Zarius pauses for a moment at the god comment. He looks out at the crowd again. "I have a feeling it is something else entirely." He says under his breath before following her into the next cage.

As he thinks about the weirdness that has been going on, he remembers his mother mentioning something about her own history. His mother was originally from Zeinav and she was from a long line of casters who were deeply involved in the occult. They weren’t religious per say, more like alchemists or magical scientists pushing the boundaries of the spirit and existence itself. Their power came from something else. Something residing far beyond Charon and the realm of the gods. This entity was supposedly an ancestor of theirs. Honestly, he wasn’t into this kind of mysticism. Now he was cursing himself for not listening closer to her stories.

His attention is brought back from the memories to the present situation at hand as Mr. Game calls for another round of dares directed at the tiefling. He hoped there were no tricks this time. He listens to the suggestions being thrown out and just rolls his eyes. Then the succubus interjects and he just blinks. It takes him a moment to process what was being asked of him, then he just gives Mr. Game an unimpressed look.

"Really?"

"Are you going to deny a lady her request?" The masked charlatan asks.

Zairus scoffs. "That is hardly a lady-like request.”

The tiefling glances towards the succubus who bites her lip and hangs off the wheel a bit, not-so-subtly threatening to spin it if he doesn't agree. He almost pitied her classless attempts at seduction. 

Forget lady-like, it was a ridiculous request. He knew losing the costume was not only at the expense of his modesty, but also his safety. If Veliky could pull off another dare, then they would only have the last round to worry about as far as fighting was concerned. Then again, Veliky’s last dare ended up being very dangerous in itself. He thinks over the options as the crowd starts to lose their patience.

“Come on! Quit stalling!”

“Take it off!”

“We don’t care about that! Spin the wheel! Give them hell!”

“Very well, I will do it.” He says as he folds his arms. “However, need I remind you it was part of your own rules that Veliky and I remain on equal footing and these costumes are the only weapons you provided us."

Mr. Game seems to contemplate this. “Hmmm, true, this dare does contradict that. How about this, you can put the costume back on before the next spin of the Wheel of Pain?”

“Is that really the best you can do?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” He says in an insincere and mocking tone while tapping the chin of his mask. “Remind me, which one of us is the one inside the cage with no combat abilities or magic again?”

Zarius sighs. He had a point. They had no negotiating power here. “Fine, deal.”

The cubi are the loudest out of the crowd, whistling and cheering as the more bloodthirsty fiends boo, wanting to see a fight instead.

He looks at Veliky as he starts unravelling and rolling up the gauze on his arms. "You better not have to kiss a dragon next."

The red-headed succubus' grin only gets wider as he loosens the bandages around his head and neck before working on the ones across his shoulders, chest, and torso. It’s not a quick process to get unwrapped from the bandages.

He looks at the stage after he has gotten half of the costume unraveled on the floor. “You can move on to Veliky’s dare you know.” He says to Mr. Game, hoping to get things over with faster.

“Nope! We can wait.”

Zarius internally fumes and works away on the lower half of the costume, starting from the ankles and working his way up to spare Veliky any embarrassment by association for as long as he can. Eventually, the last scrap of fabric from the costume laid on the floor at his feet.

He huffs and puts a hand on his hip. “Can we move on now?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Can we?” Mr. Game tilts his head.

The tiefling glares at him. “My apologies. May we move on now?”

“Yeah! Get on with the slaughter already!” The more beastial fiends all roar in agreement.

“Alright, alright, the audience has spoken.”

The succubus pouts a bit, then smiles at Zarius, satisfied with the results of her dare. He just keeps giving her an unimpressed glare from behind the bars of the cage.

"Let's get some more creativity flowing! Give me your best suggestions!" Mr. Game says, throwing his arms to the sides with a flourish. 

"Sell her soul!"

"No, no, sell her business!"

"Stand in lava!"

"DANCE! NO ONE HAS DANCED YET!"

"Okay, okay, calm down now."

"Fire her out of a cannon!"

"Oh! Yes, our dear pint-sized entrepreneur does need practice working on her landings." With a wave of his fingers, Mr. Game summons forth a cannon of appropriate size for a goblin onto the stage. "So, Veliky, will you do, or will you die?"

Thankfully, or perhaps disturbingly, Veliky doesn't appear embarrassed at all by the whole ordeal, though neither does she appear particularly appreciative of it. When Zarius' dare is said and done, she looks unabashedly at him with furrowed brow and a face of... confusion? She says not a word, but shakes her head before looking back at Game.

But did she hear him right? A cannon?

"A cannon?"

"Corrrrect!"

"...A gunpowder cannon?"

"That's right!"

"They want to shoot me out of a gunpowder cannon."

"Correct again! Too bad this isn't a quiz show; you'd be on a roll!"

Veliky doesn't hide her bafflement.

"...That would kill me."

"Hmm..." The host scratches his porcelain chin mockingly. "Well, I'm not exactly at liberty to say. Only one way to find out!"

"No," she contradicts matter-of-factly. "Between guaranteed death and a chance of death, I'll take the gamble. Spin your damn wheel." She waves a hand dismissively, and with unsecreted frustration.

There's a palpable atmosphere of disappointment, but only in the form of murmurs. They'll yet see blood.

"Aaalright! Sounds like it's time for another spin of the..."

"Wheel! Of! Pain!"

"Oh, but wait, folks, we've got to wait for Zarius here to get himself dressed." The mood plummets into groans and abyssal annoyance, to which Mr. Game raises his hands defensively. "Now, now. This is a big moment for Zarius. I mean, living as the son of a crime lord, he probably isn't used to dressing himself."

That quip quickly wins the audience again, sending a wave of jeering laughter through the room.

But a fact still stands: Zarius' costume consists entirely of wrapping. Dressing himself would be a difficult, tedious process likely to last several minutes.

"Hmm... But we are on a bit of a schedule... Ah, what the Hell? We're already in Hell, what's another broken promise? Better get dressed quick, Zarius."

The chortles rise again. The succubus with the fiery mane flashes Zarius a wink and a mischievous smile before spinning the massive wheel.

Looking too close at the blurring, spinning images is dizzying. The symbols seem to change every few instants. Nothing appears consistent.

Then, the same feeling: dimming lights and muted sound, shadows and numbness. The turning wheel slows, barely perceptible. But this time, Zarius isn't the only one to notice it.

Mr. Game turns, almost involuntarily, and storms to the wheel. He grabs it by one of the spokes, stopping it in its place.

"Ha hah... veeery funny." He turns around, sweeping his emerald eyes across the crowd. "Remember what I said about outside assistance? That applies to you, too, audience!"

Veliky's lips curl in bemusement. Someone in the crowd did something? As if this show wasn't already wasting enough of her time. The audience, too, seems perplexed, staring among their neighbours for the source of their host's contempt.

"Well then, let's see what grim fate the wheel's chosen for our contestants."

At the top of the wheel, where the red arrow points, is the symbol of a spider, but with two extra limbs and a six-dotted circle in its centre.

"Ooh, we've got a visitor from down under! Hope you aren't afraid of spiders."

He looks at Veliky, as does most of the audience. Veliky shifts uncomfortably at the hundreds of prying eyes, but her eyes are saturated with vexation.

"Why are you all looking at me?!"

Laughter bellows out. It only reddens and wrinkles Veliky's face more intensely.

"A-ha-lright, bring in the challenger!"

Veliky backs away from a huge sigil manifesting within the cage, nearly ten feet in diameter. And emerging from the faded flames is a massive arachnid monstrosity, superficially resembling a black widow but with the mandibled, six-eyed head of a grimlock and two arms extending from the same joints as its forelegs. Its humongous legs immediately skitter and slide across the metal floor and it raises its arms to blot out the strange, unfamiliar sights. A dagger can be seen in one of its gnarly hands.

