to break through the Collector’s power and end the fight. I’m choosing to think of him as the Collector anyway, whatever he says. His abilities and actions are close enough to the Radiant Woods, which I am all but certain is related to Potestia’s asshole god. So for now, whoever fucked that fight up gets to wear the name. Especially since he was powerful enough that, again, it took four sages to overpower his will. When the fight ended, none of the four descended on me with righteous vengeance in their eyes, ready to execute Lillith, the actual demon queen. So that’s a good sign. Instead, I was escorted to the infirmary to heal again, as with every other fight. It seems to take ages, and I’m still dazed by the pain.

  Most injuries seem to heal without a scar, surpassing both my manual attempts at healing and Sarafyna’s magic. I wonder why that is. Nevertheless, it does take some time before my bones are all back in place, my bruises are gone, and my blood exists in the appropriate quantity for a sweet young lady like me. I let out a relieved sigh as the blurred world slowly retakes its shape, crystal clear detail revealing a mostly empty infirmary. A few other beds are taken, and I find myself next to Bahamut again.

  “Why do you heal so slow?” she asks. I shrug.

  “You know how some people are so lucky you have to assume some god has taken a special interest and is looking out for them?” I ask. She grunts.

  “There’s no such thing as a god,” she dismisses.

  “How about colloquialisms, are there such things as those?” I quip. She gives me a flat stare.

  “Fine. I know what you mean, what about them?” she finally answers.

  “Well, I’m not one of them,” I say. “Nexus energy heals me with the furious speed of old molasses.” Again she gives me a flat stare.

  “I see why you wanted me to entertain your metaphor. What a payoff,” she intones. Alright, fair enough.

  “I’m charming that way,” I say. She snorts.

  “Are you now? Guess I’m one of the few with immunity, then. I find little charm in idiocy,” she replies.

  “Well that’s just not very nice,” I pout. “I’m smarter than I look, everyone says so.”

  She actually laughs at that, if only as a knee jerk reaction. It is . . . not a friendly laugh. “I saw your fight, oh demon queen. They let us watch other Gladiators sometimes, so we know how to react to them. Makes the fights more interesting. And you. Well, I thought you were an idiot when you came here voluntarily. Then I thought you were just shit at this, which made you an even bigger moron. The hits you took made no sense. They were slow. You should have seen them coming. Anyone who Markus was throwing six gladiators at should have had the reaction speed to avoid them. But you didn’t. You looked like you were in over your head,” she says. It’s a fair evaluation.

  “I usually am,” I joke as I look around the room. Something is bothering me and I can’t put my finger on it. I only have one ear on the other woman as she reminds me of what a fucking tool I looked like out there. Not exactly a complex analysis, and I am more concerned with how much the sages saw.

  “No,” she challenges, “You’re not. That became clear when the fight changed. I don’t know what happened out there. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what people are saying about it. But I saw how you changed. Your inexplicable strength. Your reaction times. All seven of you transformed into entirely different beasts, but you were the only one who chose to. Which means you took those first hits on purpose. Then, you fought with your life on the line, not just to win, but to stop your opponents from killing each other. Maybe the second one just makes you a na?ve fool, but the first makes you an idiot.”

  Alright, maybe it is a slightly deeper evaluation than I thought. “Yeah okay, I’m an idiot. That’s fair,” I concede. Then I realize the problem as I consider the final thing she said. “Are there other infirmaries?” It would make sense if there were. Could get dicey if you threw the winner and loser of a fight together. Although, that’s exactly what they have done every other time I’ve fought.

  “Just this one. We rarely have enough survivors on both sides to need two,” Bahamut answers. I freeze.

  “Then where are the others? As you noted, I went to great pains to keep them alive. Don’t tell me they died as soon as the fight ended, did they?” I ask in horror. It would make sense, I suppose. I didn’t want to consider it, but victims of the Collector can’t survive without him. It’s by design. Without his power, they die. It’s one of the cruelest aspects of his control over them. He sends them around his little forest, never letting them escape, mutilating them further and further, and keeping them alive through the sheer force of his will. He takes their life and refuses to let them die. Until it’s convenient for him, of course. And if his power was overwhelmed by the other sages, then his newest victims . . .

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  “Ah, and there is the na?ve fool,” Bahamut laments. “No, the other gladiators didn’t die. Markus took them. He always does, when they are injured too severely to heal but are still alive. And I’d call that too injured to heal.” What? What does he want with them? Nothing good comes to mind as I race through the possible uses he could have for the mutated gladiators. Nexus energy rarely has anything good in store for anyone.

  “Where? Where did he take them?” I plead. She looks down at the cuffs around her wrists then at the guards at the door.

