Fighting, Honour and Valhalla Chapter 62 - Viking and The Witcher: Year 3 End (Patreon)

(Enjoy the conclusion to this year, it’s around 20K words.)

"Begin!"

With that single word, the once relatively calm colosseum, containing the laughing of children, the arguing of friends and the simple moments that people share with each other. It all disappeared. What replaced it was battle, blood lust, pure anger and hatred. The crowd that had been so calm earlier cheered it all on till their voices went hoarse. They called out for blood, they called out for the fighters they bet on to kill their opponents. Even the children were excited at the witness of such bloodshed.

Gladiatorial combat had been banned in the Roman Empire for hundreds of years, the last one taking place nearly 400 years ago. The Byzantine empire was no exception, they considered the sport to be unchristian like the empire before them and when the western and eastern empires split they kept the law in place. Never allowing the cruel sport in the empire ever again.

But now look at them.

Hundreds of men stand in the sand, ready to tear each other apart for the smallest hope of a better life. Some want gold. Some want freedom. Some just want a death they can choose. They fight with everything they have, while thousands cheer for them to suffer. I watched as one man was disemboweled with a hooked blade, and the crowd applauded like they'd seen a play.

Some of them gouged out eyes. Some crushed skulls. Some dragged the bodies across the sand like trophies. And the people—men, women, and children—laughed. Laughed like it was all a game.

I looked across the crowd. Thousands of faces howling for blood, but... I saw others too. A few. Dozens maybe. They were quiet. Still. I saw a few of them begin to tremble. One man fell to his knees. A woman turned and fled. Some just sat, faces pale, as though they were seeing something they had managed to ignore all their lives.

It was like they'd finally woken up. Like they looked down and realised just how far humanity has fallen.

I know that feeling. I felt it long ago.

I sat in the noble box beside the Empress. I was meant to be honoured. To be flattered. This was all for us, they said. This entire nightmare staged in our name. I watched the blood spill and felt nothing but a deep, dry sorrow. I've cried before. I've wept for strangers, for friends, for the world. But not today. Today there were no tears left.

Because I understand what this is.

This is human nature.

For every man who tries to pull the world forward, a thousand will drag it back. That's the truth. That's always been the truth. One man builds, the others tear it down. One man dares to speak honestly, and the rest burn him alive for it. There's no balance in our nature. Just weight. And it always pulls downward.

No creature on this earth is as cruel as man. A wolf kills to feed. A lion kills to defend. But man kills for pride. For laughter. For the sound of bone cracking beneath their feet. No animal locks its own kind in cages. No beast starves its family to keep the rich well-fed. No creature flays its brother to prove it holds power.

Only man does that. And worse. Always worse.

We use the words "God" and "mercy" and "justice" as if they mean anything. But our hands are soaked in blood. We preach forgiveness while punishing the poor. We speak of honour while selling our daughters to the highest bidder. Every kingdom, every throne, every altar... it's all built on backs we've broken.

Eight centuries after Christ died for the sins of humanity, what has become of them?

We lie. We betray. We kill. We cheer as others are ripped apart before our eyes and call it civilisation.

There has never been a more cursed breed of creature than human. And there never will be.

— Journal Extract From ???

___________________________________

"Begin!"

The arena turned into a madhouse as everyone charged at each other. Thorfinn however wasn't worried and didn't rush anywhere, they'd come to him so there wasn't any point in the exerting himself in that manner. And if by magic someone appeared. A bald man with scars notched into his head, a nose that had clearly been broken numerous times and a face only a mother could love. He rushed at Thorfinn barehanded, he likely believed that if he kept his momentum he'd be able to topple someone Thorfinn's size. Unfortunately that dream would never pass as Thorfinn easily grabbed him by the head and slammed it down into the rough sand; the man's face exploded in a burst of blood and viscera.

*thud*

*thud*

*thud*

Three more slams to the ground was all it took for the man to become stil and for Thorfinn to get his first win in the match. All around him people were fighting, some had found weapons while others resorted to bashing each other with their firsts. Thorfinn tried to look out for Lambert, but with how many people were around as well as the large chunks of debris in the arena.

Thorfinn ducked as someone swung a sword over his head from behind him. Another nobody, he could tell from the fact that he wasn't confident enough to even face him head on Thorfinn grabbed his arm with his right and and slammed his left into the man's arm, snapping it at the elbow.

"AHHHHHHGGGGHHHH!!" The man screamed, he dropped the sword, which Thorfinn kicked up to his free hand and then cut his neck from ear to ear. Blood spurt out like a fountain, and in an effort not to be covered in it he booted the man's body away which sent it skidding across the ground.

Now armed with a sword Thorfinn was concerned that this would be too easy. He let out a deep sigh before he walked over towards a large piece of debris, as he walked there he slashed and slaughtered anyone who got in his way; his skill was so beyond there's it wasn't even funny. It was such a stark contrast to where Thorfinn began that he even started to laugh. It made him wistful in a way, looking back at the child he was to the man he was now. He wondered if he'd be doing the same thing five years from now, and if so would he achieve an even greater power.

"Tssst," Thorfinn kissed his teeth in annoyance. "You're all annoying me... go fight someone else," he said to the people trying to surround him. They tried to sneak up on him, but their footsteps were louder than a horses. It amused him, as he imagined this was likely what Sophia and the other Masters heard when they first started teaching him.

"RAAAAHHHH!!!"

One of them ran towards him once they'd been discovered, trying to startle him with a battle cry. Thorfinn wasn't impressed and didn't move from his spot, instead he just threw the sword in his grip and watched as it impaled him through the chest. He then pushed off from his seat missing a slash from a man behind him, he grabbed his sword out of the man just in time to block an attack from another. The clash of their iron blades kicked up sparks. They clashed swords again, Thorfinn twisted his wrist to try and disarm him, but to his surprise the man knew enough to know to draw back. This obviously didn't save him as Thorfinn just lunged forward, slamming his elbow into his jaw. The competitors teeth flew out of his mouth onto the floor; Thorfinn ended it all with a quick pivot and a cut to the man's throat.

This gave the rest of them pause, but Thorfinn wasn't just about to let the rest of them escape. He had given him one chance, and that was all they got. He dashed forward holding his sword horizontally, the man in front of him was terrified and tried to backtrack. Thorfinn cut through his stomach disemboweling him, he then reversed the grip on his sword before blocking a slash to the left. "I see one of you is very brave," Thorfinn said with the grin. He head-butted the man crunching his nose and making blood spurt out. This however wasn't enough, he could see other people watching. While he was excited about the opportunity to fight in this gladiator tournament, he didn't want to waste it fighting these weaklings.

'This should deter them...'

Thorfinn grabbed the man's worst and twisted it making him yell out in pain, he dropped his sword and to everyone's surprise so did Thorfinn. The Viking let go of the man before he hit him with several punches to his body and face in quick succession—drawing a bit on his divine power—the man's bones cracked and eventually caved in. He then grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him up, he used his other arm to hold him horizontally above his head.

*snap*

Thorfinn snapped the man's back over his knee folding him in half in a way that wasn't natural. This caused the crowd to 'Oooo' and wince in empathetic pain, though those were quickly replaced with cheers for more. The other gladiators hesitated when they saw that, and almost unilaterally agreed that attacking that man was a bad idea.

"BEAUTIFUL!!!"

"BEAUTIFUL!!!"

Thorfinn tensed and took a step back as he heard the shouting come from behind him. When he turned he saw the familiar dark skinned man, that was clearly touched in the head. He jumped over a large piece of debris, his foot landing on someone else's face; the man he landed on was forced to the ground where a loud splat could be heard. "What a beautiful showing of absolute savagery!" The man called out as he thrust his fists up into the air.

Thorfinn stayed on guard, the man was mad there was no doubt about that, however the strength and agility he would have needed to execute what he just did was immense. This was no normal man. If push came to shove Thorfinn might need to reveal his abilities, which he didn't want to do, as it would jeopardise the plan.

Thorfinn opened up his senses, a long time ago when he had overdosed on leviathan meat he'd developed the sense to perceive magic. Right now the man in front of him had more than a normal amount flowing off of him. 'Who is this man...' Thorfinn thought to himself.

The man smiled wide, clapping his hands together as if he had just watched a theatre performance. "A wonderful showing, Northman! Truly, truly wonderful!" he said loudly, almost as if he were speaking to a crowd rather than one man. "But please, allow your friend here to handle the rest. You've done your part, so sit back and let me take over!"

Thorfinn didn't move. He watched carefully as the dark-skinned man reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a large silver coin. The same one that he had used before.

"Let's see whose side fate is on today..." the man said, flipping the coin into the air. It spun rapidly, light catching on its surface as it reached its apex. The crowd actually quieted a little, confused by the spectacle. The coin came down fast and the man caught it, slapping it against his palm.

He lifted his hand. The King's side was up.

The man grinned wide, and Thorfinn watched as the magic inside him surged. It wasn't a flare like when someone drew on magic for a spell—this was different. The entire magic in his body had grown, he didn't understand how that was possible. The only growth he'd only seen come close to that was when he had overdosed on the leviathan meat, but even so it wasn't so quick and he didn't seem to be suffering any side effects.

"Can you hear that?" the man asked, his body beginning to shift back and forth like he was warming up. His arms rolled at the shoulders, his hips twisted, and he started hopping in place with a little bounce in his feet. It almost looked like he was dancing, there wasn't anyone playing any music. What did come close however was the audience who were clapping and stamping their feet; Thorfinn noted that his rhythm did match that of the crowd.

No one responded. People just stared at him like he was insane.

"THAT'S MY MUSIC!!" he shouted suddenly, then took off running with a shout, his coat flaring behind him.

He stopped mid-sprint to slam his foot into the side of a massive boulder, one of the many chunks of stone debris scattered across the arena. The sheer force behind it sent the boulder flying, rolling across the sand toward a man who didn't even have time to react properly. He turned and tried to run, feet slipping in the sand, but it was no use. The rock slammed into him and flattened him with a crunch. The sound echoed across the arena, followed by the cheer of the audience.

Thorfinn didn't move. He kept watching.

The man exploded into motion, his fists flying. He ducked under a wild swing and punched a man in the ribs, then uppercut another in the chin so hard that he flew backward and collided headfirst into a chunk of stone, knocking himself out cold. Another man rushed him with a spear, but as he stepped forward, he tripped on a sword buried halfway in the sand and fell forward. The dark-skinned man didn't hesitate. He grabbed the man's arm and dislocated his shoulder in one twist before slamming his elbow into the back of his skull.

Two more men tried to flank him. One slipped on a patch of blood while the other accidentally got his leg tangled in the dead body of the man crushed by the boulder. The dark skinned fighter spun, swept both of them off their feet, then drove his knee into one of their chests, making them gasp.

"FATE IS KIND TODAY!" he shouted, kicking sand into the eyes of someone who tried to stab him from behind. He turned and delivered a straight punch to the man's temple, dropping him instantly.

A sword thrown from the crowd bounced once, hit the wall, and slid right into his hand as if it had been tossed to him. He didn't even look surprised.

He used it to parry another attack and then stabbed his attacker through the thigh, dragging the blade sideways before kicking the man in the face.

A man with a hammer charged him, but another panicked gladiator stumbled in the way. The hammer crushed the wrong man's skull. The lucky fighter ducked under a second swing and elbowed the wielder in the gut, then flipped him over his shoulder using nothing but raw speed and timing.

Thorfinn kept watching. He could feel it clearly now. The luck was unnatural. Every movement this man made was accompanied by some twist in the world around him. An accident here. A stumble there. Everything lining up perfectly. That kind of magic was terrifying, but how did it work? Thorfinn tried to focus his senses some more; specifically on the coin that was in the man's palm, it was surely a magic artifact of some kind.