"A choldrith!" The host presents the abomination with the pride of a ringleader introducing one of their many freaks. "Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to worship a demon lord of spiders? Well, look no further than this sorry sight!" His head twists around so that his more sorrowful guise stares forth - "At the slightest heretical failure, the mistress of arachnids bent their limbs and poisoned their minds until all that remained were mad, bloodthirsty predators!" - then twists back to its emerald gaze. "So why don't we see how it gets along with our contestants? Without further ado, let the bloodshed begin!"

Zarius notices Veliky's look of confusion and is about to return one of his own when Mr. Game announces the next dare. Veliky seems to get the more bloodthirsty dares. He supposes he should count himself lucky that the fiends only seem interested in attempting to humiliate him instead of having him torn limb from limb. Then again, he'd almost prefer being shot out of the cannon to the shameless looks from the succubus.

As soon as Veliky refuses the dare, he wastes no time in starting to put the costume back on. She had already broken one limb today, so he couldn't blame her for gambling on the wheel again. It doesn't come as a shock at all when Mr. Game goes back on his word. There was nothing they could really do about it for the time being other than try to get as much of the costume back on before that damned wheel stopped spinning.

He only pauses briefly when Mr. Game stops the wheel himself and calls out to the unseen entity that had been interfering. So, whatever that was, it wasn’t part of the show. He wasn’t sure if he should find this revelation comforting or not. They still really didn’t know what kind of limitations there were to the showman’s magic. He seemed to have complete control over the stage, but perhaps that was all just smoke and mirrors. Regardless, the interference did cause a slight delay which the tiefling did not waste.

By the time the spider-like creature appears in their cage, he managed to get at least the lower half of the costume back on. Thank the gods that he actually had some experience with quickly bandaging up wounds. He never thought that he’d need to use those skills in this kind of application though. Unfortunately, there was no time to throw the rest of the bandages on as the choldrith locks its tortured gaze on them.

Zarius loops the rest of the costume onto one arm. It was annoying to have to deal with it being a tripping hazard now, but that same thought does give him an idea.

“Keep out of its reach and find a spell to deal with its eyesight or something.” The tiefling says to Veliky before running to the side of the spider creature then suddenly dive rolling directly underneath it.

“Interesting strategy, what ever could our dear Zarius be up to this time?” Mr. Game comments while keeping a keen eye across the fight and the audience.

“Who cares! Spill his guts!”

“Save me a piece!”

Ignoring the less than helpful commentary, Zarius finds the loose end of one of the wrappings and loops it around one of the choldrith’s legs. The spider creature skitters backwards to try and get Zarius within striking range of its dagger, but the tiefling keeps underneath it as much as he can while looping the wrappings around more legs.

The choldrith gets frustrated and backs up against the cage wall, scaling up the side partially. Zarius swears in infernal and he throws his weight back against the loops of wrappings to try and drag it back down. Some of the legs slip but not before the choldrith takes a swipe at him with the dagger.

Zarius can’t dodge in his position and the knife sinks deep into his thigh. “Agh!” He grits his teeth as the audience cheers at the first spray of blood from one of their captive competitors.

“Oooh, that has to hurt!” Mr. Game mocks.

The choldrith’s free hand suddenly hits Zarius in the gut with a low swipe, knocking him off his feet and up into the air. The wrappings go limp as his grip loosens and he lands on his back against the perforated metal. A loud clang rings out as his head smacks against the floor.

The cheers of the crowd of muffled for a moment as his head spins. He hit the floor at a bad angle and the ringing in his ears gives him a splitting headache. Wincing, he rolls over onto his side as the horrific creature from the depths of the abyss approaches with the blade raised to finish the tiefling off. 

A whispered voice breaks through in his mind. 

"Get up."

He snaps out of it just as the blade swipes down and he rolls to the side. The crowd shouts in disappointment as he stumbles up to his feet again. Mr. Game's attention snaps to the audience once again, his mask rotating to an angered expression. 

Zarius huffs and shakes his head to clear the ringing and then pulls sharply on the wrappings still looped from his arms to one of the choldrith's legs. The leg slips underneath its spider-like body and it stumbles a bit. Clicking in irritation, it turns away from Zarius and then fires a net of webbing from its abdomen out at him. 

The tiefling goes to dive out of the way but trips on one of the taught wrappings pinned under one of the choldrith's feet. The sticky webbing splatters against him and quickly becomes more solid and elastic. Some strands reach all the way back to the side of the cage and the floor behind him, trapping him in a tangled mess. 

He tries to move but it just makes the webbing more tangled and tighter the more he fights against it. Things are looking very bad now and he can only hope he bought Veliky enough time. 

Veliky grimaces and staggers at the sight of the skittering limbs, gnarled like the branches of a dying tree. But, more importantly than its nausea, this thing is a serious and unknown threat. But Zarius has a plan, and he states it with authority and confidence; has he fought one of these things before? No matter, it's a decent plan either way.

"Got it!"

Once again, Veliky flips frantically through the pages of her gaudy spelltome. There's a spell to kill plants, a spell to clean (or dirty) clothes, a spell to animate cookware, a spell to summon a conspiracy of ravens - that one might actually be useful, but not now; there's even a spell to prevent someone from hearing, but nothing related to blindness. The web spell could theoretically be used for that purpose, but it's such a frantic and sporadic process that aiming it so accurately would be infeasible. The same spell she used on the hound could absolutely work on this *thing*, but she can only use that one more time before her mana's spent; that one is a last resort.

"There's nothing!"

She looks up from her studies, only to see that the situation has become quite dire. Her eyes widen as she sees Zarius practically cocooned in thick webbing, but it isn't until they lock with the choldrith's six yellow orbs that they fill with fear.

Veliky lived in the countryside. She's seen spiders on the hunt, how they ensnare smaller prey and melt their organs with venom. The thought of meeting that same fate is a nightmare, but, here, it is all too real.

But she isn't expecting the abomination's true intent. It clicks its mandibles together in some bastard, breathless tongue and makes motions with its spindly fingers. A spell!

Veliky's quick epiphany saves her; she leaps to the side in the same second that a beam of dark, green magic^[1] is fired from the thing's extended palm. It impacts the grated floor where she stood, corroding a wide area of the metal.

Mr. Game jerks into motion at the sight, like a merchant seeing his wagon smashed by a griffon.

"Woah, there! Be careful of the cage, you three. I know it's a bit claustrophobic, but remember: it's there to protect you as much as it protects us!"

Between the spider, Mr. Game and the bubbling black iron, Veliky is in a state of sensory overload. But she does catch a glimpse of Mr. Game's meaning as, while she's sitting with her back to the bars, she feels a long claw caress her shoulder from the audience. She stands immediately, startled and repulsed, not bothering look back at whatever touched her; she doesn't need nor want to know.

But the fray is as welcoming. The choldrith's legs click and clack against the iron bars as it crawls, watching her, her every movement. Veliky stares back in much the same way.

"I swear to your goddess, if you're a jumper I will rip your head off."

But it's an empty threat. How can she fight this thing? Her spells are useless, her potions are... wait, potions?

She looks at her own hands and realizes that she's been doing something subconsciously, like a nervous tick. She can't recall quite *what* she did, but it was definitely something she's not normally proficient at. Now, in each hand, she holds a flask of white, luminescent liquid.

"Huh...?" she exclaims in a soft breath.

Click Click Click Click

There's no time to think about it; the choldrith is skittering across the metal floor with the speed of the end! It's in front of her in under a second, raising its obsidian dagger to pierce her flesh.

