The sky was cloudless on the morning of the Challenge – the first clear day in weeks. If Jane had been the superstitious type, she might have taken that as a sign, but omens were for idiots. She walked to the Arena alone, as always – her boots crunching the resilient grass and wavering snow, the dull warmth of winter sun spreading heat through her tattoo. She wasn’t the only one going that way. Most of the Academy now headed through rough-cut paths towards the looming stadium, streaming in dribs and drabs – even the non-combatants, who were presumably going along just to enjoy the show. It was easy, thought Jane, her eyes flicking, to tell who was fighting and who wasn’t – the second group chatted merrily amongst each other, not a care in the world, whereas the first walked either with false bravado or silent looks of mild sickness. Jane felt neither, only clarity. There was a clear, bright line before her and she would chase it down.

A Challenge was as simple as it was informal – combatants came, they fought and they learned where they stood. It was more about rank and reputation than training. No prizes, just proving yourself against your peers. And to those watching, Jane knew. One watcher in particular.

The stream of people split into two as they entered the shadow of the Arena – Jane marched forward with the fighters, while the onlookers headed up into the stands. The sound of the crowd – murmurs, the chatter of conversation, punctuated by the odd cheer or peal of laughter – hummed and buzzed around her as she took her place along the wall. Jane had never been to a sports match, but she’d have guessed this is what it would’ve felt like. Up in the crowded stands, a few people had brought signs displaying encouragement, and Jane could swear she smelt popcorn. At present, the white stone square in the centre of the stadium was empty. It wouldn't stay that way for long.

There was no formal announcement, no bell, no whistle, no national anthem. Nothing except for the generally accepted rules, and two Ashes and some healers ready to intervene should things get out of hand. You just went up to whoever you wanted to fight, they accepted or refused, then you beat each other out of the ring or into surrender. Simple.

A lean white boy from Michigan about six spots to the left from Jane was, surprisingly, the first. He waltzed down the line of combatants standing with their backs to the Arena’s inner wall and, grinning from ear to ear, high-fived a purple-hoodied Inuit kid of almost identical age, who shook his head and laughed. Each of them started off to their respective sides of the platform, yelling a constant, tongue-in-cheek stream of trash-talk about each other’s parents, siblings, and sexualities, which carried on long after they’d both taken their places.

“The show-boating,” a voice muttered dryly in Jane’s head. She glanced up to see the distant speck of Wally’s freckled face grinning down at her from the stands. The psychic made a small, flappy wave. “Just get on with it already.” Jane tried not to smirk.

Finally, the supervising Ashes – a thin, beaky-eyed, greying man named Mon Mora – shouted “THREE- TWO- ONE-!”, and then the air exploded. A blast of blinding green energy erupted from the Inuit’s eyes, rushing the length of the battlefield and slamming into a golden, bubble-shaped force‑field held out by the other boy’s hands. Michigan gritted his teeth, digging his feet into the ground, pushing back against the unrelenting stream, then suddenly he rolled, leaping to the side, the laser careening past him, straight towards the watching crowd, who only laughed as it struck harmlessly against an electromagnetic field raised specifically for the occasion. Eye-beams readjusted his aim, but force-fields was throwing up barriers left, right and centre, darting from one to the other faster than his opponent could destroy them. The purple-hooded kid gritted his teeth and bulged his eyes, sending a pulsating wave of green hurtling straight through the centre of the stadium, breaking through the other boy’s force-field and hitting Michigan square in the chest. Barrier boy tumbled backwards, somehow still on his feet, standing but panting, his shirt rags, his torso splattered with blackened burns, and lasers saw his chance – but he didn’t see the glint in his opponent’s eyes. A huge blast of energy crackled across the Arena, screaming towards the Michigan boy, but the instant before it hit there was a high, deafening ‘PING’, like the chiming of some colossal bell, as the laser slammed into a clear blue barrier. Before purple-hood could blink it ricocheted up, across, refracted into another glass-like field then down again, straight back at its creator, perfectly angled, hitting him straight in the eyes. Lasers screamed, but in the time it took him to stumble, his opponent had crossed the field, hands outstretched – there was a deep, reverberating “OOM” and the Inuit boy was thrown backwards by the sudden eruption of a gigantic domed force-field in his chest. He hit the Arena wall with a stone-crunching crash and slid heavily to the ground.