No...

He couldn't sense any magic from the coin, which begged the question. Who the fuck was this man?

The crowd was roaring now, not sure whether they were cheering for the Viking or this madman who moved like a dancer and fought like a beast. The dark-skinned man was still grinning, still hopping in place between movements, his energy seemingly endless.

"Anyone else?" he called out, throwing his arms wide.

No one answered, after seeing what they'd just saw no one wanted to.

"MY MUSIC'S STILL PLAYING, SO LET'S GO!!!" the man screamed at the top of his lungs, eyes wide, arms flaring out. His grin hadn't left his face once.

And then he shot forward like a cannonball.

He leapt over a fallen body and drove his knee into someone's chest before his feet even touched the ground. The man he hit coughed blood and crumpled, and before he hit the floor fully, the lunatic was already spinning around, sweeping another with a kick to the jaw.

Someone tried to take advantage of the opening and rushed him from behind.

Bad move.

The man ducked, grabbed the attacker's leg and lifted it mid-sprint, causing the poor bastard to flip upside down. Instead of letting go, he held tight and spun with him, using his weight and momentum to clear space. The upside-down fighter's body crashed into two others trying to close in, the sound of cracking bones followed by a scream. He finally let go and launched the man like a shotput, and he slammed into a chunk of stone with a meaty slap.

"WHO'S NEXT?! HAHAHA!!"

Another man charged him with a dagger, but his foot slipped on the blood-soaked sand. The dark-skinned man didn't miss a beat, he grabbed the guy by the head and smashed it into the ground once. The body twitched and stilled. Then he jumped onto the corpse of another fighter and rode it like a sled as it slid downhill across the dusty terrain. While it moved, he pushed off and launched himself feet-first into a standing fighter's chest, dropkicking him so hard the man's body flew ten feet and tumbled over a broken pillar.

People had stopped trying to take him one-on-one. They came in groups now. Four men ran at him with weapons; two with spears, one with an axe, and one with a chain wrapped around his fists.

"YESSS!!" he shouted, sprinting to meet them.

The first spear thrust missed as he bent backwards, then countered with an uppercut that cracked the man's jaw and sent him staggering. He used the dazed man as cover against the next spear and then shoulder-checked him into the second attacker. He grabbed the falling axe mid-air and used it to deflect the chain, then tossed the axe at someone else, not even bothering to aim; it landed in the guy's thigh, making him fall with a scream.

Every move was a mix between clumsy and perfection, it was as if the world shifted around him to make his every move correct. He dodged without thinking. Countered without looking. Someone tried to flank him but tripped on the dropped chain, slamming headfirst into the ground. Another lunged from the side, but his sword caught on a broken shield in the sand, and before he could recover the Dark Skinned man was already behind him, elbow deep in his ribs with a punch that sounded like a hammer hitting meat.

And all throughout it the crowd continued to stomp their feet and clap.

He picked up a handful of sand, threw it in one man's face, and used the distraction to sweep his legs. As the man fell, he rolled under him, came up behind another, and jumped into the air. He dropkicked the second guy right in the back, pushing him into another who had just raised a sword. The man was impaled by the sword, but he managed to headbutt the man with the sword causing both of them to fall to the ground.

All around the arena now was chaos.

The weak were dead.

The fools and first-timers had been torn apart in the opening minutes.

Now the real fighters were left. Veterans. Killers. Men who had survived dozens of battles, who didn't get rattled just from someone showing off. These weren't brutes swinging wildly. They were watching. Judging. Picking their moments.

The tempo of the match changed.

Even Thorfinn could feel it. The chaos of the opening had burned itself out, and now the survivors were the ones who could actually fight. No more lucky kills. No more clueless idiots running forward like headless chickens.

"That man is really something," Lambert said from next to Thorfinn as he magically appeared next to him.

Thorfinn didn't look at him, he continued looking at the dark skinned man. "That he is..." he said. He then turned to Lambert. "Do you know what kind of magic he is using? He flipped a coin before he started fighting, when he did so his magic grew."

Lamberts eyes widened. "Are you sure?" He asked. Lambert's eyes stayed wide for a moment longer, then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Then he might be a contract magician."

Thorfinn furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Contract magician," Lambert repeated. "It's not common. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them. Most people haven't. They're rare. Very rare."

Thorfinn didn't say anything.

Lambert continued. "Some people aren't born with regular magic, but instead they're born... marked, in a way. Able to make a pact. Not with spirits, not with demons, but with magic itself. Raw magic."

Thorfinn's gaze returned to the dark-skinned man now pacing with that same boundless energy, dancing between corpses and broken blades like a man performing on a stage. "What kind of pact?"

"That's the trick." Lambert's tone sharpened. "They create the pact themselves, they decide what they gain and what conditions there are, that's what makes them such powerful mages. But magic is no fool, for no matter how powerful an ability might seem there as to be a drawback equally as great, if they break the rules they set on themselves..."

"They die?"

"Worse," Lambert said. "Some lose their minds. Others get swallowed whole. The magic turns against them. Their own power becomes the curse. Think about that coin flip. That might be the trigger for his pact. He flips it, he fights. Maybe he promised something. Maybe the coin has to land a certain way for his power to activate. There's always a condition."

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed, watching the man again, now laughing and shouting at the crowd as he kicked a sword off the ground and caught it mid-spin. "That means his strength is conditional."

"Perhaps..." Lambert said while rubbing his chin.

"You don't think so?" Thorfinn asked.

"His strength could merely be an unintended byproduct of the magic surging inside him; magic can be used to enhance the body, perhaps by increasing the amount of magic in his body with the coin flip it also has the unintended effect of making him stronger," he theorised.

Thorfinn tucked that knowledge away. If the coin was tied to his magic, then there had to be some deeper system behind it. He was already building scenarios in his mind—ways to neutralize it. Break his rhythm. Interfere with the flip. Steal the coin. Or force him to break his vow.

But he didn't get to think further.

A sudden blur moved from the edge of the arena, and Thorfinn saw it a second too late.

Three men lunged for Lambert from behind. All armed. One of them actually managed to swing a heavy axe toward Lambert's spine—

Lambert didn't even flinch. He turned, raised a single hand, and a pulse of raw force blasted outward from his palm. Not wind. Not heat. Just force.

The nearest attacker's ribcage collapsed before the axe hit the ground.

"Don't use your signs," Thorfinn reminded him. Luckily Aard wasn't easily seen by people, he hoped that was the case here. 

"Yeah yeah." Lambert ducked low under the second man's thrust and drove an elbow into his stomach, lifting him clean off the ground before grabbing him by the ankle and slamming him into the third like a battering ram. Bones cracked. The two fell in a heap.

"I'll explain more later," Lambert called over his shoulder, already moving again. "Try not to die before then." And then he was gone, moving into the fray, carving a path through everyone.

Thorfinn barely had time to exhale before he felt the shift in the air. A shadow moved quickly in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to block a quick slash from a short sword. The woman in front of him stepped in close, her second blade already sweeping in from the side. He turned his shoulder and raised his arm. Her blade scraped off his gauntlet.

She flipped backward without warning. Her feet barely touched the ground before she lunged again. This time she spun mid-air and swung both swords from above. Thorfinn stepped back and raised his weapon, parrying the strikes with quick counter slashes.

"You're fast," he said.

She smiled. "You're not bad for a brute."

She rolled to the side, then kicked toward his legs. Thorfinn jumped back. She followed, pressing forward with a flurry of slashes. Thorfinn blocked each one. Her rhythm was fast but not unpredictable. She aimed high, then low, then tried to kick him in the chest. Thorfinn caught her ankle with both hands and twisted.

She flipped mid-air to recover but landed awkwardly. He moved in. She tried to cut him with an upward slash. He stepped aside, grabbed her wrist, and slammed it down against his knee. The sword clattered to the ground. She twisted free and rolled backward.

"Getting rough, aren't we?" she said. "I don't mind that."

She ran forward again, trying to grab her sword. Thorfinn kicked it further away. She spun around him and tried to strike him from behind. He turned and blocked her forearm, then threw her to the side. She landed and rolled, then kicked off the ground and charged again.

This time she didn't go for a weapon. She jumped, landed a foot on his thigh, and pushed upward. She flipped and tried to scissor her legs around his neck. Thorfinn bent his knees, grabbed her leg, and swung her overhead. Her body hit the ground with a solid thud.

She coughed but still smiled. "You've got good hands, Northman."

She got up slowly and brushed herself off. Her eyes stayed locked on his. She walked toward him slowly. She reached down and pulled her tunic open slightly, exposing her chest.

"You really want to fight me?" she asked. "Or would you rather have me?"

Thorfinn kept his sword raised. "That trick won't work."

"Come now," she said. "You're a man, aren't you? Don't you want something softer than iron?"

"I've seen prettier women."

Her expression shifted slightly. She stepped closer. "Then let me show you what else I can do."

Before Thorfinn could answer, something struck her from the side.

A body flew into the frame. The dark-skinned man crashed into her with both legs extended. His boots hit her ribs. Her body flew sideways through the air and hit a rock with a hard smack.

Thorfinn blinked.

The dark-skinned man stood where she had been, grinning. "Not to worry, Northman. I won't allow the foul temptress to steal your heart."

He gave a thumbs up.

Then he turned and walked off without another word, bouncing lightly on his feet as if nothing had happened.

Thorfinn once again found himself baffled, while the woman was nothing he couldn't handle, the fact that the dark skinned man jumped in to protect him was strange. It seemed that the man's intentions were only known to himself. For now at least.

...

Meanwhile, up in the royal box, the nobles sat comfortably under the ornate canopy, shaded from the sun and cushioned by silks and imported cushions. Their laughter and conversation mixed with the roar of the crowd below, but their view was far more detached. For them, this was a game. A sport. Something to bet on and drink to. Most didn't even look at the fighters as people. Niketas leaned forward in his seat with a wide grin, his hands clasped together tightly as he watched the battle unfold. He laughed aloud as a man was thrown across the sand and landed headfirst into a wall. "Did you see that?" he shouted to no one in particular. "Thrown like a rag doll!" He clapped once, thoroughly entertained, eyes gleaming with childlike glee.

Beside him, a few other nobles chuckled along, sipping wine from goblets that were never allowed to stay empty for long. With a snap of their fingers, attendants moved quietly behind them, refilling their drinks without a word. One noble, a wide-shouldered man in a red tunic with gold trim, leaned towards Niketas.

"That dark-skinned one," he said, nodding toward the arena, "I bet thirty gold he makes it into the next round."

Another noble chimed in. "I heard he's touched by the gods. Or insane. Or both."

They all laughed.

"Did you see the one with the dark hair?" Niketas added, not bothering to lower his voice. "Snapped a man's spine over his leg like he was kindling."

That got another round of laughter.

"Brutal. I like that."

"Likely to make it far," another agreed.

"And the tall one with the axe? The man's been swinging it like he's chopping trees. Got five already."

"Six," corrected the one in red, raising his goblet. "Just caved another man's chest in."

Further along the box, Arwyn sat with her hands resting on her lap her back straight and an unreadable expression on her face. She didn't flinch at the blood or the screams. She'd spent years among the Northmen in Kattegat. This was nothing new to her. Thea, however, sat beside her with one hand near her mouth, eyes scanning the bloodied sands with discomfort. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, but the tension in her posture didn't ease. Her expression twisted slightly as she looked down at the arena, watching another fighter stab a man repeatedly until the crowd started chanting his name.

Arwyn leaned slightly toward her and placed a hand on hers.

"You don't have to look," Arwyn said quietly, soft enough not to be heard by anyone else.

Thea glanced at her. "I'm fine," she said quickly, then looked back down. "It's just hard to watch."

