Zahn panted another breath of fire against the stone wall, the weak pale light showing how little air remained this high in the room. Fervently scratching against the fresh soot, the lowbie gritted his teeth as he tried for the upteenth time to make the circle perfect. Each time he’d tried to mark out the circles he needed, the minor flaws in each sketch making a wobbly curve that rendered the spellform useless.

Dropping back to the ground for another breath of air, he focused on deep slow breaths while he studied the same picture for the thousandth time. He’d learned by accident that his manipulation of the Fire spells applied to these as well and the ability to pull on the picture in opposite directions to expand a section was the only thing letting him work at all. With his magic eyes and the book’s inherent glow the Player could easily see when magic lined up properly in his patterns and at first it looked like a rough sketch of circles with the right runes would make the wall split open.

Unfortunately, through trial and error lasting far too long Zahn learned that each circle had to be the exact same size, and perfectly round. Spinning the book with fingers evenly spaced helped him mark the circles the same size against the dirty ash medium, but the precision required made him wish for a compass or even just his former sharp tool he’d wasted on the easy lines.

Standing with a deep breath, the lowbie returned to the center circle, the last link in the chain that refused to light up. As he scraped his fingernails against the soot, the stone beneath wore down each nail until he had to switch digits or risk painting in blood. Down to his last length of nail on his last finger, scratching out the proper curve of the five inch across ring was raising his Drawing skill even as he grew more agitated at the fleeting perfection of a single line. Gasping out a breath that scattered dust no longer needed, Zahn pressed on the completed circle’s line with a finger dense in mana, watching as the long curving line slowly filled and joined its twelve partners as a single glorious chain.

The lack of air was making him dizzy, but his purpose had been echoing in his head for hours. The migraine was making it hard to see and the random shifting of the light wasn’t helping his concentration. Zahn raised up his floating book with a wave and read over the glowing pattern a final time, its dancing lights blending into a shape that morphed from one sigil to the next in order.

He reached out and touched the runes he’d painstakingly etched over the course of hours and infused each with a burst of power. Sending mana out of his hands in packets had proven to be easier than he’d thought and needed in his writing work. Trying to send out a stream like he had with the altar felt like pushing against a strained muscle or torn tendon, and he loathed to fight against himself like that again.

Seven bursts of mana was enough to ignite the pattern into its proper order, and for the first time since being sealed daylight filled the hallway. Zahn stumbled out, coughing at the fresh air and watching the bodies spin around out on the arena sands. Light shone down from above, the sun still crawling its way across the open patch of sky far too high. A walking shadow approached, his face settling from distorted tan blur before wavering away into bright and dark contrasts again.

“Zahn? How you feelin’ buddy?” He sure sounded like Ethan. “How did you do that? You’re filthy. Hey.” Clacking, snapping. Zahn opened his eyes again to find he was laying on his back in front of the entrance to his tomb, black air moving like smoke filtered its way through the sky above him and a concerned-looking Gladiator leaned over the rest of his view to peer down at him. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Squinting up at the brightness and his temporary freedom, Zahn managed a grin and felt his lips crack in return. “Yeah. I’m out. I made it.”

Ethan looked down at the single-level Player as he fainted before looking back into the foul smelling doorway that had been covered over by a wall that morning. “Not exactly.”

Waking up on a bed was at first, unfamiliar. Zahn waved and struggled against the soft surface, thinking someone had changed his altar or he’d respawned somewhere new, when the daylight streaming through a window finally brought his panic to a halt. “Light?” He coughed at his own surprise, hacking through a dry and painful throat. Looking around what seemed to be a bedroom he found a cup on the table to his left and grabbed at the water, draining it.

Dropping the pewter drinkware onto the covers he flipped the layers off himself to find his body had been wrapped in a linen sheet before being set in a bed, and the morning light only confirmed that he’d slept through the night and had somehow lived for it. Dropping the sheet to the floor, he kicked it into the corner before brushing at his soot-covered body and walking to the door.

Leaving the room he found the common area he’d raided once before, complete with fire pit and Ethan poking at embers waiting for him. The man looked up as Zahn entered, nodding a greeting and waving his hand at a seat across the depression. Not seeing any reason to avoid this particular killer at the moment, the lowbie nodded back and scooted down the steps to drop onto the bench.