Her retaliation is instinct alone, a knee-jerk reaction. She swings one of the flasks and smashes it against the creature's leathery face. It creates a brilliant flash of light^[2], and nearly everyone - audience and Mr. Game included - are blinded! The choldrith squeals and stumbles back, rubbing its eyes. Veliky's response comically mirrors the creature's.

"Whoa! Ho-hoh, uh... Forgot to take those off the costume this year!" The audience groans in dismay. "Sorry, folks! Sorry!"

But one person was spared: restrained by webbing, Zarius couldn't even turn his head toward the debacle, and so didn't suffer the flash! With a clearer perspective, he can see as the choldrith huddles its legs close and covers its face with its hands. Across its chitin and blubber, a thin layer of webbing takes form^[3], but not the filament that has Zarius constrained. It seems to be made of frost; the tiefling can feel the chill, even from where he's imprisoned.

Of the caged combatants, only Zarius can see clearly. But what can he do, held down by silk?

---

1. Corrosive Blast (Choldrith)
2. Flash Flask
3. Frost Web (Choldrith)

The reality was that there was next to nothing Zarius could do to free himself. He could barely move and his leg was bleeding pretty badly from the stab wound. At least the choldrith hadn’t immediately gutted him, but Veliky exclaiming that she had no useful spells was not reassuring.

Blinding light radiates out from behind him and the sounds of confusion and annoyance from the crowd fill the arena. This was the perfect opportunity to deal with the choldrith if only he could free his feet. Theoretically the ice coating its body could freeze the webbing and make it brittle to break free from, but he still wasn’t close enough.

The whispers from before tickle his ears. Dark wisps of smoke encircle him and he feels an intense burning sensation from the blood running down his leg. His blood ignites in blue tinged flames and burns away the webbing around his legs enough that he can move, but not enough to engulf him. The pain is excruciating and he nearly drops to one knee from the pain coursing through his body. The whispers gather into one single word command.

“Stand."

The tiefling does not know what to make of this strange entity that has been subtly interfering with the event. It seemed to want to help, but to what end and for what purpose still remained to be seen. The pull in his chest was uncomfortable, like something inside of him was trying to take a hold of him but he kept slipping out of its grasp. He wanted to know what this thing was, what it wanted, and why him? Again, the dissonant whispers join in unison to utter their will.

"Move."

Grimacing, he forces himself to move and slam himself into the side of the choldrith. The cold freezes the webbing on contact. It cracks and breaks off in delicate fragments, but the chill also bites into his skin painfully. He bears with it until his arms are freed and then he gets low and pushes on the curled up choldrith until it rolls across the floor…and falls right through the hole it melted through the base of the cage.

The choldrith screeches as it falls and splats onto the floor below. It is not dead, but it likely isn’t getting up either as its legs flail in the air. It landed on its back with a crunching noise as if something important had shattered upon impact. A thick greenish ooze leaks from its body and pools beneath its squirming form.

Zarius staggers back away from the hole and catches his breath. He grips his shoulder which got the worst of the frostbite and looks back at Veliky.

"Are you okay?" He asks as the blindness wears off.

The crowd recovers from their sight and realizes the fight is over. Murmurs of confusion ripple through their number as well as roars of anger and several boos of disapproval. Accusations of foul play start to be thrown around between the audience members and a few of the more aggressive demons start shoving each other around which only riles the bloodthirsty crowd up more. The succubus’ tail lashes back and forth in growing frustration as she shouts at them.

“Stop your squabbling!”

She turns towards where the host stood, his back to her and facing the cages unmoving. Mr. Game stands there silently for the first time during the game. It was impossible to tell what he was actually thinking or feeling from behind his porcelain mask.

“Mr. Game,” she whispers with a hiss an anxious glance about the chaos erupting throughout the arena. “What should we do?”

Even in the face o f the audience's discontent, Mr. Game is a figure of confidence, or perhaps arrogance.

"We do what we always do," he answers with the same showmanship. "The show must go on!"

He steps forward with his hands raised disarmingly.

"Ladies, fiends, we all know that isn't what the game's about, don't we?" His question is just perplexing enough to earn some silence. "Foul play, no foul play, who cares? We're in Hell! Besides..." His voice lowers conspiratorially. "when was the last time one of our contestants reached round 3? You all want to see that, don't you?"

From among the audience, low, guttural chuckles rise like Summer heat.

"That's right. That's right! Congratulations to our contestants, the first ones in six years to reach the final round!" He raises his arms, and the crowd rises and cheers. The writhing choldrith is dismissed in bonnish flame.

Veliky uncovers her eyes, the orbits of which have become painfully red from her rubbing, and squints at Zarius, pupils in miosis. In the incomprehensible soup of colours and shapes, the form of the black tiefling slowly becomes clearer.

"I... I'm fine, I think." Her sight returns to her gradually, the largest details manifesting first, such as the gash in Zarius' leg. Her eyes widen and her voice becomes more shrill, as if she's offended. "But you aren't! Watch out for yourself, dammit!"

As she berates him, Zarius can see her hands moving automatically, pulling vials from tiny pockets, mixing the fluids within, and pouring them into two larger flasks. The resulting concoctions are a bright, vigorous red^[1].

"If you go down, I may as well call it quits. And we don't have any healing magic for-"

She finally notices what she's holding. The anger fades, replaced by bemused surprise. She's seen these potions before. Just about any half-experienced adventurer or mercenary could recognize them as potions of greater healing, or some variation of that title. She looks upward at the tiefling with blank eyes and holds one of the flasks up to him, like a child offering a candy to their elder.

"Drink. That's an order."

Third and final cage, third and final round. The portcullis crashes down behind them again. They're now less than ten yards from the ominous Mr. Game and, from here, they can faintly detect odd clicks resounding from his limbs whenever he strides about. Even stranger, what once appeared as patchwork cloth constituting his regalia can now be told as painted wood. Now audible in his voice is a low, aberrant crackle.

"Congratulations again," he sings, "on reaching your final hour! Err, round!" Clearly a joke in poor taste, not an error. "Now, I may've let it slip that this round won't be quite the same..."

"Bring out the other wheel!" Louder than ever before, the audience rings and gurgles in agreement.

"Ha ha ha! Right you are, my friend. Bring out the Wheel of Sin!"

The fiery succubus grins with absolute malevolence as she exits stage right before pulling a giant wheel, set on a platform with wheels of its own, onto the stage. Unlike the first wheel, this one is utterly ornate, forged of old bronze. Each of its seven segments is carved with black images that evoke morbid curiosities and unsavoury desires. The wheel is clearly much older than anything else here, reminiscent of some artifact of decrepitude. Its use in this sick game is assuredly a sacrilege.

The audience applauds with diverse limbs: twisted, gnarled, slimy, slithering, and then those of a more mortal appearance that beget antithetical carna. Mr. Game joins them.

"It's been some time since we were able to spin this one. Let's give a gracious round of applause to our contestants for giving us such a wonderful opportunity." And they do, though with many a jeering chortle, condescending stare or lustful gaze. "Now, let's-"

"If you're so grateful, then answer me something. I'd say we've earned it."

"...Really?" His head clicks and grinds in its pivot. Being interrupted is not something he enjoys. "And what, exactly, are you asking?"

Veliky sweeps her eyes across the crowd. So many horrors in one place, but why? This is so much more than the petty larceny they saw in the Market District.

"Your goons said that this was all about money. But what do you get out of... this? Was it all a lie?" She gestures at the iron cage, the impatient crowd, the macabre wheels, all of it.

Mr. Game holds his chin with a contemplative, wooden hand.

"Hmm... I can answer that." He paces across the Infernal stage, which, upon closer inspection, is crafted with the same otherworldly wood as Game's accoutrement. "They weren't lying; it is about money... for *them*. A little down payment and the promise of profit, and they were aboard like children in a stranger's wagon. But we don't care about gold, down here. You know what currency we use in the Underworld?"