Arwyn gave her hand a light squeeze. "It's always worse the first time. You learn to detach from it." She looked forward again.

Thea didn't respond but didn't look away again. She simply nodded.

Their attention turned slightly as the nobles around them continued discussing the fighters like racehorses.

"That white-haired brute with the hammer, he's going to be a problem."

"No no, the spearwoman. She's fast. Unnaturally fast."

"I'd bet three hundred solidi she makes top ten."

Another snapped his fingers and a servant appeared immediately with a fresh tray of chilled drinks.

Arwyn kept her gaze on the arena. The flow of blood. The roar of the crowd. The scent of sweat and steel that drifted even up to the box in waves. She narrowed her eyes slightly. While her eyesight wasn't otherworldly, it was still better than any human's. A trait of her lycanthropic heritage.

And she saw him.

Or rather, someone that looked too close to him for it to be a coincidence.

A man, tall, moving differently from the others. Though his hair was black hair instead of white. But the way he moved. The way he shifted his feet. The stance. The guard. The strike angle. Her pupils sharpened slightly. She didn't blink.

Thea caught the change in her posture instantly.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

Arwyn nodded once. "It's nothing," she said.

But she didn't look away.

Her focus stayed locked on that man in the field. Because she knew Thorfinn's fighting style like her own breath. She had watched him train, fight, kill. That kind of instinct wasn't something you could just copy.

If it was him, she'd know soon. She just had to watch a little longer.

...

The horn sounded three times from the towers above the arena, deep and loud enough to silence even the most bloodthirsty of the crowd. Dust drifted across the battlefield, the sand now stained red, bodies sprawled in every direction, broken weapons scattered like firewood. What remained of the fighters stood in the center, most of them were bloodied and tired, but a scant few stood causally as if this was a mere warm up.

A tall figure in gold-lined robes stepped forward to the raised dais where the announcer always stood. The man raised his arms theatrically as a servant handed him a scroll.

"WE HAVE OUR VICTORS!" the announcer bellowed, voice magically amplified to boom across the entire colosseum. The crowd roared in approval.

"First—THE NORTHMAN!"

There was an explosion of cheering as Thorfinn gave no response at all, standing near the edge of the gathering, arms crossed. He looked up only for a second before returning to his thoughts.

"Next—Lambert of Francia!"

The Witcher raised a single fist, a smug smile on his face.

"And the whirlwind himself... THE NUBIAN!"

The dark-skinned man threw his arms into the air, leaping onto a broken pillar and shouting to the crowd, "FORTUNE FAVOURS THE BRAVE!"

"AND..." the announcer continued, rattling off more names, his voice filling the silence between bouts of applause.

"...The twin-blade from Rome!"

"...The beast-tamer from Bharat!"

"...The flame-dancer from the East!"

Names continued until the final tally reached twenty.

Thorfinn didn't look impressed.

"That was too easy," he said, finally turning to Lambert who was wiping a bit of blood from his mouth.

Lambert laughed. "Maybe round two will put some hair on your chest."

Thorfinn rolled his eyes. "If something actually forces me to use magic, I might be impressed."

The horn sounded again.

The announcer raised his hands once more. "ROUND TWO APPROACHES!"

The crowd responded with a roar, banging their feet against the stands.

"This next round will be fought in TEAMS OF TWO!" he declared. "Each pair will face a randomly selected ENEMY! Some... of legendary origin!"

The energy in the colosseum shifted. People stood to get a better view. Bets began to shift in whispers and gestures.

"Your teammates will be chosen by FATE," the announcer said. "Step forward now, and form lines!"

Each of them moved to the center where the arena attendants had set up two large bronze urns. One was filled with dozens of small wooden carvings of animals, each one painted either black or white.

"The carving you select will reveal your team and your enemy," the announcer shouted. "Those who draw matching animals in the opposing colour... will fight together. The animal you draw determines what beast you will face."

Thorfinn cursed under his breath. Anyone on his team would no doubt slow him down and get themselves killed. If they couldn't pull their weight, they'd only get in his way. Lambert was already a headache, and he doubted he would be teamed up with him.

Lambert stepped forward first and drew a carving shaped like a horned lizard, black.

A few seconds later, a tall woman with braided hair and a long spear stepped up and drew the same carving, same colour. She nodded to Lambert without a word. He looked her up and down, then grinned.

"Looks like I'm stuck with you. Don't slow me down."

She said nothing.

Thorfinn moved next. He approached the center of the urn and reached inside. His fingers brushed over multiple shapes and finally grabbed something. When he pulled it out, it looked like a small carving of a hunched humanoid figure with wide arms and fur. Black paint.

At the exact same time, another hand drew from the opposite urn.

"AHHHHHHH, WHAT FORTUNE!" the Nubian declared.

He raised his own identical carving. Same beast. Different colour.

The announcer shouted, clearly ecstatic. "AND WE HAVE OUR NEXT PAIRING! FACING ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS LEGENDARY CREATURES KNOWN TO MAN!"

A pause. Then the announcer raised his arms high.

"THE KING OF GORILLAS! THE UNSTOPPABLE! THE ONE... THE ONLY... KING KONG!"

The crowd erupted.

Stomping. Screaming. Cheers. Bets flying across the stands.

The Nubian sauntered over to Thorfinn with no sense of fear or worry, tossed an arm around his shoulder like they'd been brothers for years.

"What fortune, my friend!" he said, his voice full of warmth and joy. "To face a legendary creature side by side... surely this is the moment where our brotherhood is forged in battle and blood!"

Thorfinn shrugged the man's arm off his body. "Just stay out of my way and let me kill the animal," he replied as he began to walk off the field.

The Nubian didn't take the hint.

He clapped his hands together once, and trotted after Thorfinn with a spring in his step. "Oho! So serious!" he said, raising his voice over the noise of the crowd. "We've just been paired by fate itself, and you don't even offer your name? That's cold, Northman. Very cold."

Thorfinn said nothing, walking with the same gait toward the barracks.

"I don't mind," the Nubian continued, undeterred. "Fate's already spoken. We're brothers now, whether you like it or not. You break a man's spine in front of me, that's a bond. A violent one, but still a bond!"

He hopped up onto a stone and kept walking beside Thorfinn from the slightly higher perch, arms spread like a performer on a stage. "Back home, if two men fought side by side, they'd feast together by nightfall. You and me? We'll share more than blood. We'll share victory. And if the gods are kind, women too."

Thorfinn's jaw flexed. He didn't look at him.

"You like women, don't you?" the Nubian asked, dropping down beside him again. "You've got that look. Stoic. Brooding. Probably attracted to quiet girls who braid their hair and cover their cunts in perfume and have scented candles sticking out their anus'. Or maybe you like loud ones. Warrior women, they scream during battle, yes? Or during—"

"Shut up," Thorfinn said.

The Nubian laughed. "Ah, there it is! The voice of my new companion. You speak as though I'm going to be a hinderance. Don't worry. I won't disappoint you."

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Unless we die. Then I will absolutely disappoint you."

Thorfinn stopped and turned, ready to respond, but the Nubian raised both hands and spoke faster.

"Just think of it, two men chosen by fate, side by side, facing a creature so big they named it King! This is the stuff of legends, my friend! Ballads! We'll be remembered, whether we live or not. But let's aim for living. I have more women to meet."

He grinned again, wide and full of energy, then gave Thorfinn a playful nudge with his elbow. "Do you drink? You must. No man kills like that without enjoying a cup after. You and I, we'll drink once this is done. I'll even let you brood in silence while I do the talking."

Thorfinn shrugged his arm off again and kept walking. "Just stay out of my way."

The Nubian clapped once again. "Deal! But if one of us gets eaten, I promise I will remember you."

He paused only a moment before rushing to catch back up. "Now... real question... do you think it flings dung like the little ones do? Because I'd rather be crushed than covered in that. Even I have my limits."

Thorfinn sighed under his breath and kept walking.

The Nubian grinned wider, keeping pace with the same endless energy. "Ah, you're warming up. I can tell."

...

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time the arena attendants called for a pause to prepare the next stage. The sand had to be cleared of bodies and blood, the shattered weapons dragged off, and the terrain reset for whatever monstrosity the next team would face. Until then, the surviving gladiators were directed to a shaded terrace built into the inner wall of the colosseum, part viewing area, part holding pen. It was half open to the arena, with a good view of the field below.

Thorfinn and the Nubian were among the last to arrive.

Thorfinn didn't say a word as he stepped into the shaded enclosure, his arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the grounds below. He chose a stone pillar near the edge and leaned against it, watching silently as attendants dragged the corpses off the sand and tossed them into carts.

The Nubian, of course, didn't sit still.

"You'd think after so much killing, a man would be tired," he said, pacing beside Thorfinn. "But no, I feel good. This place has energy in it. You feel it?" He slapped his chest twice. "Boom. Like the drums. It's in the sand."

Thorfinn didn't answer.

The Nubian moved to the stone railing, leaned forward, then turned back and gestured at the arena with both hands.

"I wonder if they feed the beasts beforehand or let them stay hungry. If it's starving, I imagine the beasts will be very angry."

He turned back and looked at Thorfinn. "You've fought animals before, right? Bears? Wolves? Big things?"

Still no reply.

"Thought so. You look like a man who's hunted. I once helped kill a lion that dragged off three children from a village near the river back home. We didn't have iron. Just wooden spears and fire. It still took six men."

Thorfinn rolled his shoulders but didn't respond.

The Nubian continued pacing. "I wonder if we get weapons for this. Or is it just fists? That would be fun. Not for you, maybe, but I enjoy a good challenge."

He chuckled to himself, then crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet like a spring ready to go off. He looked around at the other fighters gathered, some whispering between themselves, others resting or tending wounds. One was praying. Another was vomiting into a corner.

Thorfinn remained stone-still, watching the workers below.

"Do you ever get the urge to scream before battle?" the Nubian asked. "Not out of fear. Just excitement. Like the blood builds up too high and has to get out somehow. I used to scream. Then I started laughing. It's better. Easier on the throat."

Thorfinn slowly turned his head and stared at him.

The Nubian grinned. "You're holding it in, aren't you? You want to kill me. I can feel it. But no, not yet. Let the beast try first. If it fails, you can take your turn."

Thorfinn returned his eyes to the arena.

He was tempted. There was no denying it. The man never stopped. From the moment they'd left the lot, to now, he had talked about everything—fighting, animals, women, wine, his past life, what food they might eat after this, what dreams he'd had the night before, and even a surprisingly detailed theory on whether or not the King of Gorillas had testicles.

If not for the looming presence of the colosseum guards and the memory of the mission that had brought him here, Thorfinn might've snapped his neck just for peace and quiet. Instead, he sighed and let his thoughts drift elsewhere. Below, the matches had resumed. The arena floor had been cleaned and reshaped. New hazards were introduced—broken trees dragged in from nearby forests, wooden spikes planted at angles, large mounds of stone or terrain. It gave the field variety. Or obstacles. Or cover. Depending on the fight.

One match after another played out, each more brutal than the last.

Thorfinn watched a duo fight a massive horned boar the size of a small horse. The beast gored one man early, sent his body flipping into a wall, but the other managed to blind it with sand and slit its throat after a long chase.

Another team was thrown into the pit with a group of armored hounds—dogs bred for war with metal plates strapped to their bodies and teeth filed to points. One fighter lost their hand. The other jammed a spear into a dog's throat before it could finish the job.

Then came Lambert.

Thorfinn leaned forward slightly. Lambert stood across from two massive Nile crocodiles, both easily fifteen feet long, their scales thick as iron plates. One snapped its jaws so fast it crushed a helmet that had been left on the field. The other slid low, its belly pressed to the sand as it stalked.