“Slept well, then?” The gladiator’s voice was light but even Zahn could tell he was trying to work up to something. “I left you in a room nobody’s used in awhile, but it looks like you’ve lost your toga. Until you plan to claim that grave you left in the rings, we can’t even fetch your old clothes so…” Ethan trailed off as he looked back up at the lowbie who hadn’t looked away.

“Why am I alive?” Trying for the simplest questions, he thought he’d at least get a handle on things.

“Because you confused a shaman and pissed off a spellblade.” Blinking at the answer, Zahn waited for more and rolled a hand when nothing came. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m nowhere near high enough in the ranks to be making decisions, you really think I was in on the kill-you-forever plan?” Ethan sounded more drawn out the longer Zahn let him talk, and he wasn’t about to stop him now. Prompted by a skeptical eyebrow, the warrior sighed and kept pressing. “I’ve been arguing with the Ringmaster to let you go since you arrived, but he was all gung-ho for having the ‘perfect tool’ to train his fighters. I tried telling him because you’re too weak to fight back then his boys won’t get much out of you, but it just looks like he used that to train his newest batch.”

Zahn glanced around the room, seeing all the other doors were closed. “And where would these ‘newest’ be about now? I got a few bones to pick.” He rubbed at his intact neck with a grimace, “And break.”

The experienced warrior waved him down, shaking his head. “The new boys that joined up after the last tournament are housed in their own commons to build them up as a team. I’m the only one that lives in this one, like you’re the only one living in that abandoned storage. Which is part of the point.” He sighed, looking at Zahn directly again. “Once you’re up you need to meet with the Ringmaster. The only way to get you out of here is-”

“Make me a Gladiator like you and the rest, I know.” Zahn finished for him. “I already have the quest to escape from this hell and becoming one is the next step in it.”

“-beg for mercy! What?! Are you fucking insane?” Ethan stood, pacing in front of the coals. “If you were made a Gladiator you’d have to join the same questline as me, no matter what your current quests are. It’ll fail every quest than can be failed, this thing is fucking brutal. You’d be basically giving up every other main questline and chain questline you’ve started since before coming here, and you’d be signing up for some serious physical torture.”

“Dude.” Ethan stopped, looking back at the Player. “I’m literally trapped here, and I’ve been brought down to level fucking one. I’m fuckin’ starving, I haven’t eaten since you tossed me some bread and I’ve been stabbed to death more times in the last week than any sane person should ever put up with. Do you even know a different way to get the damned key?” He shook his head, still staring uneasily from his half-turn position. “Looks like I have a meeting then.” Zahn stood, brushing at his body before looking down at his underpants. “You said something about my grave?”

As a happy surprise, when Zahn touched the obelisk that formed when he’d died with actual clothing on, the apparel re-applied itself to him immediately, and he felt the clothes settle around him as if he’d just finished tugging them in place as the stone crumbled away.

“Much better. Not that you’re the worst I’ve ever seen, but seeing your flabby body just makes me feel bad, y’know?” Ethan’s company had kept the other fighters from sending him for respawn immediately but his commentary was making him miss Two’s company. “Please say you’re having second thoughts.”

Zahn’s grave had remained near the metal skull doors, standing open today. With a reluctant Ethan following they passed through the stone doorway and he couldn’t help but glance back out on the bright sands, seeing dozens of fighters dueling or watching his march. Inside the doors a short hall led to stairs, rising on stone steps before turning three times and reaching another short hall with a number of doors. The furthest left door stood open, and with the friendly fighter’s nod the Player stepped in to see the infamous Ringmaster scribing paperwork behind a desk.

“Speak.” The man didn’t even look up from his forms and the lowbie was tempted to spew fire on the pile.

“Looks like we’re back to the ‘terms’ part of our deal.” Speaking before Ethan could steer the conversation, Zahn glanced around the opulent office and spotted a silver bowl of fruit under the window. He stepped around the thick wooden desk as the manager finally looked up from his tedium, eyes following the Player. “I want to leave, but you seemed to object to that for some reason?”