"What, souls?" she answers sarcastically.

"Correct! But we don't accept meagre souls. Taking one of those would be worse than having nothing! We only reap the rarest, the most succulent... the bravest." He leers down at the two little mortals before raising his hands dramatically into the air. "This is what I do, darlings! Raise a little chaos, and the heroes come running; give the mooks some fancy magic to cull the weak so only the strongest reach us; flavour their spirits with pain, fear and despair; and take them for ourselves. This all probably feels like the unluckiest Black Harvest of your lives, but, truth is, the game was rigged from the start!" He points at his sultry servant. "Spin the wheel!"

It's heavier than the last, but the succubus is shockingly strong, able to easily spin massive slab of bronze. A black arrow above it passes over the images many times over. It seems the wheel will keep turning for awhile longer.

"Now, as I was saying, the final round is mostly the same as the first two, except for one thing: whatever this wheel lands on will add an extra challenge on top of your dares and punishments! You *really* don't want to refuse a dare in this round."

Finally, the great wheel grounds to a halt. The chosen segment is painted with a distant, dark figure casting a looming shadow. Within the umbra is a man, lips curved in glee but eyes covered with his hands.

"Envy! Wonderful! You know, I always think it's unfair that only the contestants get costumes. Am I right?" He shrugs comically while looking over the crowd, who nod and cheer in assent. "Right! So, for this final round, whatever you fight will get their very own costumes, with their very own powers! That should make things more fair, shouldn't it?"

Veliky almost crumbles. She can feel acid rising in her throat. The costumes are their only saving grace. If the enemies have them too, the odds of her and Zarius surviving are... null.

"Of course, that means we'll need at least one horrifying monster for you to fight. So, it's time to spin the..."

"Wheel! Of! Pain!"

This time, it's Game that does the honours. The fateful wood clacks rapidly as it turns, before the red arrow falls upon the image of a bird with a human head.

"Harpies! Not bad, not bad."

Within the cage, two sigils appear, but the flames lie low, waiting for the full extent of the party's punishment.

"Now, as always, I want to hear some cruelty! And make it a good one; it'll be Zarius' last!"

The penultimate round of suggestions is filled with obscenity and licentiousness.

"Make him kiss the little one!"

"Yeah, but make him kiss her lil' boot and call 'er 'master!'"

"I WANT SMUT!"

"Whoa, getting a bit rowdier, are we? Well, I guess it is your last chance. Alright, Zarius..."

A very small, flaming sigil appears in the air beside Zarius.

---

Somewhere, in a bleak villa in the middle of a sweltering, white desert, a dark, lavish couch is unattended. Suddenly, firelight glows from beneath one of the cushions, but only for a brief moment.

---

From the sigil, a dark, ornate book appears and hovers in the air. Its filigree is regal, yet oddly promiscuous, and it curls and bends across the cover to shape its title: '50 Shades of Decay.'

"Your dare is to, in your sexiest~ voice possible, read aloud, hmm... This page!" The book opens and the pages flip, stopping at the 173rd. "Easy, right? So, will you do? Or will you die?"

---

1. Major Health Potion

Zarius rolls his eyes at her scolding. “You have more useful powers than I do right now.” He says as he gathers up more of the wrappings and loops them over his arms.

As she drivels on and then seemingly subconsciously mixes together a concoction, he pauses. The tiefling stares at the vial being held out to him for a moment before taking it and drinking it as ordered. It has a strong medicinal flavor that is pretty bitter. Slowly, the potion takes effect and the stab wound on his leg closes up as they move on to the next cage.

Approaching ever closer to their host and captor, the tiefling narrows his eyes at Mr. Game. He almost seemed to be some sort of stringless puppet. That didn’t bode well for them. If there was yet another faceless individual pulling the strings of the eccentric marionette then they could hardly expect the initial promise of them being allowed to leave if they won to be true.

The dramatic reveal of the second wheel and a twist to the final round of the game only made his suspicions more plausible. He narrows his eyes as the new rules are explained, then looks back out at the crowd. Their unknown ally was out there amongst the fiends, he was certain of that. He wanted to ask Veliky if she had been hearing things as well, but it could wait until they escaped.

He listens to Veliky and Mr. Game as they converse. So, those brigands were just hired goons. That made sense, they certainly were not demons themselves. Hearing that they were after powerful souls also made some sense, though all this pageantry seemed unnecessary and a really inefficient way of going about it.

Their final challenge was sealed with the spin of the two dastardly wheels. Harpies in costumes would be the foes they would have to face if they refused their two final dares. Flying enemies certainly would be problematic, especially if they were equipped with countless potions. The last thing they needed was elixers of unknown effects raining down on them.

Zarius braces himself for the selection of the dare. Yet again he got some strange suggestions that focused on humiliation and embarrassment more than bodily harm. Considering they were so close to being done with this whole farce, he wouldn’t complain.

He takes the book as it opens before him and shakes some of the dust from it. “Easy enough so long as you play things straight.”

“Oh, Zarius dear, I am anything but straight.”

The crowd breaks into a cacophony of laughter. The tiefling however could not have a more unimpressed expression.

He sighs and glances over the page that was selected before clearing his throat.

“His presence was overpowering, his visage breathtaking. Who would have ever believed the Lord of Ghouls himself would be standing before her, a mere mortal unworthy of his companionship.”

Geez, whoever wrote this was really indulging themself. This ‘Lord of Ghouls’ character sounded more insufferable than attractive. He continues to read on about this imposing figure and ‘his flawless ivory skin gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the sheer drapes’. Ugh, it kept getting worse as it describes how the…protagonist? Victim? Delusional self-insert is undressed and pushed onto the bed by the scrawny undead zombie man.

“Her breath left her lungs as his thin, skeletal hands gently caressed the back of her thigh. His touch was like ice, sending a shiver dancing across her bare skin. He leaned in close to her, close enough for her to feel his frigid breath on her neck. His scent was comforting, some sort of mix of cinnamon and cardamom, a strong contrast to the cold bite of his touch which robbed her flesh of its warmth.”

He thankfully reaches the end of the page before anything too graphic could be described in the absurd detail. He closes the book with an audible snap. “There, satisfied?”

“Keep going! I want to hear more!”

“You can read ahead yourself.” He tosses the book out of the cage.

"Now, now, no need to be rude to our audience." Mr. Game wags his finger at Zarius disapprovingly then catches the book as it appears in his hand. "And show a little more respect for this fine piece of literature. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone has some repressed emotions."

"I did your dare, let us move on already."

"So sad, our poor little wannabe crime lord has no room in his life for love. It almost brings a tear to my eyes." The puppet-like entity's mask spins to the tearful face.

"Are you quite done?" Zarius asks bluntly.

"Cheer up! It is the finale, you know!" The mask with the emerald eyes swivels back to the front as he turns to the audience with a flourish. "Last chance to dare the quarterling! Give me your best ideas!"

"Make her sing!"

"Fight a yeti!"

"Eat something gross!"

Mr. Game taps his finger on his chin. "Something gross? Only the foulest of fowl it is then!" He snaps his wooden fingers and a sigil appears before Veliky. Manifesting from it is some sort of fleshy fiendish chicken with no eyes, rows of sharp teeth instead of a beak, and a long slimy tongue.

"It comes down to this! Will Veliky take a bite out of this deliciously heinous specimen? Or will she choose to take one final dance of death?"

Zarius takes a step towards Veliky, knowing there is no way she would pick the dare if the thing was still living.

"Not so fast!" Mr. Game snaps his fingers and what remains of Zarius' costume snaps to life and restrains him. "There's been enough helping going on. Let little Veliky make her choice like a big girl."