The woman with Lambert moved first, using her spear to bait them. Lambert circled around the side and used a pile of debris to get higher ground. When the crocs lunged, he dropped onto one from behind and stabbed into the side of its neck with a short sword, wrenching it in deep. The woman kept the second at bay with sharp strikes to its snout and eyes.

It was a good fight.

Thorfinn gave Lambert a silent nod.

The Nubian clapped. "Your friend fights well. You must've trained together."

Thorfinn didn't answer.

Finally, after the last match ended and the sand was cleared again, a horn sounded.

A gate opened near the bottom of the colosseum.

The announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "AND NOW—A MATCH WORTHY OF SONG! TWO WARRIORS! ONE LEGENDARY BEAST!"

Thorfinn stood.

The Nubian was already bouncing in place, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his legs like a runner before a sprint. He slapped Thorfinn's back and grabbed both his shoulders.

"This is it!" he shouted. "This is the moment! A king meets kings! Do you feel it? The blood, the air, the gods above watching with open mouths?!"

Thorfinn didn't even blink.

The Nubian tightened his grip and gave him a hard shake. "This is destiny! This is madness! This is—" He stopped himself, then grinned wider. "This is going to be fun."

Thorfinn sighed. He walked toward the gate without another word.

The Nubian danced behind him, fists clenched, eyes lit with fire.

The crowd roared as the announcer called out the name once again.

"THE KING OF GORILLAS! THE TITAN OF THE JUNGLE! THE UNBEATEN!"

"KING KONG!!"

"VS!!!!"

"THE NORTHMAN!!!!"

"AND!!!!"

"THE NUBIAN!!!!!!!!"

And the gates creaked open. They creaked open with the sound of metal grinding against itself, and the sun spilled in across the bloodstained sand as Thorfinn and the Nubian stepped into the arena.

The Nubian immediately raised both arms to the crowd, shouting in a booming voice as he jogged in wide circles around Thorfinn. "WITNESS US!" he called out. "THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH—UNITED UNDER THE EYE OF FATE!"

The crowd responded with whistles and cheers, stamping their feet in approval. The Nubian did a spin, then dropped into a backflip, landing clean on both feet before bowing low with one hand outstretched toward the stands.

Thorfinn ignored all of it.

His eyes moved slowly, scanning the terrain. The arena had been restructured again. This time it was more than just sand. They'd brought in sections of jungle—palm trees, roots, vines, moss-covered rocks, broken wooden platforms, and jagged stone outcroppings. It looked more like a dense clearing than a gladiator field.

Perfect for something large.

Perfect for something that could climb.

Thorfinn's eyes locked onto the far side of the arena where two weapons had been laid out as if by accident, or design. A long iron spear, its tip dark with dry blood, and a curved sword with a chipped edge. Both were placed well apart, one near the roots of a fallen tree, the other half-buried in a mound of stone.

They were too far from each other to retrieve both quickly.

Thorfinn made his choice.

Without a word, he broke into a light sprint, leaving the Nubian behind as he continued entertaining the crowd with flourishes and bows. Thorfinn darted past a low mound, then jumped, grabbing onto a branch with one hand before pulling himself up. The wood creaked but didn't snap. He used it to swing himself upward toward a tall boulder jutting out from the earth, one of the few pieces of high ground available. As he landed, he immediately dropped to a knee and reached for the spear that had been wedged between a gap in the stone. He tugged it loose, tested the weight in one hand, and then crouched low, his eyes fixed on the far gate. The one covered in reinforced iron, built thicker than all the others.

That would be where they brought out the beast.

The announcer's voice returned, echoing across the walls, louder than before. The crowd stilled to listen.

"FOR THE SAFETY OF THE NOBLE HOUSES, KING KONG WILL BE CHAINED AT THE ANKLES AND NECK TO PREVENT ESCAPE FROM THE PIT. HE WILL BE GRANTED FULL FREEDOM INSIDE THE ARENA!"

A chorus of excited gasps followed, mixed with wild applause and shouting.

Thorfinn stayed quiet, watching the far end with the patience of a hunter.

He gripped the spear tighter.

Then came the rattling.

Chains moved. Metal scraped. The far gate trembled as something struck it once. Then again. Dust shook free from the arch.

A third strike.

And the gate exploded outward.

Two handlers in full plate armor, armed with spears and chains, were sent flying before they could react. One crashed into a stone wall and collapsed in a heap, blood spilling from the edge of his helmet. The second was caught mid-air and slammed into the ground so hard his bones cracked under the impact. He didn't move again.

Then the beast stepped into the light.

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed.

Kong's body was enormous. His legs were thick as siege columns, his arms longer than his own body, dragging slightly against the ground. His fur was dark and matted with sweat and dirt, and his chest rose and fell like bellows. He wasn't just tall—he was massive. Three times taller than Thorfinn. Four times as wide. While he hadn't even come close to the size of the leviathan he was big enough.

Thorfinn leaned forward slightly.

The creature tugged once against the chains at his ankles and neck. The chains held, but just barely. The entire frame groaned under the strain.

Then Kong roared.

The sound hit like thunder.

Even from the rock, Thorfinn could feel the vibration in his bones. The audience roared back in excitement, standing now, some spilling wine from their cups, some climbing higher on the railings to get a better view.

Kong stomped forward, reached down, and picked up a stone the size of a barrel. With one hand he threw it. It flew across the arena in a blur and slammed into a stone wall on the far side, shattering it completely and sending shrapnel into the sky.

Thorfinn's eyes didn't leave the creature for a second.

So... this was real. Not just a lie conjured up to make things seem more exciting.

He could see it now. The way the thing moved. It wasn't just strong, it was fast. Too fast for something its size. Its eyes scanned the terrain, and it sniffed the air. There was awareness in its movement. Rage, yes. But also intelligence.

Thorfinn shifted the spear in his grip, pressing it against the rock beside him as he leaned forward just enough to adjust his stance.

He'd fought monsters before. Wolves. Bears. Men twisted by magic, vampires, even minor gods. But this... this was different.

This thing was on the cusp of what Thorfinn would describe as his peak. If he didn't use magic and only used the skills he had built up and the body he had, all to the fullest of their ability, he still wasn't sure if he could win.

And that made him smile.

He might actually need to use his magic.

He felt the old current stir under his skin, the heat, the pressure in the air, the flicker of something deeper than muscle.

He hadn't felt this in months.

This fight might actually push him in a way he hasn't been pushed for years. And below, the Nubian stood in the open, arms wide, staring up at the beast with an expression that was either madness or delight.

"This," he shouted, pointing to the gorilla, "is what I was BORN for!"

The Nubian stood alone at the center of the arena, the heat pressing down on him as he rolled his shoulders once and then reached down to tear the remains of his shirt from his body. He grabbed it by the collar and yanked it away, letting the ragged cloth fall to the sand without a second thought. There was no tension in his muscles, no fear in his stance. He stood tall, his arms raised high as he called out to the crowd with a voice that carried easily.

"WILL FORTUNE FAVOUR ME TODAY?!"

He pulled the large coin from the band of leather tied around his waist and raised it over his head. One side held the image of a king seated on a throne, the other a serpent coiled in a circle. He kissed the king's face once and then tossed the coin high into the air. It spun, catching the light as it reached the peak of its arc before dropping back into his palm. He didn't look at it right away. He simply closed his hand and held it still, eyes locked on the crowd as the tension built.

Then he opened his hand.

King's side up.

The crowd let out a cheer. A few in the noble boxes began to clap. Then more followed. Then the stomping began. Feet hit the stone steps. Clap. Stomp. Clap. Stomp.

The Nubian threw his arms to the side, his head tilting back as he let out a loud laugh. He started to bounce on his feet, his chest moving with each breath. He turned once, slowly, and pointed up at the nobles.

"FORTUNE LOVES ME!"

He stepped to the left, then to the right, his feet landing flat before lifting again in rhythm. His shoulders dipped low and then rose as he moved, one side rolling forward while the other pulled back. His knees bent, straightened, bent again, timing each movement to the crowd's claps. He circled his arms at the elbows, right hand forward, left hand backward, then reversed it without pausing. He turned on the ball of his foot, his other leg extended wide as he spun once, twice, then stopped with both feet planted firm and his chest square to the gate.

"COME ON THEN, BIG BOY!" he shouted.

He waved one hand in a slow beckoning motion while stepping back, then another forward. He danced across the sand, keeping the gorilla locked onto him. Kong lowered his head and let out a sound that made the air vibrate again. His mouth opened wide, showing yellow teeth and a tongue thicker than a man's leg. He slammed one fist into the sand and then began to move forward.

His walk turned into a run.

The Nubian didn't move from his spot.

Thorfinn watched from above, still crouched on the high rock. His hand gripped the spear tighter as he narrowed his eyes.

"Fool," he muttered.

He kept his gaze locked on the Nubian's position and the beast's path. If the gorilla tore the man apart, so be it. But if it created an opening, that would be worth it.

The Nubian raised the coin again and flipped it without hesitation. It spun once, twice, three times, and then landed cleanly in his palm. He slapped it against his other hand and paused.

King's side up.

Again.

Thorfinn's eyebrows lifted. He could feel it now, even from this distance. The energy around the Nubian swelled. It was like a pressure building in the air, it was at least twice that of what it was after the first flip, so that meant at least four times as much magic as he normally had. An incredible ability given to an insufferable man.

The Nubian let out a shout. "OH YEAH!"

He bent his knees and thrust his hips forward again and again, as the crowd erupted into louder cheers and heavier stomping. He turned once in place, then pointed at the gorilla charging him.

"YOU'RE MINE!"

He bent down quickly, grabbed two large rocks—one in each hand—and turned with a quick movement of his hips, launching both stones in fast succession with an overhand throw. The rocks weren't shaped evenly. They weren't aimed with any clear technique. And yet somehow, they flew straight. The gorilla's head was tilted slightly to the left. One rock struck its right eye with a loud impact and bounced away. Kong roared in pain, head snapping toward the blow just in time to meet the second rock full in the left eye.

For a moment, Kong reeled.

His steps slowed. His arms came up.

The Nubian was already moving.

He broke into a sprint, feet hammering the sand as he ran toward one of the large trees positioned near the center of the field. He leapt forward and grabbed a low branch, swung once, then pushed off the trunk with both feet to launch himself through the air. His body flipped forward as he raised one leg.

The kick connected clean with Kong's lower jaw.

It wasn't enough to do a lot of damage. But it caught the beast off guard. The head jerked slightly, the eyes squinted further, and Kong turned his body in full toward the Nubian as he landed back on the ground and rolled once to a stop.

The Nubian raised both arms toward the crowd again and spun in another tight circle, feet sliding in the sand.

"FATE IS WATCHING!" he shouted. "AND FATE LOVES ME!"

Thorfinn didn't hesitate.

The moment Kong turned fully toward the Nubian, distracted and off-balance, Thorfinn launched himself from the stone outcropping. His boots scraped against the rock before he leapt across the air, his hands catching a thick tree branch. The branch bent under his weight but held. He used the momentum to swing forward, bending his knees, and then kicked off again, launching himself straight onto the ape's back. His hands tightened on the spear. He brought it down with both arms extended. The weapon pierced flesh just beneath the massive shoulder blade, sinking several inches into thick muscle. There was resistance. The hide was dense and layered with wet fur and muscle tissue. Thorfinn drove it in deeper with his weight, but it wasn't enough to reach anything vital. He could feel the spear slow, the point grinding against bone.

Kong reacted instantly.