  “They don’t let me wander around much. How am I supposed to know? He takes them and they never show up again. That’s the best I can tell you,” she replies. Right. I am the only person in here who isn’t a slave. Fucking hell. I need to change that, sooner rather than later. Today accelerated the timeline in this arena. I just need to find out how much. They healed me, that’s a good sign. But if I am vulnerable to another attack like that every time I enter the arena, I can’t keep risking it. Especially since my opponents were used as weapons against me. Whatever ends up happening to them, it’s because they fought me.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it, I really do,” I say. Bahamut stops picking at the healing cut on her arm and waves me off.

  “It doesn’t make a difference to me,” she replies. “I just wanted to tell you to stop being a moron.”

  “Well it’s appreciated all the same, uh, what’s your real name?” I ask as I tighten the armor on my right arm. I need to confront Markus, and while he likely has a clue or two about me, I don’t need to make his guesses any easier for him than they already are.

  “What’s yours? ‘Cordelia’? Doesn’t ring true to me,” she retorts. That’s a tough question to answer, and a moment’s hesitation is all she needs to brush me off. “Right. Let’s not find out, either of us. It’ll make it easier when they make us kill each other.”

  Her words have a bitter taste and they prick at my ears, but as I finish making sure my armor is in place, I have no time to challenge her. Maybe she’ll tell me when I break out of here. For now, I need to make sure more people don’t pay the price of my presence. I run past the guard, there to keep everyone but me from fleeing. The colosseum has more twists and turns than I’d expect from a perfectly round building, but I guess I’ve never been to the one back on Earth. I never even went to a stadium, now that I think of it. Still, I remember the way to Markus’ home. I made sure to remember.

  I rush past concerned workers and guards alike, taking turn after turn to get to my destination as quickly as possible. It’s already been too long. I can’t feel grief anywhere, except the one source I have been tracking since I came to this country. Autumn. Which means I can’t use it to track the six gladiators I fought. One thought keeps running through my head. Why did he come after me when he did? Why then, at that moment? The gladiators aren’t the only people I spend time around. The Collector could have turned anyone around me at any time. That ambush could have happened anywhere. When I wasn’t being directly watched by a sage. It’s possible he wanted to trap me into revealing myself. Something I did, in fact, do. Something which may have fucked me, as far as I know. It’s possible he wanted me to have fewer options.

  But it doesn’t ring true. If I’d run around saving bystanders from monsters using only temporarily powerful grief mana, it could have been even worse than what did happen. He did what he did when there would be no bystanders and I could fight them on my own. Sure, he did it when there would be the largest number of witnesses, but they would be witnesses expecting a spectacle, to whom the absurd events could be explained. So why make his move when he did? Well, that’s a simple enough question to answer. Painfully simple. Because the moment he attacked was right after I started fighting back. That’s the most damning evidence against me. He chose to hurt these people because I had let myself get hurt first. Because I had taken the hits and the breaks and the abuse and I would be the least prepared to fight back. He attacked at my weakest moment. This happened because of my selfishness.

  Which means I have to stop it from getting any worse. Autumn was right to yell at me. I need to be an iron fortress. I cannot indulge in this pettiness anymore. I have to lock that part of me away. Push it deep into the dark where it belongs. Where it can suffocate and never be seen again. Where I can make it invisible. As I do just that in my mind’s eye, I finally make it to the strangely residential door of Markus’ home. I pound my left fist on the door as gently as I can in my current emotional state. As gently as I can is not very gentle, apparently. The sound of gloves against wood is typically muffled, but this still rings through the halls. I wait for ten agonizing breaths. There is no response. I will wait no longer, and I grab the lever handle and push it down.

  It opens easily, despite the cracking sound I hear. We’ll just call that unlocked, how about? I push my way in, only to find the home abandoned. I don’t know where Markus is, but it isn’t here. Probably talking to the sages he’d called for help earlier. I imagine they have a good deal to talk about, what with the fight they just witnessed. I’m not even sure it will all be about me. I can’t imagine they are terribly pleased with the friend who came to visit me mid match either. I am about to turn around and go searching for him when something catches my eye. The room is dark so I can’t make much out. It could be the type of illusion darkness is always generous with. It could also be real.

  I summon light mana easily enough, illuminating the room in an instant. It was no trick of the light. The carpet is stained all over. Stained with blood and filth. Like an injured animal, or several, were dragged through the room. Through the room and to the heavy curtains on the opposite side. Anxiety falls on me like a heavy rain as I follow the stains to the window. There is something wrong with that fucking window. Something dark. I can feel it. The gladiators I fought are on the other side. They have to be. My fingers curl around one curtain and I take a deep breath. I am afraid to see the state they are in. Terrified to see the results of my presence on innocent lives. But I need to look, and I pull the curtain to the side.

  I stare for a moment, then blink. I rub my eyes and look again. I don’t get it. At first I think I am looking at, well, nothing. Just darkness. But as I shine light mana into it, it reflects back at me. Like it’s hitting a surface. A stone. A massive, obsidian stone, exactly like the ones supporting the border. What the hell?

  “It’s rude to poke your nose around other people’s homes without permission,” Markus says.