Veliky leers at the abysmal bird before her. She then grabs it by the neck, opens her mouth, puts the creature's head in her jaw and chomps down, severing its tiny spine. She drops the headless cadaver, which continues to run and dance about in glee as green, viscous acid spews from its stump of a neck. That same acid burns Veliky's lips and tongue. Her face twists in pain, but her eyes are full of unshakeable determination as she begins to chew.

This alone earns several standing ovations and cheers of twisted encouragement from the crowd, but she isn't done. She easily gnashes through the fowl's pneumatized skull, instantly filling her mouth with both acid and tiny, razor-sharp teeth that pierce her gums and cheeks. Acid and saliva mix with her own blood.

A wave of fear runs over her face as she realizes that choking is an extremely possible outcome, but she quickly realizes that, while sharp, the teeth are very brittle. Veins bulge from beneath her forehead. She feels the tiny fangs cracking like serrated peanut shells between her molars, gradually crunching them down to tiny shards.

Needless to say, the pain overrides most any other sensation, including taste. This is especially true when the acid has burnt her tongue almost to nothingness. This might be for the best; pain is easier to stomach than bile.

She stops chewing. She's done enough. Her pupils waver and contort as she lifts her head and swallows the horrifying puree in one gulp. The fragments and acid burn and tear through her esophagus as they travel.

Not leaving a second to chance, she pulls the other health potion^[1] from her belt and slams it down. Not only does it aid in washing down the cranial pulp, it also regenerates the punctures and burns on her insides. She wiggles her tongue and finds that it has, in fact, returned.

Still acutely aware of the fowl's obliterated skull sloshing around in her stomach, she turns to Mr. Game, noticing the delighted faces of the crowd as she does so. The headless corpse has yet to fall; it's as if it, too, is ecstatic about the fact that it was just eaten. Should Veliky be proud? Maybe she will later, if she survives whatever poisonous cocktail now rests within her.

"Done!" she bellows at the host. "Harpies! Now!"

"Ho-ho-hoh! I like the eagerness! But are you sure you're up for it? You're looking a little green..."

"I'm fine!" Barely a second after her scream, she stumbles from a wave of nauseous dizziness, much to Game's amusement.

"Ah, what am I saying? Oh course you're fine! You're always fine, right? I mean, you have to be fine to impress the man upstairs, don't you?" He points up at the ceiling. Some members of the audience look up in confusion, but Veliky doesn't. She only grips the bars for balance.

"Ha hah, you know..." He steps forward and kneels, looking down at Veliky with that inscrutable, joyous visage. "Raguel isn't allowed down here. So long as you're here, he can't do a thing to you. And if you die here... your soul will be trapped. That means you'd never even see the Fields."

Veliky meets his emerald eyes with spite... but she can't hide a faint hint of intrigue.

Game stands and gestures in a sweeping motion at the crowd. "Almost everyone here was a mortal, once. They shed their mortality to live in a world where restraint is the only sin!" His sweeping arm stops, pointing at Veliky. "And you could, too. All you'd need to do is say... 'Yes.' What do you say?"

...

No more responsibility. No more expectations and no more shame. No more broken promises or scorn from those she only wants to help. No more weakness, no more fear. Only...

Only what? Only sitting and indulging in whatever awful fantasies she eventually dreams up? Only rotting in the place, watching the world above drift away? Only abandoning her dreams of a better society? No. She looks up at Game eyes of hatred.

"I say I'll strap you to a pyre myself."

The host's head droops in disappointment. The crowd lacks his sentiment, however; they've grown impatient. They want the show to get on. Mr. Game lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"Alright, fine. Well, without further ado, let's begin the final bout!"

Veliky pushes herself off the bars. Her legs are wobbling, but she remains upright with unbroken resolve.

The flaming sigils intensify until they burst. What's left behind are two panicking harpies: one dressed with the fangs, wig and black cape of a vampire while the other's dressed in the brown furs of a werewolf. They flutter upwards, clinging to the walls and ceiling. But it isn't long before their attention is drawn to Veliky and Zarius. They bare their yellow teeth and dark, red gums.

"Let the battle begin!"

---

1. Major Health Potion

Zarius glares at Mr. Game and struggles against the bindings of his own costume. He can’t do anything but watch as Veliky completes her dare and then faces the sadistic marionette.

He listens to the conversation and narrows his eyes. Raguel? Who was that? He didn’t recognize the name. Must be someone from Veliky’s past or someone else she knows. Admittedly, he didn’t know a lot about Veliky and her connections. Whoever this Raguel person is though…Mr. Game says they aren’t allowed down here. Maybe they were the ‘man upstairs’ he mentioned. What were these Fields?

As Veliky rejects Mr. Game’s offer, the costume finally loosens its hold on Zarius and he staggers a bit. The wooden host announces that the fight is about to begin and he glances around as the harpies are summoned into the cage. Guess they weren’t getting through the last round without a fight after all.

“Do you suppose they can be reasoned with?” He asks Veliky before the harpies swoop down on them. “Nevermind.”

The tiefling dodges out of the way of the one dressed as a vampire, barely avoiding its fangs and talons. He tries to come up with a plan. Best shot they had was if they could get them down on the ground and then snap their necks.

He glances back just as the harpy swipes at his back, its talons raking across his skin and then closing on a talon-ful of bandages. He winces, it was faster than he expected.^[1] Just as he’s about to turn around and punch it in the face, it flies up and hauls him off his feet into the air. He dangles upside down and struggles to get any leverage against the harpy.

"Would you look at that folks! A rare flying tiefling!" Mr. Game chimes in as the crowd cheers for the harpies to tear them apart. 

Throwing one of his arms forward, Zarius manages to loop one of the wrappings around the harpy’s head and neck. He pulls down sharply on it and the harpy ends up slamming up against the cage and then flying into one of the sides. It bounces around at the top of the cage as it struggles to free itself from the wrappings around its head and it screeches in annoyance.

The harpy drops him suddenly, tearing through the bandages with its talons. He tries to land on his feet, but misjudges the distance and lands heavy on his knee and side. A sharp pain shoots through his leg and he cringes in pain. Was it broken? He couldn’t tell.

He starts to push himself up when the harpy lands on his back and pushes him back down against the perforated metal. It leans down over him and sinks its fangs into the back of his neck.^[2] The tiefling shouts in pain as the crowd gets riled up by the prospect of more blood being spilled. Mr. Game strolls over to the side of the cage and leans down to put his false face close to Zarius' eye level. 

"Did I mention that they skipped their last meal. You may find them a little bit nippy."

Zarius glares at the emerald-eyed puppet and grits his teeth. He reaches back and struggles to tear the harpy off of his neck. He involuntarily shudders as the creature gulps down his blood hungrily. It was a horrible sensation as the blood was drawn out through his veins. He felt nauseous. He knew that if it kept feeding on him he wouldn't have the strength to fight back. He closes his eyes tight as he feels for the harpies facial features before jamming his thumbs into its eyes.

The harpy screeches in pain and releases its hold on him, fluttering off and rubbing its eyes with its wings.

The crowd gets to their feet and hoot and holler in approval. It did not matter who won in the end. They would get what they wanted either way. 

With the harpy in the vampire outfit blinded for the time being, Zarius pushes himself shakily to his feet and he glances around to see how Veliky was faring. 

---

[1] Raw Speed (vampire harpy)
[2] Sanguine Bond (vampire harpy)

This is it: the last round. They were lucky enough to get doable dares, even if Veliky's still churns in her gut. These harpies are all that stand between them and Game... but then what? There's no way Game will just release them. And how will they get home, even if they somehow manage to escape the cage? Veliky isn't even certain what Hell is, despite how much she uses it as a curse. Is escape even possible?