The beast roared and reared back, twisting its torso aggressively. Thorfinn held on for a breath longer, then was ripped free as the muscles beneath him shifted violently. The spear remained lodged in the ape's back as Thorfinn was thrown. He twisted in the air and landed hard on the ground, his back sliding in the sand before he rolled upright. Kong's head turned. The blood had begun to pour from the shallow wound, but not enough to slow the creature. It turned toward Thorfinn with its mouth wide open, a snarl ripping through its teeth. One fist slammed into the ground beside it, cracking the terrain. The other arm reached back to swat at its spine, fingers brushing the embedded weapon.

It charged.

Thorfinn stepped back once, but slipped on a loose rock.

And then the Nubian sprinted in from the side and threw a rock that struck Kong in the side of the face. He then reach up and lifted Thorfinn up  and moved him further back.  "Did you see that?" the Nubian shouted. "I saved your life! That makes us best friends now!"

Thorfinn didn't reply.

"Say it! Say we're friends!"

"Shut up!" Thorfinn yelled as he broke into a sprint. Kong followed behind with both fists pounding against the sand, the chains at its limbs dragging like iron snakes behind it.

The two men ran across the broken arena. Kong's feet slammed into the ground behind them with every step. Each impact kicked dust into the air. Trees bent and snapped from the pressure. The beast gained speed. Its rage grew with every second. As Thorfinn ran, his eyes locked on the sword lying ahead. He adjusted his pace, stepped forward, and kicked it up from the dirt with the side of his foot. It spun in the air. Thorfinn caught it by the handle without slowing.

He veered left, ran around a tree, used the trunk to pivot, and slingshot himself forward. Kong's fist came down. Thorfinn ducked and rolled under it, bringing the sword up with both hands. He slashed underneath the ape's arm. The blade tore through the thick hide, cutting a long, shallow line along the underside of the limb. Blood poured out in a steady stream. Kong howled and swung again. Thorfinn jumped, barely clearing the backhand swipe. But as he spun in the air, the sword slipped from his grip. He twisted his body mid-air, brought his right foot up, and kicked the hilt of the sword mid-spin, sending it flying in a straight line forward.

The blade arced just over the ape's shoulder and missed the eye by a hand's width.

Behind the beast, the Nubian shouted, "GOT IT!" and snatched the sword from the air with both hands. He leapt forward without hesitation and jammed the blade into the side of Kong's face. The sword sank just below the brow. The beast roared again, blood spraying out in a long stream. The Nubian held on for a moment, still gripping the handle, his feet planted against Kong's neck.

Kong thrashed wildly.

He reached up, grabbed the Nubian by the arm, and flung him sideways.

The Nubian's body flew across the arena. He smashed through the upper branches of a tree and crashed into a patch of mossy earth. The impact tore through the undergrowth, but the softness of the terrain broke his fall. He rolled twice before coming to a stop, groaning loudly.

Kong turned back to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn was still moving, still dodging. He weaved between the tree trunks, used the terrain to keep distance, but it wasn't enough. Kong picked up speed again. A massive arm swung out and clipped him across the side.

Thorfinn flew backward.

He smashed through the side of a wooden structure, splinters digging into his skin. His body flipped through the air and crashed through two trees before he landed hard, bouncing against the ground and tumbling over broken roots.

He came to a stop just beside the Nubian, dirt caked in his hair, one arm braced against the earth.

The Nubian coughed and pushed himself onto his elbows.

"This," he gasped, "has got your blood boiling now, right?"

Thorfinn didn't answer. He stood slowly, pain shooting through his ribs.

"It's incredible," the Nubian said, grinning despite the bruise forming along his jaw. "Never have I felt so outmatched by a simple creature."

Then he stood.

He wiped blood from his mouth and took a deep breath. "Time for round two."

He ran toward the ape again.

Kong was standing in the open now, one hand still pressed against the side of its head. The wound bled heavily, but it hadn't slowed. It saw the Nubian coming and raised both fists. The Nubian dropped low and slid under one of the strikes, his hand brushing the sand. He came up fast and slammed his fist into Kong's wrist. The bones in the Nubian's arm should've broken—but they didn't. The magic in his body was enhancing him in almost every aspect. He kicked off a rock and struck Kong across the cheek again.

The beast tried to grab him.

The Nubian flipped backward. Kong's fingers missed his leg by inches. He landed near a log, kicked it up, and launched it toward the beast's chest. The log slammed into the ribs with a thud. The Nubian then jumped on the log before it fell to the ground and delievered a solid punch to the beasts nose which snapped it backwards. Kong managed to slap The Nubian away though as luck would have it he was slapped into a nice big pile of leaves.

Kong turned just in time for Thorfinn to re-enter the fight.

He sprinted across the arena, and spotted the bloodied spear from earlier lodged in Kong's back, and tore it free. As Kong swung at him, Thorfinn ducked and ran beneath the arm. He then grabbed his arm as Kong drew it back which lifted him up, he kicked his legs out flipping up onto the top of his arm; he dodged the slap of Kongs other hand and vaulted over his head. He landed on Kong's back again and grabbed the spear and put his entire body wait into it.

The point sank deeper than before.

Kong howled and reared back. His arms flailed wildly. He spun in place, twisting to reach behind him.

Thorfinn let go and jumped, but not before grabbing the sword stuck in his face; he landed hard on the ground. Kong turned, his face twisted in pain, blood pouring from his wounds. The Nubian came in from the side again and struck him in the stomach with both fists, using all the strength he had. The blow didn't drop the beast, but it made him stagger.

Kong's roar filled the arena, deafening in its intensity, as he stumbled backward from the Nubian's blow. The gorilla's massive frame swayed slightly, his balance disrupted by the sudden strike to his stomach. His eyes narrowed with pure hatred as they flickered between his two assailants. Blood streamed freely from his wounds, dripping into the sand and forming dark pools beneath him. He breathed heavily, chest expanding and contracting with visible effort, but he was far from done.

The Nubian stepped back quickly, his feet shuffling across the sand, his hands raised defensively. His chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, sweat mixing with the blood from cuts on his torso, but his grin widened with excitement. He glanced quickly toward Thorfinn, eyes bright, shouting loud enough to be heard clearly over the screams of the crowd and the ragged growls of the injured gorilla. "We need to work together, Northman!" the Nubian called, shifting his weight from foot to foot, readying himself for another attack. "He's big, he's strong, but he's not smart! We split his attention, trap him with the chains!"

Thorfinn rolled his eyes, annoyed at having to rely on someone else's plan. Yet he could see the logic in it. The chains attached to Kong's ankles and neck were still firmly anchored to heavy iron posts embedded deep into the ground. The gorilla had ripped them partially loose, but their length and position made it possible to entangle him, restrict his movement. Even Thorfinn had to admit it wasn't a bad idea.

"Fine," Thorfinn responded shortly, adjusting his grip on the sword, its blade slick with blood.

Without another word, Thorfinn broke into a full sprint toward the massive gorilla. Kong immediately turned to meet his charge, raising both colossal arms and bringing them crashing down toward him. Thorfinn anticipated the blow perfectly, diving forward into a controlled roll beneath the descending fists. He came up swiftly on the other side, immediately slicing upward with the sword, carving a deep, clean wound into Kong's lower leg.

Kong howled again, spinning to swipe at Thorfinn, but the Nubian was already there, leaping through the air and delivering a powerful kick directly into the open wound Thorfinn had just inflicted. The gorilla's leg buckled slightly, and he stumbled forward, almost dropping to one knee. The Nubian laughed aloud, adrenaline surging through him, clearly invigorated by the chaos of battle.

"COME, YOU UGLY THING!" the Nubian shouted, slapping his chest as he danced backward out of Kong's immediate reach. "FATE IS CALLING FOR YOUR BLOOD!"

The gorilla lunged after him in rage, arms outstretched, massive fingers grasping at empty air. Thorfinn took advantage instantly, leaping onto Kong's back, gripping the fur tightly with one hand, and plunging the sword repeatedly into the beast's shoulder. Blood spurted forth in sharp arcs with each brutal stab, coating Thorfinn's face and arms. Kong twisted violently, flinging Thorfinn off and sending him tumbling through the sand. Thorfinn quickly rolled to his feet, breathing deeply, the sword still clutched firmly in his hand.

The Nubian charged again, shouting wildly while making a weird tongue noise with his mouth, weaving unpredictably toward Kong. His footsteps each were lined up perfectly with the ape's attempts to strike. Kong swung furiously, narrowly missing each time; it was always a small thing that made him miss—the sun light in his eyes, the shifting of the ground—bud miss he did. The Nubian dipped and weaved expertly, ducking low beneath one swing, then springing upward to punch Kong directly in the jaw, snapping the ape's head backward with a loud crack.

Kong staggered again, blood spraying from his lips. He swung another wild fist, but his movements were growing slower and clumsier with each passing second. Thorfinn quickly moved forward once more, ducking low beneath the swipe, then slicing the sword viciously along Kong's ribs. Flesh opened wide, revealing raw muscle beneath. Kong roared with pain and swung his arm back again, catching Thorfinn's shoulder. The force of the blow sent Thorfinn skidding backward, but he managed to stay on his feet, breathing hard and eyes narrowed in fury.

"KEEP MOVING!" the Nubian shouted, circling around Kong again, deliberately drawing the ape's attention. "GET HIM TANGLED!"

Thorfinn quickly adjusted, running parallel to the Nubian but in the opposite direction. Kong turned rapidly, swinging at each of them, but they stayed just beyond his reach, alternating quick jabs and slashes to keep him frustrated and confused. The chains rattled loudly with every twist and turn of the beast's movements, beginning to overlap and catch against one another, limiting his range of motion.

"NOW, NORTHMAN!" shouted the Nubian, ducking swiftly beneath one of Kong's swings. "TIGHTEN THE NOOSE!"

Thorfinn moved instantly, cutting inward and sliding beneath the ape's legs, dragging the chains further around Kong's ankles. The Nubian sprinted around the other side, grabbing another chain and pulling it taut. Kong struggled, roaring desperately, tugging at the chains with frantic strength. But each wild attempt to free himself only tightened them further.

The Nubian laughed loudly, clearly exhilarated, his energy seemingly endless as he continued to dart around Kong, delivering rapid blows with with his enhanced strength. An elbow strike to the back of Kong's knee, a quick jab into his bleeding ribs, another fist hammering into his already injured jaw. Each blow landed cleanly, driving Kong further into a frenzy of pain and confusion. Thorfinn moved fluidly beside him, delivering devastating cuts and stabs. Blood poured from a dozen wounds, each strike expertly placed to weaken and cripple the enormous ape. They continued to move together, weaving seamlessly through each other's attacks, alternating between offensive strikes and defensive dodges, leaving no opportunity for Kong to regain balance.

The Nubian's luck continued to manifest, guiding him perfectly through impossible openings. Kong swung heavily toward him, and the Nubian effortlessly sidestepped, sending the ape's fist smashing against one of the iron pillars, cracking the bones in Kong's knuckles. The Nubian laughed again, eyes wild with excitement. "FATE GUIDES ME, BEAST!" he shouted, dancing further around Kong's side. "YOU WILL FALL TODAY!"

Thorfinn swiftly leaped upward again, plunging the sword deep into Kong's side. Kong howled, twisting violently, trying desperately to shake off his relentless attackers. The Nubian capitalized immediately, jumping onto Kong's arm and scrambling upward, grabbing a thick chain dangling from the gorilla's neck, and pulling it sharply around the creature's throat.

"PULL HIM DOWN!" the Nubian roared to Thorfinn, bracing himself as he tightened the chain. "NOW!"

Thorfinn gripped another chain and pulled fiercely, muscles straining, veins bulging. Kong thrashed wildly, choking, staggering forward and finally collapsing heavily onto one knee. His breathing became ragged, desperate. The Nubian kept the chain tight, screaming with exertion and triumph.

