I fell into a deep sleep as soon as it was safe to collapse onto the hard stone bed of my arena quarters. Myrkai was saying something to me at the time, but I didn’t catch any of it. Sleep felt like falling into a deep dark hole filled with softness and I let it take me away from the pains of my body.

I found myself floating in a sea of emerald green light with no land or sky in sight, just brilliant green in every direction. I looked around confusedly. This is new, I thought to myself.

You have absorbed a large amount of death elemental energy.

Would you like to evolve your powers?

Death elemental energy? I suddenly remembered the explosion of Bia’Keres staff. I didn’t give it more than a passing thought at the time, but I had been wondering why it didn’t blow me to smithereens when it shattered. I suppose if the energy it released was death energy than it was compatible with me or something?

“Yes,” I responded to the little blue box. I was never sure if a verbal reply was really needed, but it seemed to work. Actually, since I’m passed out then my reply is only mental anyway…

Evolution granted!

You have gained the skill Death Elemental Blast!

You have gained the skill Death Elemental Bolt!

You have gained the title Undying!

You have gained a point of Strength!

You have gained a point of Charisma!

You have gained 600 experience points!

Elemental BlastYou have learned to manifest the powers of death as a physical force with strong knockback and increased damage. You can combine these powers with physical strikes for maximum effect. Increasing the mana spent increases knockback and damage.

Active

Base Mana Cost: 5

Death Elemental BoltYou have learned to project the powers of death as a physical force. This bolt forms according to your will and fires as a projectile. Enemies struck take physical damage. Increasing the mana spent increases knockback and damage.

Active

Base Mana Cost: 5

UndyingYou are the necromancer and thus immune to the effects of simple death. When your body is beaten to the point of uselessness, your soul is free to act separately, including manifesting to physically attack or using other abilities. As a soul, you are naturally incorporeal. This ability actives when your body reaches the dying stage. As long as your soul is on hand, your body can be healed. Your soul has only soul points. Upon the death of your soul, you will have failed, and your soul will eventually coalesce in the afterlife to await reincarnation.

Wait, wait, wait! I mentally complained, You mean to tell me titles can have effects like that? What about my other titles! “Titles!” I yelled out loud, er, in my head while being unconscious. This was starting to be confusing.

Chosen of DeathYou have all the positive traits of an undead creature. You are tougher than a normal creature, as the undead, and have no vital points. You do not require sleep or air to continue functioning, but they are necessary for higher thought, unless some sort of substitute is arranged. Your mind is resistant to mental domination, confusion, fear, insanity, and all other mental effects, both natural and magical, due to the type of the connection your body has with your soul. All your emotional responses are deadened, but it is still possible to feel emotion.

You may still eat, sleep, and breath which continue to have beneficial effects for your mind and sense of well being. You can perform other biological functions if you desire.

GladiatorAs you win battles, you will be recognized as a successful gladiator.

When you perform a particularly impressive kill, your fame as a gladiator will increase faster.

UndyingYou are the necromancer and thus immune to the effects of simple death. When your body is beaten to the point of uselessness, your soul is free to act separately, including manifesting to physically attack or using other abilities. As a soul, you are naturally incorporeal. This ability actives when your body reaches the dying stage. As long as your soul is on hand, your body can be healed. Your soul has only soul points. Upon the death of your soul, you will have failed and will eventually coalesce in the afterlife to await reincarnation.

“Well,” I said out loud, “That certainly explains some things.” I re-read Chosen of Death several times, trying to get a grasp on the implications of what it was saying. This meant that I could exist indefinitely without dying, regardless of my atmosphere. For instance, if I was dropped into space, I would dry up like a husk and my higher thought functions would be lost, but I would remain alive indefinitely, for certain values of ‘alive’ at least. That didn’t sound… pleasant. I took a deep imaginary breath and went over my stats, skills, and titles one more time. Looking at Soul Rend and Death Elemental Blast and Bolt, shouldn’t I be able to do something that directly affects the soul?

Through careful thought, you have unlocked additional skills!

You have gained Soul Blast!

You have gained Soul Bolt!

You have gained a point of Intelligence!

