Ragna walked through the entrance of the Boneyard Colosseum. In front of her shone the arena’s white light, and around her, bones illuminated the darkness in rainbow colors. Similar to the liquid inside a lava lamp, the colors shimmered and moved behind the glass-like material that protected visitors from them.

When the Mana Bomb fell over the city formerly known as Tir Na Nog, the winds carried the contaminated Mana into Heorot. In an attempt to prevent an outbreak, the kingdoms euthanized everyone with corrupted Mana. They tried to burn the corpses. Yet, no fire could eradicate their bones and so, they created a catacomb to protect themselves from the Mana and remind the world of the fallout.

For some reason, someone had decided to repurpose the catacombs into a Colosseum.

Ragna looked at the gravity manipulator on her hand.

“You were able to use its abilities. I don’t know why the glove accepted you, but I’ll give it to you until I meet my friend again.”

Jareth’s words ringed in her memory. If she wanted to progress on her journey, she had to use every tool at her disposal. Not that using the gravity manipulator caused her qualms like the Iwaz rune once did, but the last time she tried to use it, it had malfunctioned. Jareth assured her the glove was working, but could he trust his judgement?

As she came closer to the end of the entrance, the white grew stronger and cleansed out the bone’s rainbow colors. From the dead’s realm, Ragna walked towards the bright hall where warriors could fight for glory.

Water clashed against a round platform, four cardinal bridges connected to four gates, and around them, three levels of seatings allowed an audience to witness the spectacles and combat. They screamed and cheered, raising their hands into the air. Their desires for blood and excitement flourished in the arena like perfume.

Somewhere between the masses, Jareth was sitting. But she couldn’t see him.

Fountains shot from the water and formed a ring of crosses. They welcomed her and announced to the city that this would be her moment.

As if she were a hero. Ragna grimaced.

How ridiculous that she had to take part in this mockery of conflict. What was the reason people chose to fight? Was it duty? Justice? Lust? Or perhaps they were dead inside? All motives were legitimate. If a cause existed, then it was worth fighting for. But this? This show twisted the goals of the combatants into a spectacle for the masses. They cheered and relished the intensity of the battlefield without having to risk a scratch.

Those who fought in the ring had reasons to do so, even if she didn’t agree with them. But the masses couldn’t care less. For the audience, it was all entertainment.

She crossed the bridge and stepped onto the arena. A glass-like substance formed the ground under which skulls gleamed their rainbow colors. In front of her, the opponent awaited her.

Three burn scars drew like a claw over the left side of his face. They couldn’t distort that the man possessed a rough beauty, which his wild brunette hair, bronze eyes, and light shin beard complemented. Unlike the fancy dresses and suits the audience wore, his clothes consisted of a bomber jacket, cargo pants, and jumper boots in the same black color. His clothes favored pragmatism, just as she had switched over to her military uniform.

The man swung an ax with the same ease as she would an umbrella and pointed its two curved blades like a guillotine at him. It reached him from his head to his torso. Flame-like markings decorated the weapon and gave it a design that seemed to imitate runic decorations.

Ragna narrowed her eyes.

Was his weapon a normal one, or was it a Ysbryd? It would be impossible to tell. The markings could indicate that the ax could manipulate Mana, but it could be as likely for show. Either way, she couldn’t let her guard down.

Bells started to toll, overshadowing the noises of the audience. At first, the sound of one was vibrating over the arena, then a second one joined, and an orchestra of bells filled the catacombs. The water’s surface stirred to them, the skulls’ rainbow colors danced to them, and the audience synchronized their arms to the metric.

Listening to the sounds, one would believe the arena celebrated a marriage or announced that Twice had descended from Yggdrasil to protect Aes against the ultimate evil at the end of the world. Perhaps the bells rang to honor the dead. Or the audience wished to grate this battle whatever gravitas they believed it deserved.

If she could reach her goals, she would become the public’s toy. She would indulge them and forget them the moment she left the arena behind. Something like principles wouldn’t stop her.

“And now another battle may start.” The bells stopped, and a voice echoed from all directions. “For everyone who’s here for the first time: On the left side, we have our undefeated champion, Lenato Ray Winstone.”

With his free hand, the man waved at the audience’s cheers.