Thorfinn took the sword again, running forward and driving it brutally upward beneath Kong's jaw. The blade pierced deeply, emerging from the other side of Kong's mouth, drenched in blood. Kong's eyes widened briefly, his struggles becoming weaker as blood poured from his mouth in thick gushes. The Nubian released the chain and leaped away, landing lightly beside Thorfinn, breathing heavily and grinning widely. Kong's huge body trembled violently, blood pooling rapidly around him. The ape's arms weakly clawed at the ground, eyes glazing over as he slowly collapsed forward onto the sand.

Thorfinn stood silently, sword dripping in his hand, chest heaving, covered in blood and dirt. The Nubian placed both hands on his hips, breathing deeply, chest rising and falling in exhaustion and triumph. He turned to Thorfinn, his face lit with adrenaline and pride, clapping a heavy hand onto the Northman's shoulder.

"Fate chose wisely today when it led me to you," the Nubian said with satisfaction, glancing once more at the fallen beast. "You're strong, but together we are unstoppable!"

Thorfinn stared at the fallen ape, his breathing slowly steadying. He gave the Nubian a flat look, wiping blood from his face with his arm.

"Fuck off" Thorfinn said finally, though there was little real anger left in his voice.

The Nubian laughed loudly, shaking his head, utterly undeterred by Thorfinn's coldness.

"You can't fool me, Northman," the Nubian replied with another grin. "You enjoyed every second of that. I saw it in your eyes. Admit it."

Thorfinn sighed heavily but offered no further objection. He turned silently back toward the enormous corpse, feeling a strange respect for the man who stood beside him. He had a good plan and he was a good warrior, while could've ended the fight quickly using his quake energy he would never improve that way.

Kong finally seemed to still.

A silence hung over the arena for a single heartbeat before it shattered like glass. The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, rising as one from their seats and shaking the stands with their stomping and shouting. The sound was deafening, reverberating across the sands as the audience celebrated the warriors who had toppled the giant beast. The announcer rushed forward, arms flailing wildly in excitement, his voice booming over the crowd. "INCREDIBLE! UNBELIEVABLE! THESE TWO WARRIORS HAVE BROUGHT DOWN THE KING OF GORILLAS! HAS THERE EVER BEEN SUCH A DISPLAY OF SKILL, STRENGTH, AND STRATEGY IN THIS ARENA?!"

The excitement rippled outward, spreading quickly even to the noble boxes. High above the sands, Niketas rose eagerly to his feet, eyes bright and hands clapping enthusiastically. Beside him, the other nobles exchanged glances and nodded approvingly, applauding with genuine admiration. "Astonishing fighters," Niketas declared loudly, raising his goblet in salute. "They'll serve the Order exceptionally well. We should keep an eye on these two, they've the hearts of champions."

Arwyn sat quietly, her hands moving slowly together in restrained applause, her eyes locked thoughtfully onto the figure standing over the beast. She felt her chest tighten slightly as she studied him, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swirling in her mind. The resemblance to Thorfinn was too striking to dismiss. Yet this man fought differently—more agile, more fluid, less reliant on brute strength and heavy blows. It unsettled her to think Thorfinn might've grown this much without her knowing. But was it even him? She'd seen none of his powerful magic, none of the devastating quake energy she knew he preferred. Could he really have changed his fighting style so drastically?

"I need to see him closer," Arwyn whispered under her breath, unaware she had spoken aloud.

Beside her, Thea leaned in slightly, a gentle curiosity in her voice. "Did you say something, my lady?"

Arwyn quickly shook her head. "No. Just thinking aloud."

The announcer's voice rang out again, drawing attention back to the sands below, his tone brimming with excitement as he paced dramatically in front of the crowd.

"THIS CONCLUDES ROUND TWO OF THE GAMES!" he shouted, punctuating his words with wide, sweeping gestures. "BUT OUR NEXT ROUND WILL BE DIFFERENT! AN UNEVEN NUMBER REMAINS—EIGHT GLADIATORS STAND READY, AND ONLY ONE WILL CLAIM FINAL VICTORY!"

The crowd grew quiet again, anticipation thickening in the air as everyone waited to hear the details.

The announcer continued, his voice rising even louder, full of theatrical drama and excitement. "ROUND THREE WILL BE A FREE-FOR-ALL! EIGHT WARRIORS, EACH CHOOSING THEIR OWN WEAPONS! NOTHING WILL BE FORBIDDEN—NO WEAPON, NO TECHNIQUE! LET THEM UNLEASH THEIR TRUE STRENGTH AND SKILL!"

The response was immediate. Cheers exploded again, louder than before. Shouts and whistles echoed around the stands, spectators eager to see the pure chaos of skilled warriors fighting without restrictions. Bets were quickly shouted and exchanged between the nobles and commoners alike. The excitement reached a fever pitch.

On the sand below, Thorfinn hummed thoughtfully, showing little outward reaction to the announcement. The idea intrigued him. A free-for-all without limitations suited him perfectly, giving him a chance to use his own sword and maybe go full out. Though he doubted it would be necessary, it was still an opportunity he could appreciate; plus he could finally kill the annoyance next to him. He started moving toward the exit, leaving the giant corpse of Kong behind.

The Nubian quickly followed, still grinning broadly, his energy seemingly undiminished despite the grueling fight. He fell into step alongside Thorfinn, immediately launching back into cheerful chatter. "This will be magnificent!" the Nubian declared, his eyes bright with anticipation as he walked beside Thorfinn. "No restrictions! We could even fight each other—though, of course, I'd prefer we remain brothers in battle. After what we just did, surely you see fate herself has chosen us as comrades!"

Thorfinn ignored him, continuing silently forward, though he rolled his eyes again at the constant noise coming from his companion.

The Nubian pressed on, undeterred by Thorfinn's silence. "Think of it, Northman! A free-for-all! The chaos, the bloodshed—our names will echo forever through this city. Legends will speak of the day we brought down a king among beasts and then conquered our fellow warriors in single combat!"

"Quiet," Thorfinn finally muttered, hoping to silence him, though it was clear from the Nubian's continued enthusiasm that such a task was impossible.

The Nubian laughed heartily, placing a hand momentarily on Thorfinn's shoulder before it was shrugged off. "Oh, you're impossible! You love it, though, don't deny it! The roar of the crowd, the blood on your blade, it fuels you as much as it fuels me. Admit it, friend."

Thorfinn grumbled quietly under his breath but offered no further argument. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed forward, moving swiftly through the archway that led off the field, eager to finally escape the relentless commentary of the man beside him. Though he found him infuriating, Thorfinn had to admit to himself that the Nubian had skill, luck, and an irritating but effective ability to rally both crowd and warriors alike.

They passed through the stone archway, shadows swallowing them briefly as they stepped into the holding area beneath the stands. Torches flickered softly along the walls, illuminating the faces of the other surviving gladiators who waited there—each warrior quiet, tense, preparing themselves mentally for the coming battle. Lambert stood leaning casually against the far wall, his eyes meeting Thorfinn's briefly in acknowledgment. Thorfinn gave him a small nod but no words passed between them.

The Nubian strode confidently into the room, greeting the others loudly, drawing several annoyed glances from the quieter fighters. He quickly turned back to Thorfinn, speaking just as energetically as before.

"You know," he began, his voice slightly more conspiratorial, "I think fate wants us to reach the final two. Imagine that... a final showdown between brothers-in-arms! It would be legendary."

Thorfinn sighed deeply, shaking his head slightly, finally forced to respond. "I'm not your brother."

The Nubian smiled warmly, shrugging off Thorfinn's dismissive tone. "Yet fate has made us so."

Lambert appeared suddenly, a broad, irritating grin on his face as he approached Thorfinn and the Nubian. He slapped Thorfinn roughly on the shoulder, earning himself a fierce glare from the Northman.

"Didn't know you'd made a friend, Thorfinn," Lambert said, chuckling loudly as he sized up the Nubian. "Who's your new buddy?"

Thorfinn exhaled sharply, irritation clear on his face. "Fuck off, Lambert," he muttered, sitting down heavily on the stone bench.

Lambert laughed again, completely undeterred by Thorfinn's annoyance, and turned to the Nubian. "Lambert," he said, extending a hand. "Nice moves out there. Youre a contract magician right?"

The Nubian shook Lambert's hand firmly, smiling warmly. "Indeed, friend. Fate has blessed me."

Lambert raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident. "How does that work exactly?"

The Nubian withdrew his coin, flipping it deftly between his fingers. "Simple enough," he explained. "I flip this coin. If it lands king-side up, my fortune, and thus my magic grows."

"It makes you stronger too?" Lambert asked, clearly fascinated.

"Exactly," the Nubian confirmed.

Lambert eyed the coin thoughtfully. "How many times can you flip it?"

The Nubian's grin widened dangerously. "There's no limit," he said, "but the risk grows each time. A single wrong flip weakens me significantly, robbing my strength and luck. Flip it many times, and a single failure might even kill me."

Lambert shook his head slowly, a low whistle escaping his lips. "Harsh conditions," he commented.

"Fortune favours the brave," the Nubian replied with a confident smile.

Lambert glanced at Thorfinn, smirking mischievously. "What do you think, Thorfinn? Up for a little risk like our new friend here?"

Thorfinn stood abruptly, clearly annoyed. "Both of you, fuck off," he growled, walking briskly away from them, deeper into the quieter corners of the preparation chamber.

He paused near an archway, leaning against the cool stone as he scanned the crowded chamber. There were plenty of faces he recognized, hidden assassins mixed discreetly among the spectators, undoubtedly Geralt watching from some hidden spot as well. He hoped the plan would go off without a hitch, he wanted to be done with this city. It was funny in a way. A year ago coming to this city was his dream, and now it's become nothing more than a nightmare.

"Thorfinn." A familiar voice cut through the noise, sending an unexpected jolt through his chest. He turned slowly, his heart beating quicker.

Arwyn stood there, dressed in fine garments befitting royalty. Her long blonde hair was woven intricately, framing a face that had grown even more beautiful with time. Her blue eyes watched him closely, and the soft fabric of her clothing clung gracefully to her slender, athletic frame, accentuating her body to an incredible degree.

"Arwyn," Thorfinn said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

They stood quietly, tension building between them until she finally spoke. "You look well... your hair is different," she commented.

Thorfinn let a small smile form on his face. "I stick out with my regular hair," he replied, he then nodded towards her,"You look different as well, like one of the princesses from Northumbria."

Arwyn smiled at that. "Thank you... At first I couldn't believe how different I looked, that I could actually look beautiful."

"You've always been beautiful," Thorfinn said as he looked into her eyes.

Arwyn felt her heart beat fast as he said that. He seemed different than usual, much calmer. She wondered what happened these past 8 months that changed him so much. "How have you been?" She asked. "Did you ever manage to find Geralt, I tried for a while but it seemed he left the city."

Thorfinn nodded. "Yeah I found him, he hasn't left the city just yet," he replied, being a little careful not to reveal anything too much.

Arwyn smiled brightly. "I'm glad, I worried that both of you had just left the city."

"Where would I have gone?" he asked dryly.

Arwyn shrugged gently. "Kattegat, after Dahlia? I'm not sure. Niketas told me that after he let you go, you had no reason to remain here."

Thorfinn laughed bitterly. "Niketas let me go? Is that really what he said?"

She frowned deeply, her brows knitting together. "I know you dislike him, Thorfinn, but he's been good to me. He's helped me without asking anything in return."

Thorfinn crossed his arms firmly, anger simmering in his chest. "Niketas is a disease in this city, one that will eventually be cut out. I thought you'd been kidnapped by him—but clearly you've joined him willingly."

Arwyn's eyes flashed angrily as she strode toward him, voice lowering dangerously. "Don't speak of my friends that way."