Soul BlastYou have learned to manifest the powers of death as an intangible force that directly damages the soul. Enemies struck take tearing damage. Increasing the mana spent increases damage.

Active

Base Mana Cost: 5

Soul BoltYou have learned to project the powers of death as an intangible force that directly targets the soul. This bolt forms according to your will and fires as a projectile. Enemies struck take tearing damage. Increasing the mana spent increases damage.

Active

Base Mana Cost: 5

As the last little blue windows popped up and I read through them, the seemingly infinite sea of green energy seemed to soak into my body, until I glowed softly in a black empty void. Given my recent ponderings on space travel, it was giving me the heebie-jeebies. Couldn’t we have a nice little room?

In time with my thought, a small wood paneled room materialized around me. Almost by accident, a Victorian style canopy bed appeared against the rightmost wall, stretching lengthwise into the space. Bookshelves rapidly grew from the walls and floor to cover two entire walls and an incomplete game of a chess on a small table for two grew into the corner. Behind me was the door into the room and to the left were a row of hooks for coats and hats. I glanced around and relaxed. This was my old imaginary safe room. I remember imagining it as the ideal space. It was left over from my school days when I was active in theatre, so the hooks were for stowing characters I intended to play. It had been a long time since I visited it, but this place was deeply ingrained in my mind. I sat in a reading chair to my right in the corner that I wasn’t certain had actually been there before I intended to sit down.

I had gained a lot of power, but it was safe to assume that Bia had lost just as much or more. My mana pool was shallow enough that for all my new abilities, I couldn’t use them often. Just one swing at maximum power would drop me into mana drain status, which wasn’t a pleasant place to be. I still didn’t have any good basic combat abilities and for all the improvements I had made, I was beginning to wonder if my original plan to enter the arena was nearly as brilliant as I had hoped. For one thing, it was painfully obvious that the powers that be could and would pull out more and more dangerous creatures until me and my companions were reduced to twitching lumps of flesh that scream and bleed. Additionally, I was no closer to figuring out where the source of death energy was, other than vague notions of down and over there. It was time to quit while we were ahead. It meant I wouldn’t be getting paid and Bia had lost her staff for no good reason, other than my own burgeoning ego.

I sighed and idly took a sip of a tall glass of green liquid. Heh, Mountain Dew I chuckled to myself. It was surprising I was able to hold this all together in my head. Maybe it had to do with the Dream Walker ability I picked up the other day, although I suppose anyone could do this. Back to the matter at hand, I would have to apologize to Bia when the time was right. It was safe to assume her staff had sentimental as well as material value.

So, what’s next? I asked myself. Forfeiting a match in the arena made you an official persona non grata in Akhar, according to the fine print of the contract. It wasn’t enough that you lost all your earnings, they also didn’t want you hanging around and perhaps telling future contestants that it was a rigged game. So, leaving Akhar was the only move. North of Akhar was another city state, once we crossed the river. It was a place called Denshol and it was rumored to be more honest and less friendly. It also had an arena, but the contestants were 90% slaves and prisoners, so if I ended up fighting there, it would mean I had a bad day. Still, the only other options were the southern barbarian tribes or attempting to cross the mountains to the west. Neither of those were good options. The barbarians apparently killed first and asked questions later, literally. Their shamans had a penchant for the old fashioned kind of necromancy that involved plenty of zombies. Crossing the mountains was out, too. The best passes were either much further north or smack dab in the middle of the barbarian lands. Everything in between consisted of towering peaks with a nearly serrated edge cutting against the sky.

“Denshol it is,” I said to myself. All I really wanted now was some sleep. I was mostly dead when I laid down, and it looked like hard travel and short rations were in the near future. I climbed out of my comfortable chair and stretched out on the dream bed. In a few moments, my consciousness drifted away into natural dreaming.

Myrkai chose to put Bia’Keres in his own room, so that she would have a bed. The only reason she didn’t have a room of her own is because she had refused one initially, he guessed. It’s not like the arena had a shortage of space. Hardly any of the combatants used these rooms for long.

He left the arena and made his way to a nearby tavern with an unusually lenient attitude toward Bast and other beastkin, only to find the place overflowing with patrons.