The crowd cheered. Jane clapped. The kid from Michigan whooped and punched his hand into the air, then quickly hopped off the stage to check how the healers were doing with his friend. “That’s nice,” thought Wally.

Next up was a tall Columbian who everyone apparently called Chino with green eyes and green hair to Jane’s right. He strode over to a Chinese girl, who Jane knew as Nancy, with a large nose and her hair in a bun, and prodded her square in the chest – the crowd ‘ooo’-ed, and the girl’s eyes narrowed. Without saying a single word, they took their places.

“Apparently they used to date,” Wally whispered in her mind, of course knowing the gossip, “He thinks she cheated on him, so he burnt a whole bunch of her books.” This time Jane actually laughed out loud, which made the Acolyte to her left shoot her a funny look.

This next fight was much longer, and a lot more vicious. Whatever love these two had once shared, not a single drop remained – both were furious and most definitely trying to kill each other. Nancy could size-shift – growing huge or small almost instantly to dodge or crush with car-sized fists, but her former lover was a floramancer and had brought a pocketful of seeds which sprouted the most messed-up, spike-ridden, pulsating, carnivorous plants Jane had seen in her entire life. Halfway through the screaming, swearing grudge match it became apparent that the vines were also secreting some type of poison, which was making the girl turn green and stagger as she tore their endless growing, curling tendrils free from her giant arms. Jane thought that might be enough to win Chino the match, but the stupid idiot decided to get close enough to gloat, and an errant kick from his enraged ex-girlfriend crushed every bone below his waist. So he lost, but about three seconds later Nancy threw up and passed out before the healers managed to run on stage. Jane had never seen a thirty-foot titan hurl chunks before, and was now positive she could go the rest of her life without seeing it again.

“Enough of this,” Jane muttered to herself, and before anyone else could move she broke ranks, took three steps out, and turned to face the one person she knew she had to fight. The cheers of the Arena fell silent. And the empath nodded at James Conrad.

A shadow crossed the strongman’s face. For a brief, insane second, Jane thought he was actually going to refuse – but the world was watching. The moment passed, and James Conrad nodded back. There was no reaction from the crowd this time – no cheering, no boos. Nothing but silence. Dead, frozen silence. Jane turned on her heel without another word, and walked towards her position.

The last time she’d stood in this Arena, she’d felt confident, head-strong even. Now she just felt calm. She knew what he could do. She knew what she could do. And it was simply a matter of getting it done.

She climbed the seven steps to the top of the cold, open square, and stared straight down the centre at the dark, hulking figure of her opponent.

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

A breeze rustled through the space between them. No one made a sound.

“May the best man win,” James Conrad called.

“It won’t be a man,” she replied.

Then she attacked.

BOOM! The clap came right where she’d expected it, the shockwave hurtling straight at her, meaning to smash apart her insides – but Jane was no longer flesh. She was fire, fire incarnate, and the air rent by Conrad’s hands slammed into the inferno that leapt without thinking from her pores. For a split-second, the force tore her fire away, but in that instant Jane was already moving through where it had been. She saw his face flicker, saw the momentary confusion, the disbelief, and right then she knew – he hadn’t expected her to go through, he’d expected her to dodge, and when she came out of her dive he’d have hit her with another shockwave. But he was no longer dictating this fight.

She charged, straight forward, teeth bared, and before he could react she was halfway across the Arena, fire burning around her, lightning crackling from her palms. Jane leapt, slamming her hands together, feeling the air crack between them, exploding in a deafening, focused thunderclap that sliced forward like a wave, straight down into her enemy. Conrad reeled, stumbling back a single step, clutching at his ears; he snarled, spinning, raising a fist to pummel into the ground-

But Jane was already there.