Thorfinn took a deliberate step forward, meeting her head-on. "What will you do about it?"

She seized his tunic roughly. "Don't mistake me for some weak girl, Thorfinn. Don't forget what I am."

He snorted dismissively. "I haven't forgotten. But it seems you have, joining the enemy."

"The enemy?" she snarled, fury lighting her gaze. "We seek lasting peace! But you wouldn't understand. You're just a Viking. A killer. A savage."

Each word fell like a blow. Thorfinn's anger flared, and he shoved her roughly away. "Your order seeks control over everyone. You'd rob them of freedom."

"Freedom leads to death," she spat back. "Freedom leads men like you to slaughter families and enslave the survivors."

They glared silently, tension thick between them until Arwyn exhaled shakily. "I thought you might've changed," she whispered. "But even half a decade since we met and you're still the same man."

She turned, walking slowly away from him.

Thorfinn watched her back, the words rising in his throat before he could stop them. "I'm not the same man I was," he admitted. "And I'm not too proud to say that I've missed you."

She halted immediately, turning slowly back, her expression caught between anger and sadness. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to come with me when I leave," Thorfinn said simply.

Conflict danced in her eyes. She stepped toward him slowly. "I have a purpose here. I can make people's lives better."

Suddenly, she closed the distance, leaning up and pressing her lips firmly to his, a brief but powerful kiss. Before he could react fully, her fist slammed into his stomach, drawing a grunt from him as he doubled slightly.

"Arwyn there is a lot I must tell you, please talk with me after the match..." Thorfinn said a little pleadingly. He had to tell her about the assassins, about Geralt, about the true nature of Niketas and his connection to the Vampires. Thorfinn had to believe she didn't know, he didn't want to believe that she was accomplice to such dark creatures.

Arwyn didn't speak for a moment but after a while she nodded. "After the match..." She stepped back, eyes blazing, breathing hard. Thorfinn smiled faintly despite the pain, watching as she turned and strode away.

A loud voice boomed through the chamber, the announcer calling loudly, "FIGHTERS TO YOUR POSITIONS! THE FINAL ROUND AWAITS!"

Thorfinn straightened slowly, gathering himself as the call echoed through the stone halls. With one final glance at Arwyn's retreating figure, he turned and moved toward the waiting arena.

Meanwhile Arwyn walked quickly back towards the box, still feeling the heat beneath her skin after her argument with Thorfinn. She hated how easily he could get to her, though she took some solace in knowing he was just as easily annoyed by her. Thea—whom she'd asked to wait while she spoke to Thorfinn—saw her emerge from the gladiator holding room and quickly moved to meet her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Thea asked gently, concern evident in her voice. "You seem very upset."

Arwyn took a sharp breath, still struggling to calm herself. "I'm fine," she snapped more harshly than she'd intended. Seeing Thea's slight flinch, Arwyn closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself to regain control. She exhaled slowly before reopening them, her voice softer now. "It's nothing, really. Let's just return to the box."

Thea studied her carefully, eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion. She clearly didn't believe Arwyn but chose not to press further. Instead, she nodded once. "As you wish, my lady," she replied quietly.

...

The sun hung low, casting an amber glow over the colosseum as eight warriors stood on the bloodstained sand. Thorfinn gripped his sword, he was glad that he could use it as no other sword felt as right as this one; even if he still couldn't clean that creatures blood off of it. Lambert stood nearby looking pleased that he had his own sword back away. The Nubian, held a long whip, its leather coils sliding through his fingers as he grinned at the roaring crowd. The other fighters clutched their weapons each shifting into ready stances. The announcer stood on the dais, his arms raised. "Ladies and gentlemen, the final event! Eight gladiators remain, and as the sun sets, only one will stand victorious! Let the blood flow, and let destiny crown its champion!"

Thorfinn's eyes flicked upward briefly, then back to the arena. The horn blared and the fight began.

A massive man with a hammer charged Thorfinn. His boots thudded on the sand, arms swinging the weapon high. Thorfinn watched the hammer arc upward, the man's shoulders tensing as he prepared to strike. As the hammer descended, Thorfinn pushed off his left foot, leaping upward. The hammer slammed into the sand, sending grains spraying outward, the impact vibrating through the ground. Thorfinn, still airborne, twisted his torso and drove his sword downward. The blade entered the man's neck just above the collarbone, steel sliding through muscle and sinew. Blood sprayed as the man's eyes widened. His knees buckled, and he collapsed, the hammer slipping from his grip. Thorfinn landed beside him, pulling his sword free with a wet scrape. He knelt briefly, wiping the blade on the man's tunic, the blood leaving a dark smear.

Thorfinn stood, scanning the arena he was glad no one else charged him, he looked over to his left and saw Lambert; his opponent had a spear that he was currently thrusting forward. Lambert sidestepped, grabbing the spear's shaft with his left hand and yanking it downward. The man stumbled, and Lambert's sword flashed, cutting across the man's chest. The spearman fell, clutching the wound as blood poured between his fingers. Lambert stepped back and stabbed down with his sword ending the man's life.

Further across the arena, the Nubian faced three opponents. A swordsman swung at him, the blade slicing toward his chest. The Nubian leaned back, the sword missing by inches, and snapped his whip. The leather cracked, wrapping around the swordsman's wrist. The Nubian yanked, pulling the man's arm upward, exposing his side. The whip snapped again, striking the man's ribs, leaving a red welt. A second opponent, wielding an axe, rushed forward. The Nubian spun, his whip lashing out, coiling around the axe's handle. He pulled, jerking the weapon from the man's grip, sending it skidding across the sand. The third opponent, a woman with a short spear, thrust at the Nubian's leg. He jumped, the spear grazing the air beneath him, and cracked the whip across her face. She staggered, clutching her cheek as blood trickled down. The Nubian laughed as he fought them; Thorfinn noted that he had a great degree of ability with the whip, not many people would be able to use such a weapon both offensively and defensively.

Lambert approached Thorfinn, a grin stretched adores his face. "Why don't we give the crowd a real show?"

Thorfinn glanced at him, then nodded. "Why not."

They faced each other, swords raised. Lambert moved first, stepping forward and thrusting his blade toward Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn angled his sword, deflecting the strike with a clang, the impact jarring his arm. Sparks flared where the blades met. Lambert pulled back, and they circled, boots scuffing the sand. Thorfinn kept his knees bent, watching Lambert's shoulders for the next move.

"Eight months," Lambert said, his voice uncharacteristically dark, "and you're this good. A prodigy, aren't you?"

Thorfinn didn't respond. He stepped forward, swinging his sword in a low arc toward Lambert's side. Lambert twisted, bringing his blade down to block, the iron clashing with a sharp ring. Thorfinn pivoted on his heel, redirecting his swing toward Lambert's leg. Lambert jumped back, his sword sweeping downward to parry, the blades scraping together. Lambert countered, thrusting toward Thorfinn's shoulder. Thorfinn ducked, feeling the blade pass close enough to stir the air above his head. He surged upward, driving his fist into Lambert's stomach. Lambert grunted, stumbling back, his free hand clutching his abdomen.

Lambert recovered, lunging forward. His sword slashed toward Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn parried, their blades locking, iron grinding against iron. He pushed forward, forcing Lambert's blade upward, then swung his left elbow at Lambert's jaw. Lambert leaned back, the elbow missing, and thrust his sword at Thorfinn's side. Thorfinn twisted, the blade grazing his tunic, and grabbed Lambert's wrist with his left hand. He yanked, pulling Lambert off-balance. Lambert twisted his arm free, slamming his own elbow into Thorfinn's ribs. Thorfinn exhaled sharply, pain flaring, but swung his sword upward. Lambert blocked, the blades clanging, and kicked Thorfinn's shin. Thorfinn staggered, his leg throbbing, but swung again, aiming for Lambert's arm. Lambert sidestepped, slashing at Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn leaned back, the blade missing, and countered with a thrust to Lambert's thigh. Lambert parried, their swords striking with a shower of sparks.

"Decades," Lambert said, his voice getting darker and darker, "training, pushing past limits, and a kid like you makes it look easy."

Thorfinn frowned, stepping back. "What are you talking about?"

Lambert's eyes narrowed. He swung his sword in a wide arc, leaving his chest open. Thorfinn hesitated, then stepped forward, thrusting toward Lambert's shoulder. Lambert sidestepped, grabbing Thorfinn's arm and kicking his chest. Thorfinn slid back on the sand, boots digging in to stop his momentum. Lambert rushed forward, swinging his sword at Thorfinn's neck. Thorfinn raised his blade, blocking the strike, the impact sending a jolt through his arms. Lambert pressed forward, slashing again and again. Thorfinn parried each blow, the swords clanging rapidly, iron flashing in the fading light.

"I hate feeling weak," Lambert growled. He swung his sword at Thorfinn's head. Thorfinn ducked, the blade whistling past, and thrust toward Lambert's chest. Lambert twisted, deflecting the strike, and kicked Thorfinn's knee. Thorfinn stumbled, pain shooting through his leg, but swung his sword upward. Lambert blocked, their blades locking. Thorfinn pushed forward, trying to force Lambert back, but Lambert twisted his wrist, breaking the lock, and slashed at Thorfinn's arm. Thorfinn pulled back, the blade cutting air, and swung at Lambert's side. Lambert parried, then thrust at Thorfinn's throat. Thorfinn leaned to the side, the blade grazing his shoulder, and grabbed Lambert's arm, pulling him forward. He drove his knee into Lambert's stomach. Lambert gasped, stumbling, but swung his sword at Thorfinn's leg. Thorfinn jumped back, the blade missing, and slashed at Lambert's chest. Lambert blocked, the swords striking with a loud clang.

Lambert's eyes flashed. He raised his left hand, fingers tracing a quick pattern. A burst of flame shot from his palm, the Igni sign igniting the air. The fire hit Thorfinn's chest, heat searing his skin. He stumbled back, his tunic smoldering, pain lancing through him as blisters formed. Lambert lunged, his sword slicing across Thorfinn's side. The blade cut through fabric and flesh, blood welling instantly. Thorfinn grunted, clutching the wound with his left hand, and raised his right hand. He cast Aard, a blast of force exploding from his palm. The air rippled, and Lambert flew backward, tumbling across the sand, his sword skidding away.

Thorfinn pressed his hand against his side, blood seeping between his fingers. "What are you doing!?" he shouted, stepping forward. "You'll expose us! If you've got a problem, wait until after the mission!"

Lambert pushed himself up, sand clinging to his tunic. He smirked, wiping blood from his nose. "A prodigy, but still a brute. A fucking savage."

Thorfinn's grip tightened on his sword. He charged, swinging at Lambert's chest. Lambert rolled to the side, grabbing his sword from the sand, and stood, casting Quen. A faint golden glow surrounded him. Thorfinn swung again, his blade striking the shield, the impact sending a vibration up his arm. Lambert slashed at Thorfinn's leg, but Thorfinn jumped back, the blade missing. He thrust forward, aiming for Lambert's shoulder. Lambert sidestepped, the Quen shield fading, and swung at Thorfinn's head. Thorfinn ducked, the blade passing overhead, and drove his shoulder into Lambert's chest. Lambert stumbled, swinging his sword wildly. Thorfinn parried, the blades clanging, and punched Lambert's jaw with his left fist. Lambert's head snapped back, blood spraying from his lip.

Lambert laughed, wiping his mouth. "Show me that famous skill, Thorfinn!" He swung his sword in a high arc. Thorfinn blocked, the blades striking with a shower of sparks. Lambert kicked Thorfinn's shin, pain flaring, but Thorfinn swung his sword at Lambert's arm. Lambert twisted, the blade grazing his sleeve, and thrust at Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn sidestepped, grabbing Lambert's wrist and twisting. Lambert grunted, pulling free, and slashed at Thorfinn's side. Thorfinn leaned back, the blade missing, and swung at Lambert's leg. Lambert jumped, the sword passing beneath him, and kicked Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn stumbled, catching himself, and thrust at Lambert's shoulder. Lambert parried, their blades locking.