“Many have tried to best this bear of a man. But in the eight months, since he’s entered the arena, they all tasted bitter defeat. So, how will it end this time? For in the right corner, we have our challenger. Compared to our Lenato, she might not look like much. But we know better than to judge our books by the cover. Especially since she does look familiar, doesn’t she?”

“It’s Ragna Griffin!” From the audience, a voice shouted into the arena in a tone that revealed that he had just figured out her identity.

Ragna’s eyes scanned the arena. Someone must’ve used a face recognition app or taken a photo and reverse-searched it.

“She tried to assassinate Princess Adler.” The spectators took out their phones and pointed the cameras at her.

“Yeah, that’s me.” A smile appeared on Ragna’s face. She shrugged, and the audience became silent.

Well, they had figured out her identity quicker than she had expected. Not that it should trouble her. Vaix already knew about her survival thanks to her encounter with the Paladins in Tintagel, and Heorot lay outside Midgard’s jurisdiction. So, no one could arrest her. Once she won the battle, she could get the tickets, hide until her friends had gained theirs, and enter Avalon. The city’s closed border would become her sanctuary. To progress on her journey, she had to take the risk. What else could she do?

“Supposedly assassinated,” the voice from the speaker said. “Ragna Griffin has yet been neither cleared of the crimes nor have they been proven to be her doing. So, for the battle, we will not cast judgment of potential previous actions. The rules are the same as always. Whoever can’t continue to fight or leaves the ring’s perimeter loses.”

Ragna’s stance relaxed. Her eyes circled the audience as the announcer’s words sunk into their hearts. A few whispered among each other, others remained silent, and some started to raise their fist. They screamed and cheered. More followed their example until the jubilation matched the excitement her opponent had received.

“Thank you.” She opened her lips and let the words out in her lowest voice for no one to hear besides herself.

“Another round is before us,” the speaker said. “Two impeccable opponents have gathered in these catacombs where the victims of a conflict lie, they had never participated in. The madness of science and mankind has corrupted and twisted these souls. And Valhalla and Hel have been both denied to them. What else could their souls do but linger in this impure world? They were the victims of war but denied a warrior’s rest. So, let us give them a fight that will guide them to their last destination.”

The audience’s cheers and screams intensified.

“For what else could these be? Two warriors are standing before each other. Both are putting their hearts and souls on the line to gain access to their desires. If both are fighting to turn their dreams into reality, how far will they go in their struggle to prevail? And how much further will they go if what both are fighting for is the same thing? We will cheer for them, cry for them, and hold our breath for their inevitable conflict. Two men born to fight; Two men bent on victory. May another victim of war find peace and let the battle commence!”

Ragna whistled.

She couldn’t judge those, watching her fight. If she used their excitement for access to Avalon, then, they had every right to use her desires and wishes for their gains and the dead.

“You want to go to Avalon, isn’t that right?” Winstone pointed his weapon at her.

Ragna crossed her arms, her face not betraying her stoic façade. “What makes you think that?”

“Most folks who come to the arena do. Why else would you need that much Honey? There are safer ways to get rich. Besides, the rats and crows are whispering that Drake Griffin is hiding among them.”

Ragna placed her hand on her saber’s hilt, clutching it with all her strength while her face didn’t show any reaction at Winstone’s words. “Why would you care about that?”

Still. If rumors had spread this far, then her father might not stay in Avalon for long. She had to hurry and get the tickets.

Winstone grinned. “I don’t care about the particulars of your goals or dreams, just that you’re putting them on the line. I hope these words can get inside your brain.” He tapped his finger against his temple. “Yeah, we’re indeed trying to let the victims of the Mana Bomb rest, but don’t forget what you’re fighting for. Because if you lose, it’ll be gone. By the end of the fight, I’ll have crushed your dreams.”

A chuckle escaped Ragna. “What a horrible thing to say.”

The grin on Winstone’s face didn’t disappear. “What do you expect? I’m a monster. What else can I do but crush hope and oppose heroes?”

“You’re trying waay too hard.” Ragna drew her saber and stomped on the ground. “But I gotta disappoint you. I’m not a hero.”

Ice released from her boot and started to cover a path between Ragna and Winstone.

“What are you then?”

Ragna didn’t give him an answer and stormed towards her opponent.

He was right. Right now, she had to focus on her victory.