She exploded across, a demon of fire and thunder, slamming into Conrad, pummelling his chest and stomach with sparking, searing fists. James roared and swung wildly, but Jane ducked easily underneath, not giving an inch, crashing her heel down into his foot with a freezing crunch, driving her fists again and again and again into his ribs, melting, scorching his flesh, feeling his electrified insides spasm and jolt. She was everywhere, in his face, unrelenting, because she’d thought, because she knew – a strongman is most dangerous up close, so up close is where no one ever fights them. But the untrained muscle grows weak, and a single weakness breaks a wall.

She flowed under another one of his fists, rolled around him and into him, pummelling her fists into his side. Reeling, roaring, Conrad swung his huge arms downwards, and Jane knew what he was going to do before he did it – unable to properly move, locked into place by the foot she’d frozen to the ground, he raised his free, man-sized leg and slammed it down, pulverising the stone, sending a bone-shattering shockwave through the ground-

But Jane was no longer on the ground. She was in the air, flying, soaring. She turned, spun, all of Conrad’s incredible force smashing downwards when she was nowhere but up, behind him, looking down, his head, back and entire body open, completely exposed-

And then she fired. Fired, erupted, exploded, everything she had, a searing, blistering, volcanic cyclone of fire and lightning, focused down between her hands, crashing into him, smothering him, burning, melting, incinerating everything it touched. She twisted, letting the force of it push her back, through the air and across, onto the other side of the field – where she landed, skidding, facing back towards her foe.

Her fists closed. The fire ceased. The titan fell.

And she’d won.

James Conrad still moved. Every part of him blackened, more flesh melted than not, barely conscious – but still alive. She’d made sure of that. He’d showed the same courtesy when they’d first crossed paths, and she wasn’t about to be a murderer. As every healer rushed onto the shattered stage, pressing their hands down into Conrad’s burns and then yelping, recoiling from the residual, staggering heat, she heard the big man moan – a low, hoarse, gurgling noise, that bubbled out into the frozen silence.

“Congratulations,” Mon Mora announced cordially – but Jane wasn’t done. She held out her arms.

“Who’s next?” she called – to the world, the challengers, the waiting crowd. Jane watched, waited, listening into the silence. No answer came. “Anyone?” she repeated.

Now a murmuring ran through the crowd. The Ashes looked at one another, then up at Jane, standing, defiant, hands on her hips, in the centre of the ring. On ground level, the combatants exchanged glances, whispering. Jane carefully watched their heads turn – wondering if any would step up. This part, she knew, was a risk. Suddenly, there was a hand.

“I’ll go.” A muscular, buzz-cut Egyptian man.

“Me too.” A teenager – could’ve been boy or girl. Long tattered coat and more piercings than a pin cushion.

A third hand, no call-out – a girl. She knew that one. Odette – hyper-voice.

“Challenge accepted,” proclaimed Mon Mora. He held up a hand to the new combatants. “Who is going to-”

“All of them,” called Jane, cutting him off. “All at once.”

Another, larger murmur ran through the Arena – but this time, the crowd’s noise didn’t fade, but gradually grew, built, slowly starting to change. Someone laughed – a few people whooped. Two Acolytes down one end whistled, and a whole section started to clap. Cheers bloomed like sparks in a fire and before long the whole stadium was ablaze. Mon Mora’s flinty eyes twitched towards his fellow Ashes, who shrugged, and then to the roaring approval of the crowd he beckoned all three challengers forward. With telekinetic assistance, the healers moved James Conrad’s shuddering body off the stage, the worst of the burns already healing. A terramancer groundskeeper placed his palms upon the white central platform and the stone squares reformed. The three fighters scaled the repairing stairs and took their places, spreading out in a line – Egyptian on the left, Odette on the right and pin-head in the middle. The crowd cheered louder, and Jane allowed herself a small smile – imagining, just for a second, that it was all for her. Maybe some of it even was. A girl could dream.

“READY?”

The three Acolytes faced off against the empath, stock still while the world screamed.

“THREE!”

She knew one of them. The hyper-voice. She could plan for that. The other two, well, she’d have to think on her feet. Adapt and survive.

“TWO!”

They knew her powers. Even without the previous fight, she was infamous, it was common knowledge. That meant they thought their abilities were good counters. And they’d seen her tricks.

“ONE!”

Well, smirked Jane, squaring her stance, some of her tricks.

“FIGHT!”