Veliky's torn from her worries by the sight of Zarius being pulled into the air, and then torn again from that distraction as the were-harpy yanks her off the ground and slams her into the bars! The crowd cheers, and she slumps to the ground.

Veliky's eyes wander independently, and her ears begin to ring. It's an unfamiliar sensation. Oddly, she doesn't feel any pain in her back, not yet; it's all concentrated in her head and neck. She yet exists in that half-excrucia, in which pain has yet to be fully realized, like the last lulls of a dream after awakening. Besides, she's suffered worse tonight. These, she can use to her advantage.

The harpy's talons scrape and rattle the grated floor as it paces anomalistically around her prey. She leans in, as if to kiss the quarterling, only to bare sharp canines and near-black gums. But Veliky's a trickster by nurture, if not nature; there were a few other spells she glimpsed when she was studying the book.

"Vipeurut taftm," she whispers.

The little witch jolts up and puts a hand on the harpy's cheek! Violet light radiates under her caress. The harpy staggers and beats its wings in retreat, but the damage is done: its energy has been drained, and Veliky reaps the reward^[1]! The pain and ringing are gone in a blink, and she rises to her unimpressive height.

The harpy yet stumbles and writhes, crying in an awful, bastardized blend of avian and human calls. It keels, pressing its forehead against the perforated floor and squirming, peeling skin from its face.

Our tiny cos-witch darts to the kneeling harpy's side and climbs onto her back, wrapping and arm around her neck! The harpy immediately protests, beating its wings and rising into the air, but Veliky remains, clenching her teeth with enough force to chip one of her incisors.

The harpy's flight is already weakened by the magic, yet it seems to have no trouble at all dealing with the extra cargo: some extra might afforded by the costume^[2], no doubt. With a thresh, it knocks Veliky rudely against the ceiling, nearly scraping her off, but she grabs onto the harpy's greasy hair to anchor herself, earning another half-blooded caw.

...Now what? She didn't really think this through, as she didn't precisely have much time to do so. But she prides herself on her improvisational skills. In fact, an idea is already forming. It's dangerous, but it will do the job.

The drop from the ceiling to the floor of the cage is nearly thirty feet. A drop of that height will easily kill the harpy, and Veliky will, hopefully, be cushioned by its body. She just needs something to knock it down.

"Dyweyrizual!"

With her free hand, she draws a sigil, and the spell is complete. The harpy's body immediately shrivels around her organs, becoming emaciated, starved^[3]. With this combined with the life-draining spell, she can't muster the strength to keep herself aloft. Veliky holds onto the falling harpy like she's riding a diving drake. It lands brutally on the metal floor, creating a noisy, metallic rattle. Veliky falls and rolls of her body, her witch hat floating off her head, but she, herself, is unharmed.

She picks up the hat and replaces it triumphantly. But, then, she hears breathing from behind her. The were-harpy's still alive^[4]! What the hell is she made of? No matter, the spell will keep her out of commission for the time being, regardless.

She looks to Zarius. He's clearly wounded, but how badly? She dashes to his side and immediately, and obtrusively, grabs his knee and jerks it around.

"Does it hurt? Don't answer that; you aren't screaming, you're fine. Minor sprain... I think."

She steps back. Alchemy can fix this problem, but she doesn't know how to alchemize. The costume does; how does she make it do its job? Oh... it already has. For the third time, she's surprised to find two flasks^[5] in her hands. She bossily forces one into Zarius' hand.

"Drink."

She looks to the vampire-harpy clinging to the wall. It seems nearly ready for the fray again.

---

1. Vampiric Touch
2. Savage Might (Werewolf Harpy)
3. Desperation
4. Domain Blessing Strike Prevention 1/2
5. Minor Health Potion

Zarius gasps and winces as Veliky twists on his knee.

“Well it certainly hurts now.” He hisses down at her.

He takes the potion and downs it quickly before pitching the empty bottle at the vampire-harpy, pelting it in the face.

The vampire-harpie screeches, blood streaming from its eye sockets. It takes to the air again and its nostrils flair, trying to pick up the scent of its prey’s blood. Swooping down with its talons extended, it tries to swipe at the pair.

Zarius dodges to the side, pulling Veliky along with him so the harpy misses. His knee feels much better thanks to the potion and the creature was blind. If they could keep out of its way. His eyes land on the were-harpy on the ground. No, they needed to make more noise.

“I have an idea.” He says to the quarterling.

"Oh, what's this? The fiendling has an idea? Someone record this for the history books!" Mr. Game mocks. 

"Shut up already!" The tiefling snaps at him, fed up with the jeering. 

He lets her go and circles over to behind the were-harpy just as the vampire-harpy clangs against the side of the cage. The vampire-harpy screeches in irritation and shakes its head before turning around to try and make another pass by.

“Hey! Over here!” He shouts at it as he grabs the scruff of the were-harpy and hauls it up onto its feet.

The were-harpy snarls and flaps its wings but it can’t get turned around to snap at the tiefling. The vampire-harpy turns its attention to all the noise and leaps into the air and makes another attempt to grab something in its claws.

As soon as it is within striking distance, Zairus lifts up on the were-harpy’s pelt and shoves it into the extended talons of the vampire-harpy. Both creatures screech and start tearing into each other either out of hunger or out of self-defense. The vampire-harpy desperately tries to sink its fangs into the were-harpy in order to heal its eyes, but the were-harpy's thick fur protects it while it snaps and claws at its ravenous attacker. 

"Hey, now! Don't attack one another! The contestants are right there!" Mr. Game chastises the two harpies but they don't listen to him. He sighs. "This is why they say to never work with children or animals in show business folks."

While they’re distracted, Zarius doubles up a few loops of bandages then throws them over the heads of the squabbling pair. He wraps the ends of the loops around his arms and runs around them a few times, tightening the loops around their necks each time and entangling them further.

As he runs out of length to work with, he leans back with all his body weight and braces his feet against the perforated floor. The two harpies screeches are more like terrible wheezes and high pitched squeaks as they’re strangled by the wrappings. They try to claw at one another and struggle to get free as the tiefling holds his position.

He glances back at Veliky, his muscles screaming at the exertion of fighting against the two creatures’ thrashing. “I do not know how long I can keep them like this. Got anything to end this?”

Their enemies are on the ropes! Bound, they can only thrash and scream - and they do. Is this what they mean when they talk about caged birds singing?

The were-harpy is too exhausted to even fight back, but the vampire-harpy continues to struggle blindly. No matter; all Veliky needs are two spells to finally finish this, and she's already prepared both of them.

"Wyk!"

The second time, and it's just as revolting. But it's necessary. She vomits a massive clump of webbing^[1] over the two bound birds, sticking them both to the floor. The were-harpy curls and twists its talons, but its bindings are as strong as steel.

Veliky coughs and spits a stray strand onto the ground. Her breathing is heavy as she turns as faces the crowd."

"You want to see blood?! Fine! You'll get blood! Rijyl szarp!"

She extends her arms again, but, this time, countless black feathers explode into the air and a conspiracy of ravens^[2] fades into existence. There is not a moment of consideration nor hesitation; within their intelligent minds, there is already an intent that they share with their summoner. They swarm past and around the captives; clawing their scalps, pecking their skulls, gouging their eyes! Little by little, the harpies' flesh is being torn away, like bits of peel slowly picked from an orange. The purpose of the holes in the floor is finally revealed as blood drains through, staining the floor below.

Veliky pants. They've won. The poison, the nausea, the exhaustion; it feels as if every one of her organs is a separate, living thing, writhing in pain and begging for the end. What now? She wants to stand, but her legs can't hold her. She wants to fall, but she fears what it'll do to her insides. So, a slight compromise; slowly, if not steadily, she lowers herself to the ground, her skirt blanketing the ground in a ring around her. Cold sweat coats her face as the ravens croak and feathers float to the ground.