“I’m not opening that gate for anyone who hasn’t earned the key for it. You won’t get any special treatment here, Player.”

Zahn nodded, picking among the strange green lumpy apples. “Right, right. The gist of what you said last time, but then I’m treated like a whack-a-mole all night for no reason. And I’m fuckin’ starvin’.” He snapped a bite of the fruit and found the sourness surprising, but the flesh was a welcome breakfast.

“No reason? You cannot be serious.” The red-robed man turned in his chair, facing the office invader. “You killed my Fodder, ruining the stage matches. You pulled aggro from the horde, which nearly drew them off the stage entirely to slaughter the outer ring matches. You shot a fire magic spell into the crowd and were lucky enough to have the damn thing curve into the air before it exploded. You really think public endangerment and disruption of the tournament is ‘no reason’ to have you suppressed until I can find a way to deal with you?!” Panting at the end of his tirade, the beet-faced man glared at the lowbie who dared insult his institution.

Zahn nodded along at the accusations, devouring the fruit before he’d finished the rant. He swallowed the last bite, “Right, I walked out of an open gate to find chaos and combat, ran, saved my own life, then faced off against your kill squad. See how life’s all about different perspectives, and you’re keeping me a prisoner in a game also keeping me prisoner. See why I want out, chumly?” He turned to pick another fruit when a cane whipped out of nowhere and slapped his hand, wielded by the master.

“I don’t give a chaos about your wants, you insolent-”

“I propose a deal. One that makes me stop fucking up your stuff.”

The Ringmaster choked on his insults, seething as he tried to settle his breathing in front of the antagonistic brat. Straightening up in his chair, he took another breath to try and calm down before lashing out with his cane again to correct a wandering hand. “You have nothing to offer, you arrogant boil.”

“Well, not really.” Zahn strolled back around to the front of the desk and stood at parade rest, clasping his hands behind his back. “See, I can still make those monster memories, so your men can still re-fight whatever big thing you don’t want to catch and care for ten of. And if your horrid murder lines were any clue, performing an attack against any subject gives you some gains so my lower level shouldn’t affect whatever results you’re lookin’ after. The very things you were saying I’d have to do, and I-”

“Will you turn that fucking thing off while you’re talking. I can’t even focus on what you’re saying.”

The lowbie blinked, staring at the angry manager confused. “What?”

The Ringmaster scowled back, “The stupid fucking eye. Turn. It. Off.”

Staring blankly, Zahn tried his backup. Glancing over his shoulder, “Dude? What?”

The Gladiator in question looked between them before doing a double take and stepping around Zahn to get a better look. “Holy shit. You can’t feel that?” He reached a finger at Zahn’s forehead which was grabbed.

“Feel what? Don’t touch me.”

The Ringmaster snorted and opened a drawer in his desk, rummaging a moment before producing a small silver mirror. He spun the face to the Player, and Zahn saw himself for the first time in far too long. His strangely young face was half-covered in dirt and scuff marks, likely from his time getting air. His short hair stuck up and around randomly, and his beard’s slow progress was indistinguishable from the mess. Dominating the dirty display stood a vibrant purple shape standing above the ridge of his nose, reaching from between his eyebrows all the way to his widow’s peak of hair. The shape resembled a tall almond with nested circles at the base, mimicking an eyeball which seemed to follow his gaze as he turned his head rapidly.

“Ah, fuck! What! Why?! Get it off!” He poked at his forehead and tried tapping at it, rubbing the shape that had copied itself onto his Grimoire’s psychic pages. Pressing a palm against his head, the area being lit up magenta was warm as if he’d had a fever with graffiti. Trying to push mana into the area felt like pressure against a bubble, the ripple ending at his neck and swelling uncomfortably. Zahn closed his real eyes and focused, trying to feel where energy sat in his head. Pushing again from his hand, he felt the ripple move through his head before running into something solid just above his collarbones.