“Myrkai, congratulations!” “Myrkai, have a drink on me!” “Myrkai, can you tell us how he did it? How did Ker’Haros launch the Crystarix?” Men shouted as he was ushered into the tavern. He was swamped with well wishers and curious fans before he even stepped foot in the tavern. It seemed like a significant number of arena goers had chosen to celebrate his team’s successful fight with a little after party.

“Thank you,” Myrkai answered automatically. He was pushed through the crowd to the bar and a cluster of patrons gathered around him preventing his escape. Someone put a mug in his hand and someone else put a meal in front of him.

“Now, hey there, calm down!” ordered the bartender, and most of the shouting decreased to the point that Myrkai could actually hear himself speak over the hubbub. “Tell us how it was, Myrkai. How did you end up with Ker’Haros and Bia’Keres in the first place?”

“Um,” Myrkai stuttered. He jumped as he felt someone petting his back. He was used to not only a normal amount of personal space, but a little more on top of that due to fear, racism, or simple distrust. Having six different bodies within six inches of him was setting his nerves on end. He took a drink to steady himself. He was afraid the next time someone touched him he would remove their arm, and that would land him in serious trouble. “Could you all…” he made a shooing motion and the crowd backed off, giving him slightly more breathing room.

“Come on, Myrkai,” urged one of the waitresses who was not currently waitressing as she should be. “What’s it like to fight with Ker’Haros?”

The alchohol was higher quality than Myrkai was used to getting. In fact, he didn’t normally drink, since slaves only rated water. He didn’t see any harm in telling these people how great Ker’Haros was. In fact, he could consider it a service to his Master to spread his fame. “I was purchased by the half-orc Anger,” Myrkai began. He continued to tell his tale to a roomful of interested patrons for the next hour, including blow by blow accounts of his battles both with and against Ker’haros and Bia’Keres. He didn’t know too much about the magic Ker’haros used, but he tried to answer the questions as best he could. Before long, he found himself telling the story a second time to a different mix of patrons and over again late into the night. He drank more than a little and passed out sometime around three in the morning in the middle of a crowd of patrons who now knew the story better than he did, what with the amount of embellishments it had undergone.

Bia’keres awoke in the darkness, alone and cold. A blue window interrupted her vision, but she swept it away without reading it. The long slash across her torso she earned when she tackled the Crystarix leg burned and froze at the same time and her other minor cuts and bruises ached, but she paid no heed to those things. Her first thought was for her Master. Did he live? Did he die? Where was he?

She crawled out of the minimalistic stone bed and reached for her staff, scrabbling for it in the dark around her sleeping place where it should lie. Where was it!? What… Memory flooded back to her and she choked back a sob as she remembered it shattering, the blast knocking her to the ground. The horror of her loss floored her now. She sank back down onto the bed, her hands uselessly grasping.

Without her staff, what was she? That token was her badge of office and scepter of power all in one. Without it, could she still consider herself Bia’Keres? How could this happen? It wasn’t fair! She felt the chaotic storm of emotions threatening to destroy her reason and she grasped at the only sane thought. She had to find her Master. He would know what to do. She staggered to her feet again.

With an effort, she summoned light into her eyes and they glowed, showing her the room she was in. She saw typical arena quarters, but her Master was not here. She pushed out the door into the torch lit hallway and regained her bearings. This was Myrkai’s room. The thought lent her strength. Her Master would be in his own room, then, right? One of the arena staff gave her a concerned look as she limped down the hallway, using the wall for support. Her glare froze any questions on his lips, and he scurried away.

Her Master’s door opened easily and she slipped into the darkened room, closing it behind her. Her hands found his form, sprawled on the stone bed and wrapped in a blanket. He lived! His flesh felt warm to her touch and she found herself crawling under the covers with him without thinking about it. He was warm and alive and suddenly she felt safe as the swirl of anguish and recrimination soaked out of her body under the influence of his heat. She snuggled closer, wrapping herself around him like a favorite teddy bear. She hadn’t felt comfortable like this since before she could remember and the tension she seemed to carry at all times relaxed. She plunged into blissful natural sleep for the first time in years.