She's done her part. Now, she can only let what comes come.

The crowd never stops roaring. It almost seems as if they've forgotten about the contestants. The new show is the bloodbath.

"...Well then! Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for the first contestants to win all three rounds over one-hundred-"

His voice and theatrical gestures are cut short. Something's wrong. Something's horribly wrong.

One of the harpies - the vampire - is gone. The cocoon of web has collapsed where it was, leaving the were-harpy a bloody pulp. Veliky looks up, too. What could've happened that the host didn't expect?

Suddenly, a hellish scream in the crowd draws all eyes, mortal and immortal alike! A cloud of fog^[3] coalesces into the form of the bloodied, avian vampire! Rotting tentacles swing at it; it's quickly batted out of the air, like a fly, landing in front of a massive balor. The red-skinned goliath rises like the tide. It wields no weapons, but its fists alone could crush stone. Even in a live studio audience of the multiverse's most diabolical monsters, it demands attention - and space.

The harpy looks up with a mangled face... and something changes in the balor's eyes. They no longer burn with indignance, but soften with... affection^[4]? Twisted: whatever it may be. The indignance returns as its infernous eyes sweep across the crowd. Aquasit backs away. It doesn't get far.

The goliath raises its massive leg and stomps the quasit into liquid. The already-chaotic landscape devolves into pandemonium. Demons and devils flee in whatever equivalent of fear pumps through their veins; the sight is a nauseating blur to bear witness to. It's an ocean of flesh and blubber, hide and tendon; even the great balor is lost.

This was not on the schedule. Mr. Game backs away until he bumps into the wheel behind him. Whatever emotion he's truly feeling, his joyful expression can only stare forward.

"C-calm down, everyone! O-our security will-"

The balor grabs a bebilith by one of its legs and swings it through the air, crashing it into the cage, through the black iron bars! Metal screeches, creaks and snaps. The prison can hold Veliky and Zarius no longer! But neither can it protect them from the chaos outside.

This is the last straw. Abandoning face and abandoning hope, Game abandons the stage, exiting stage right.

Veliky hears the bars clattering onto the floor. Some nearly fall on her. It's their chance, the moment they've been waiting for! They're free!

But Veliky is not. Try as she might, her legs won't let her stand. They're deadweight, not just lacking in strength, but devoid of it. She falls onto her hands and knees, vision slowly darkening.

She never wanted to feel this weak again: wanting, but not having; willing, yet lacking the power. Unconsciousness calls to her like the blanket of night, embracing her weakness, drowning her fear. In the pool of harpy's blood, she sees her reflection. Is it her? She looks... younger. Is she crying?

Yes. In the corners of the puddle, she can see twisting shadows. If she listens carefully, she can hear mocking laughter, drawing closer. Yet the little girl in the reflection only sobs. Veliky whispers - it's all she can muster.

"Wul ou...
(Get up...)"

She normally has so much difficulty remembering that night. Yet, now, at the brink of sleep, it seems crystal in clarity. Or perhaps she's only missing the absence of detail. It looked like so much fun, dressing up as whatever she wished and venturing out into the night. The candy was barely a thought in her mind. For one night, she believed, she could be whatever she wanted. She was wrong.

"Wul ou.
(Get up.)"

She was poor, unable to afford any costume of worth. And, more importantly, a pariah in any colour is a pariah nonetheless. She spent hours delicately sewing the fake adventurer's cloak and carving the sword from wood, but, underneath, she was still a weak little Veliky. She was lucky to have survived with only a broken arm.

Damn this Black Harvest... No. Damn that little girl in the reflection. She should just stop crying. She should get up and run while she still can!

Someone stronger would do so in her place. And Veliky is stronger, now.

"Wul ou, faa whoke...!
(Get up, you useless...!)"

---

1. Web
2. Raven Storm
3. Demon of the Mist (Vampire-Harpy)
4. Beguiling Charm (Vampire-Harpy)

Zarius lets go of the wrappings and has to tear some to free himself from the webbed up harpies. He gets clear of the ravens and circles around to Veliky. It’s a gruesome sight, though he has seen worse. They had all manner of vile ways to get rid of bodies back in Darkveil.

As things wind down, he doesn’t feel any better. There was still the matter that they had no powers and were at the mercy of Mr. Game and the crowd of demons. There was no way out and their souls would be claimed one way or another. The game was rigged from the start after all.

He watches their wooden host closely as he starts to announce their victory, and ultimately what fate would befall them next. But Mr. Game stops and the tiefling’s eyes narrow. He looks back towards the harpies before his attention is drawn abruptly to the audience. Before he can really understand what is happening, the charmed balor begins to attack anything within reach.

Zarius shields Veliky as some of the bars fall towards them. Luckily none slam down on his shoulders as the cage is bashed apart by the flying bebilith. He glances down at her and sees her weaken.

“Do not fall now! GET UP!” He snaps at her.

This was their one chance, she couldn’t give up now. He helps drag herself to her feet whether she likes it or not. She still doesn’t look very steady on her feets so he crouches down and lifts her onto his back.

“Stay awake. We are not in the clear yet.”

With that, he runs out of the cage and jumps onto the wooden stage. Behind them, the balor thrashes about, throwing imps and quasits across the area as some larger demons rally to subdue them. Something flickers in the shadows and a thin wisp of smoke slips behind the stage after Zarius and Veliky.

Mr. Game races down the back steps of the stage. Zarius spots him as they cross the threshold to the backstage area and he unravels what’s left of the wrappings on his arms. The tiefling throws his arm towards Mr. Game’s back and focuses on the mannequin’s legs. Springing to life every so slightly, the wrappings reach forward and lash around his legs.

Mr. Game trips and clatters to the floor, his hat rolling across to the opposite wall.

Letting Veliky down, he rushes over and pounces on Mr. Game to keep him pinned to the ground. He draws his fist back and repeatedly slams his bare knuckles into the porcelain faces of him.

The masks crack and splinter as Zarius unleashes a relentless beating onto him. He ignores the pain shooting up his arm as his knuckles start to bleed and blood splatters across his face.

“Wait! Wait!” Mr. Game pleas holding his hands up defensively. “You’ll never leave if you destroy me!”

Zarius pauses for a moment then punches once more with a heavy blow. Then the tiefling grabs the puppet’s arms and ties them behind his back.

"You better have something good to say before I turn you into pulp." He hisses as he hauls him up into a sitting position and keeps a hand on him so Veliky can have shot at him.

What's happening...?

The colours blur before melding into darkness. The sounds pierce her skull, yet are soft as rolling waves. She can still feel the pain and nausea within her, yet it's obscured by a veil of numbness. Her cheek is pressed against something firm and warm. It reminds her of piggybacking on her dad when she was little.

Her senses are failing her, and it hurts to think. But she's a smart girl. She knows what's happening. Zarius is carrying her because she couldn't stand herself. Where are they going? Stray ideas float about in her mind, slipping further away the harder she tries to grasp them. But, when she stills her thoughts and lets the emotions exist undisturbed, the dots tie themselves loosely together into a single consensus.

They're after Game. Zarius' heart thumps with hope. He wants to escape. Of course he would. Of course he'd try to drag her out with him. He thinks he's helping, just as he'd thought when he broke her arm, and when he fixed it afterwards. But she can't blame him, she knows this. He's like all people: like clay: malleable, a controllable factor. If she hadn't been such an idiot, she could've prevented this.

Her father had carried her away, just like this, on that same day. She's still that same pathetic little girl.

"Pa enaba... Kientin disgraji... Napen kohspen... Mea ade kahl awet kahl koe fal mei...?"