Focusing on the spot he felt a pressure, like a blockage or object wedged sideways. Trying to push on it did nothing, and pulling felt like he was going to suffocate. Relaxing the pressure and taking a breath, he ignored the conversation noise happening nearby as he dove back into his mana and tried to wiggle and twist at the stopper. His mental imagery affected the ways the pressure responded but trying to get creative around his own throat was more stressful than the Player wanted to deal with right now. Finally he tried to send a small finger of energy instead of a pulse, and he felt the ripple stick instead of bounce. Bending it side to side he felt the pressure increase before suddenly loosening, and the warmth that had been filling his skull drained in a rush. As the energy flowed towards what he considered ‘down’, he felt like an anchor was trying to drag him with it, pulling him along the rush of current to fall and settle. Straightening up, he tried to lift above the feeling and after straining an endless moment something moved and he felt a buoyancy, as if whatever force wanted to push him down had turned from a waterfall into a pleasant shower. The release of pressure and rising sensation sent him up multiple pulses and left his mind feeling clear, calm, determined.

“Seems you can follow basic instructions after all.” The sneering feedback seemed smaller, less intense than moments before.

Lowering his hand and opening his eyes, Zahn looked out at the office again without mana infusing his mind. The room was square, with faded yellow walls decked in old photos of past fighters and filled stands. The work boards were covered in schedules and matchups, including place cards for various Fodder types and the tracking of who-faces-what in the events. The only window stood facing the west, and through the thick glass he could see tall treetops waving in a breeze.

The room’s occupant sat fat and heavy behind his desk, sweating from the heat and distracted by too many things. His paperwork piles stood mixed and strewn about, disorganized as the man struggled to manage his job. Scowling back at the Player, the Ringmaster’s ornate red robes were fraying at the hems and had lost golden stitches in some yesteryear, leaving his appearance on the trends towards shabby.

“I want to level up, consistently. Not just day-to-day, if you want to keep having your Gladiators carve their pound of flesh from me then I want to consistently rise to a higher total level each match. I’ll give your rising star his practice fights, and I’ll fight him for real, but I’m not going to just sacrifice myself for your agenda. I’ve already broken out of your prison, you can’t lock me behind a stone wall anymore. Honestly, I could just try and apply my magic to your outer walls.” The crimson overseer flushed and opened his mouth, “But I won’t. I’m not out to ruin your shit, and I’d rather eat than just starve and get stabbed. Make me a Gladiator, give me a route out, and I’ll play within the rules.” Not to mention the bit about my mana having filled that tiny wall, he thought to himself as the brute pondered its choices. If I have to fill a whole wall with mana in order to split it I’ll never break out through the pens.

The Ringmaster mulled in silence, glaring between Ethan and Zahn as if the duo had planned this. Ethan covered his face during the Player’s speech, shaking his head at the bold announcements. After a long minute, he addressed the Gladiator. “You’re sure he can keep doing that stupid return trick?”

“Unknown,” Ethan’s voice was muffled behind his palms. “Normally the times of a Player’s respawn are something like hours, but places like capital cities can bring it down to fifteen minutes. I’ve never heard of instant respawn, but it didn’t exactly work out anyways.”

Zahn spun on him, “You were in it on you sack of shit.”

He waved the accusation away, “No, your little escapades are public knowledge. After you filled the room with graves and the trainees had to sit on stone spikes, your grave just kept appearing on the altar. You’d respawn, fall on it, break it, fall on the altar, get killed.”

He looked back at the Ringmaster who wore a grin, nodding at the story. “You kicked more than one of my boys on the way down, too. I have counter terms. You’ll join, you’ll die. But we’ll take your level when you first arrived, not your current pathetic state. Deal?”

A window jumped into view, finalizing the offer.

You have been offered a Faction Quest by the Ringmaster of The Collisae!

If you accept, you will:

Become a Gladiator

Become eligible for the Quest Chain: Fight for Freedom!

Become eligible for the Quest Chain: Copper to Gold!

Join the Faction: The Collisae

Obey the rules of being a member of the Faction: The Collisae

You will be provided with:

Clothing

Equipment

Food

Training

Lodging

You will give:

Obedience

Time

Life

Magical Services

Accept

Deny

Zahn stared at the window, trying to find the fine print. Something was tingling in his head, shouting that there was a trap and that he’d missed something. Trying to break his way out looked like a dead end but this looked like a fast way to trap himself. Reading through the screen three times, he looked over to Ethan and found a stone face staring back before he faced the Ringmaster again.

“Deal.”