Thorfinn pushed forward, forcing Lambert's blade upward, then swung his left fist at Lambert's face. Lambert ducked, the punch missing, and slashed at Thorfinn's arm. Thorfinn pulled back, the blade cutting air, and kicked Lambert's knee. Lambert staggered, swinging his sword at Thorfinn's head. Thorfinn blocked, the impact jarring his arms, and thrust at Lambert's chest. Lambert twisted, the blade grazing his side, and punched Thorfinn's jaw. Thorfinn's head snapped to the side, pain exploding, but he swung his sword at Lambert's leg. Lambert jumped back, the blade missing, and thrust at Thorfinn's throat. Thorfinn leaned to the side, the blade passing close, and grabbed Lambert's arm, pulling him forward. He drove his elbow into Lambert's chest. Lambert gasped, stumbling, and swung his sword at Thorfinn's side. Thorfinn parried, the blades clanging, and kicked Lambert's shin. Lambert fell to one knee, swinging his sword upward. Thorfinn blocked, the impact sending a jolt through his arms, and swung at Lambert's shoulder. Lambert rolled to the side, the blade missing, and stood, thrusting at Thorfinn's chest.

Thorfinn sidestepped, grabbing Lambert's wrist and twisting. Lambert grunted, his sword falling from his grip. Thorfinn kicked Lambert's chest, sending him sprawling onto the sand. Lambert's sword lay a few feet away, glinting in the fading light. Thorfinn stepped forward, with his ssword raised, his side still burning from the earlier cut and use of igni.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Thorfinn shouted, his voice echoing in the arena.

Lambert pushed himself up, sand falling from his tunic. He glanced at the crowd, where figures in dark cloaks stood, hands on their weapons. Guards moved through the stands, their armor clinking. Lambert smirked. "You don't get it, do you?"

The Nubian approached, his whip coiled in his hand, blood dripping from its tip. His opponents lay defeated behind him, their bodies motionless on the sand. "Brother," he called out loudly, "it is time for our legendary showdown."

Thorfinn kept his eyes on Lambert, his sword still raised. "What are you talking about?"

Lambert stood, brushing sand from his tunic. "The Templar knew your plan from the start, idiot. They've been waiting..."

Thorfinn's eyes widened. He gripped his sword tighter, his knuckles whitening. He charged at Lambert, swinging his blade at his chest. Lambert raised his hand, casting Aard. A blast of force hit Thorfinn, sending him sliding back across the sand. Lambert cast Yrden, purple glyphs glowing on the ground. Thorfinn's boots caught in the trap, his movements slowing. He strained, muscles tensing, and broke free, the glyphs fading. Lambert ran, disappearing behind a line of guards rushing into the arena, their swords drawn.

Thorfinn stood in the center of the colosseum, blood dripping from the gash in his side, his sword heavy in his right hand. The guards encircled him, their boots kicking up clouds of sand, their blades catching the fading amber light. He glanced at Lambert's retreating form, the Witcher disappearing behind a wall of armored figures, then at the Nubian, who stood a few paces away, his whip coiled in his hand, his stance loose but ready. Thorfinn tightened his grip on his sword, his chest heaving with each breath, and prepared to fight.

The Nubian's voice boomed across the arena. "Not to worry, brother! We will defeat these enemies!"

Thorfinn felt a surge of divine magic flood his veins, the power tingling through his muscles, sharpening his senses, and amplifying his strength. A guard lunged toward him, swinging a longsword at his chest. Thorfinn stepped to the left, his boots sliding on the sand, and brought his sword up in a swift arc. The blade sliced across the guard's throat, cutting through flesh and muscle. Blood sprayed, and the guard's hands flew to his neck as he collapsed, his sword clattering to the ground. Another guard rushed forward, thrusting a short sword at Thorfinn's stomach. Thorfinn twisted his torso, the blade missing by inches, and swung his sword downward with divine-enhanced force. The strike shattered the guard's blade, steel fragments scattering across the sand. Thorfinn followed with a punch, channeling quake magic into his fist. His knuckles connected with the guard's chest, the impact cracking the man's iron breastplate. The guard flew backward, tumbling across the sand, his armor dented, and lay still.

To his right, the Nubian moved fast. A guard swung a mace at his head, but the Nubian leaned back, the weapon whistling past his face. His whip cracked, the leather coiling around the guard's wrist. He yanked, pulling the guard's arm upward, and snapped the whip again, striking the man's cheek. The guard screamed, blood streaming from the gash, and dropped his mace. Another guard thrust a spear at the Nubian's leg. The Nubian spun, his whip lashing out, wrapping around the spear's shaft. He pulled, jerking the weapon from the guard's hands, and cracked the whip across the man's face before catching the spear and impaling it into him. The guard stumbled, clutching his eyes, and fell to his knees. A third guard swung a sword at the Nubian's side. The Nubian jumped, the blade passing beneath him, and snapped his whip, striking the guard's forearm. The guard dropped his sword, blood dripping from the welt, and staggered back.

Thorfinn scanned the arena, his eyes darting to the stands. Assassins in dark cloaks fought against a swarm of guards. Witchers moved among them, casting signs—flames from Igni, blasts from Aard—while guards pressed forward, their numbers overwhelming. Thorfinn's gaze snapped to the royal box, where the Queen stood, her hands resting on the stone railing. The Queen's voice echoed over the arena. "Your plans were always known to us! We drew you here intentionally, assassins and Witchers alike. Now we will eliminate you all!"

Thorfinn's jaw clenched, fury surging through him. He spotted a fallen guard nearby, a spear lying beside the body. He sprinted forward, grabbing the spear with his left hand, his muscles tensing as he channeled divine strength. He hurled the spear toward the royal box, the weapon slicing through the air. A blur moved in front of the Queen. Arwyn caught the spear mid-flight, her fingers wrapping around the shaft, stopping it inches from the Queen's chest. Her eyes met Thorfinn's, filled with sadness. Thorfinn's chest tightened, betrayal cutting deeper than the wound in his side.

The Queen's lips curled into a cold smile. "Kill the assassins. Capture the Witchers... and him." She pointed at Thorfinn.

Thorfinn growled, sensing the guards closing in, their boots thudding on the sand. He threw his arms wide, channeling quake energy. The air cracked, a deep rumble shaking the colosseum. The ground trembled, sand shifting beneath his feet, and small stones rattled loose from the arena walls. He poured more energy outward, the vibrations intensifying. A column to his left cracked, a jagged line splitting the stone. Masonry crumbled, chunks falling to the sand. Spectators screamed, scrambling from their seats as the stands shook. A figure leapt from the royal box, landing in the arena with a soft thud. Arwyn's eyes widened, her grip tightening on the spear. Thea stood before Thorfinn, she moved towards him calmly, her dark hair untouched by the swirling sand.

Thea's voice was soft. "Such an impressive human. Descended from gods, yet so much more. I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to bring down my colosseum."

Thorfinn roared, channeling quake magic into his fist. He swung at Thea's chest, his knuckles glowing with power. She caught his fist with her left hand, as if he'd struck a stone wall. Thorfinn's eyes widened, shock coursing through him. Before he could react, Thea pushed his arm downward, her strength overwhelming. She shoved him with her right hand, sending him soaring across the arena. He crashed through three guards, their bodies tumbling like ragdolls, and hit the sand hard, pain exploding through his back.

The Nubian shouted, "Not to worry, brother!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin, and flipped it into the air. The coin spun, glinting, and landed in the sand. The Nubian's eyes widened as he saw the result. "Shit," he muttered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first onto the sand, his whip slipping from his hand.

Thorfinn staggered to his feet, his side burning, blood soaking his tunic. He gripped his sword with both hands, channeling divine light into the blade. The iron glowed faintly, pulses of white energy rippling along its edge. He faced Thea across the arena, his boots digging into the sand. In a blink, she vanished, reappearing directly in front of him. Thorfinn swung his sword at her chest, the glowing blade slicing through the air. Thea stepped to the side, the strike missing by inches, and vanished again. She reappeared behind him, her movements a blur. Thorfinn spun, swinging his sword at her neck. She leaned back, the blade passing over her, and stepped forward, her hand brushing his arm.

Thorfinn shouted, "Who are you?"

Thea's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Don't you recognize me? Your order has sought my death for quite some time."

Thorfinn's eyes widened as realization hit. "Vampire," he whispered.

Thea inclined her head. "Cleopatra VI Thea Philopator. And you are Thorfinn Hellbane...or Jotunsbane, you have many names from what I hear. Arwyn speaks often of you. So much that I wanted to see if you're just a brute, or truly favored by gods."

Thorfinn gritted his teeth, his annoyance flaring. He lunged, swinging his glowing sword at her shoulder. Thea raised her left hand, catching the blade between her fingers, stopping it cold. Thorfinn pushed forward, muscles straining, but the sword didn't budge. Thea twisted her wrist, yanking the blade from his grip, and tossed it aside. It landed in the sand with a soft thud. Thorfinn swung his fist at her face, quake energy pulsing through his arm. Thea caught his wrist, her grip like iron, and twisted, forcing him to his knees. He swung his left fist at her side, but she blocked with her forearm, the impact sending a jolt through his arm. Thea kicked his chest, her boot connecting with a thud, and Thorfinn slid back across the sand.

Thea raised her hand, her fingers tracing a quick gesture. Thorfinn's body froze, his muscles locking in place. She gestured downward, and an invisible force slammed him into the sand, his knees buckling under the pressure. She flicked her wrist, and he flew across the arena, crashing into a pile of broken masonry. Pain flared through his ribs as he struggled to his feet, his vision blurring. Thea gestured again, dragging him back across the sand, his boots scraping as he fought against the force. He stopped in front of her, his sword lying out of reach.

Thorfinn's eyes darted to the stands, searching for his comrades. The assassins were overwhelmed, their blades flashing as guards pressed forward. Thea's voice was soft, almost sweet. "Looking for your comrades? I fear your hopes are dashed." She raised her hand, and the spectators in the stands stood as one, their eyes vacant.

Thorfinn's brow furrowed, confusion mixing with pain. Thea stepped closer, her voice calm. "The drinks served contained my blood. Unknowingly, they became temporary ghouls."

Thorfinn's eyes widened, horror washing over him. Thea's lips curved into a faint smile. "Don't worry. I'm merely sixth generation, I can't maintain control for long with such a large group."

Thorfinn strained against her hold, channeling quake energy into his arms. The air around him crackled, the sand trembling beneath his feet. He broke free, the force dissipating, and lunged for his sword. He grabbed it, swinging at Thea's chest. She vanished, reappearing behind him, and kicked his back. Thorfinn stumbled forward, catching himself, and spun, thrusting his sword at her. She sidestepped, grabbing his wrist and twisting. The sword fell from his hand again, and Thea slammed her palm into his chest. Thorfinn flew backward, crashing into the sand, his vision darkening.

Thea stepped closer, her voice a whisper. "I'm going to enjoy our time together greatly."

Thorfinn tried to move, but he felt too weak. Thea raised her hand, and a sharp strike connected with his temple.

Darkness swallowed him.

(AN: That's it ladies and gentleman, the end of year 3. I know it's a bit of a cliffhanger and the ending may seem a little rush, but all things considered I think it wasn't too bad. Year 4 is gonna have all our heroes in the grasp of the evil templars. After that it's gonna be home to Kattegat and in time to kick off our second raid to Britain. Anyway i hope you enjoyed the chapter. )

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