Her feverish murmurs are barely audible above the adrenaline and the panic, and they would be incomprehensible regardless. She feels a shift in weight as Zarius places her down. She instinctually gravitates to the wall - a single anchor in the confusion - as Zarius begins his interrogation. She can't see any of it in the darkness - nothing real.

It isn't long before each of Game's three faces is cracked and broken. The comedic mask still leers at his captor, but all pretence of joy is lost.

He makes the sound of a cough, but with none of the viscera associated. It's a noise and nothing more.

"Ha... haa... No... No need for violence... right? In fact... this is good." He should be bleeding by now, yet he isn't. "The way I see it, we *all* need to get out of here... and I have a way."

His neck clicks violently as he turns to a door at the side of the dark hall.

"My... dressing room. There's a mirror... It can take us to other places. Other worlds." He doesn't turn back; his head slumps lazily on a mechanical spine. "Needs blood to work, and I'm running on empty, if you catch my meaning... But, with yours, or Veliky's, it'll take us all to your world. Not sure where, exactly, but it'll be better than here."

Already, a plan might be forming in Zarius' head. But the sly spokesman doesn't neglect a catch.

"Now, you might not need me to activate the mirror... but you do need me to get your powers back. I think you know what I'm getting at. Let's make a deal."

To Veliky, their voices are as intelligible as wind in the night. Escape...? Does she really want that? If she dies here, there'll be no more expectations. The only thing to judge her would be the abyssal black...

She used to be afraid of the dark. She always swore she could see things in the shadows - things she didn't want to see - and voices of memories better left forgotten.

"Maa'm soorey...  Maa'm sef soorey...
(I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...)"

Little by little, the sensations shift and change. It's as if she's floating on a sea of emotion, stranded, lost, when...

"Ginma, Vel... Sto cofin tam faa?
(Ginma, Vel... What happened to you?)"

By his voice, he sounded almost as broken as she was. She feels a sharp pain through her arm where he touched it, despite his attempts to be delicate. Her throat recalls the erratic rhythm of her breath, and the rawness left by her sobbing.

"Maa...  Maa man'kk awett... Un ben... Maa'm soorey...
(I... I don't know... It hurts... I'm sorry...)"

It'd been so confusing. She'd never felt anything so painful before. She's experienced worse, since then.

"Ieh, Vel. Ieh, ieh, ieh, man'kk mab soorey. Faa maner ekk man naas.
(No, Vel. No, no, no, don't say sorry. This isn't your fault.)"

...It's strange. For some reason, she'd always thought he was angry at her. In hindsight, it seems clear. He was mortified. Why had she thought otherwise?

"Maa mo das tam vida-ekk...
(I just wanna die...)"

"Faa man'kk oseur naa. Alet nef... Alet nef. Faa vol mab yeh, Maa mitchetto.
(You don't mean that. Come on... Come on. You'll be okay, I promise.)"

Back then, she hadn't wanted to go with him. Even after everything was better, when her arm had mended, all she wanted to do was sit and cry...

What an idiot. She was fine. Sitting around and whining only made things worse.

...

"Oh, and, uh, are we taking... her? By the looks of things, she'd probably just-"

"Yes, you are."

She still can't see, of course, but her voice is as clear and as commanding as ever before.

"...Alright, then! So, do we have a deal?"

The sounds of the fighting in the arena are nothing more than mere echoes and muffled crashes from behind the stage and curtains. The vampire-harpy’s influence still holding strong, but even if it had been broken, the bloodlust of the demons would carry on the fight until the arena was drenched in blood. Their battle in the back was far less climactic, but it held more meaning than any other fight they had partook in up until this point in time.

Zarius narrows his eyes at Game’s splintered faces. Whatever strange magic held this construct together and granted it its sick sentience was powerful. It was different from Veliky’s legion. They could talk for sure, but they did not have personality or free will. This thing, whatever it really was, did, and it used that free will to torture and maim.

The fiendish construct’s offer falls on death ears. Mr. Game had toyed with them since the very beginning. Everything had been planned and executed by those the puppet had manipulated into insanity. They could not trust him. While he could be telling the truth about returning their abilities, it was way too likely that he could be tricking them yet again.

The tiefling wasn’t willing to be toyed with any longer. He reaches down and drags Mr. Game up by the neck.

“No,” he hisses in the puppet’s face. “You may have taken our abilities away, but we had them before you decided to mess with us. We can get them back ourselves, one way or another.”

Zarius tightens his grip, the wood creaking as he digs his nails into the grain. “I have no use for you.”

Before Mr. Game can speak, Zarius uses his other hand to grab the side of one of the masks and wrenches it off as he pushes the construct on the ground and steps on his chest.

A dark wisp of smoke wafts past Veliky and wanders its way down to the base of the curtains of the stage. It lingers for a bit before the fabric begins to alight with blue flames which slowly creep up begin to burn wildly. Zarius hears the crackling and smells the burning fabric, glancing back at the sudden fire.

“Dammit. Miss Veliky, we have to go!” He shouts at her, but it’s clear she can barely make it down the stairs.

Mr. Game cackles, his voice cracking. “You can’t kill me so easily! Stop being so stubborn and accept my deal before you both are reduced to smoldering piles of ash!”

Zarius glares at him as the smoke wafts around him. Whispers tickle his ears as he breathes in the smoke. It burns intensely and he bursts out coughing but more of the smoke just floods his lungs.

Mr. Game slips out of the bonds and reaches up to grab a hold of one of Zarius’ horns.^[1] Game yanks the tiefling's head to the side and detaches the lower half of his other wooden arm revealing a slender hidden blade. With a quick motion he stabs the blade into the tiefling’s neck.

Zarius’s eyes go wide and he slams his elbow into Game’s head. Game falls back only for Zarius to muster enough strength to grab the wrappings around his legs and fling him into the spreading fire behind them.

The flames almost reach out greedily for Game’s form and envelope him in the blue blaze. A horrid screeching noise echoes from the puppet as it flails in the unearthly inferno. His body doesn’t burn, but instead appears to crumble away until the fragments of the masks clatter to the floor as well as two glass vials which bounce across the floor until they roll over to Zarius’ feet as if pushed by the flames.

Whispers echo in his mind as Zarius holds his throat and coughs up blood onto the floor. His mind races as panic starts to take a hold of him, but something deep inside compels him to pick up the two vials off the floor. He glances around through the flames which start to engulf the stage beyond the curtain and spots Veliky. Keeping pressure on his wound, he staggers over to her and pulls himself up the stairs. He tries to call to her once more, but his words gurgle in his throat more blood collects in his esophagus.

Not willing to leave her behind or wait for permission, he grabs Veliky and tucks her under his arm before racing back down and to Game's dressing room. His vision is starting to see double and blur, but he pushes himself to move and slams his shoulder through the door, busting it wide open.

The room is just a blur of colors and textures as the tiefling desperately searches for the mirror. He doesn’t pay attention to any of the details until he finally catches himself in a glassy reflection. Sprinting forward, he realizes he doesn’t know how to activate the mirror. Game only told them that it requires blood.

Unable to think of anything specific and with time running out, the tiefling takes his bloody hand away from his neck and smears it across the surface. As he does, the blood absorbs into the mirror which turns into liquid metal like mercury. Zarius adjusts his grip on Veliky and closes his eyes as he steps through it.

---

On the other side of somewhere, Zarius collapses to his hands and knees and drops Veliky to the ground. He coughs and wheezes before slumping down onto his side, the blood pooling on the ground beneath him as he grasps at his throat once more. He doesn’t know where they are, if Veliky is alright, or if Mr. Game had truly perished in the blaze. There was nothing more he could do. He didn't have any strength left. He feels his body growing numb from blood loss, and as his vision starts to fade into darkness, the whispers ring in his ears once more.

“Get. Up.”

---

[1] Escaping Technique