The problem with these guys, Len was realizing, was that she couldn’t wear them down. For all that her goblins had presumably put up decent fights of their own, neither of the remaining Undead Orcs seemed any worse for wear. Her body was screaming for a moment of respite, but she couldn’t take it, while they seemed as fresh as when the fight had started. She cursed herself for not having started at full strength with this fight. Maybe if she’d enhanced the trio at the beginning things would’ve gone differently. That option was gone now and she was having trouble staying on her feet.

They shambled towards her with speed that was getting alarming, though she couldn’t be sure if that was something really happening, or if she was just getting slower. Keeping as light on her feet as she could, she circled backwards to pick up Curly’s quarterstaff (more of a bat in her hands, but still better than nothing). Any time one of them would lunge for her, she’d beat it back with all the strength she could muster, but never seemed to do any real damage. It took them time, but bit by bit the Orcs herded her towards the edge of the arena, their jaws snapping hideously. Any attempt she made to get real damage on one of them was blocked by the other, their coordination unnatural and disturbing.

She just wished she understood what was going on here, something had killed these Orcs in advance of this fight. They weren’t zombies, at least not the same kind as Zed had been, but whatever they were, she saw no sparks of intelligence in them. So how were they able to fight like this? Desperately, she lashed out at one, then the other, barely keeping them at bay as their faces twisted into ever more inhuman snarls. She was going to die here.

“You know,” said a sickly sweet voice in the back of her mind. “I do believe I’ve tasted this fear before.”

“Wha-” she gasped, struggling to keep her focus on the task at hand.

“Oh, right, you’re busy dying. Let me take care of that.”

The world around her froze and a shadow broke free from a corner of the arena. With an oily formlessness it wrapped around one of the Orcs, and then the other, taking them in with an audible sniff.

“Oh this is very interesting indeed. Do you have any idea what these things are?”

“Not a clue, more importantly, what the fuck are you?”

“Hrm… that’s unexpected. I suppose it can happen from time to time, but you really ought to keep the inside of your head more disciplined. I am that which you have named Pitch. You asked for power to compete in this tournament and I granted you the power of Flagellation. It seems you haven’t put it to as much use as would have been wise.”

“You said you knew what this was,” she told him, brushing past the casual insult he’d thrown her way. “Tell me.”

“There’d be no fun to be had in that, my dear. You’ll just have to discover the details on your own.”

“Then why are you even here?” She blurted, patience frayed to its limits.

“Protecting an investment. If you die here, I’ll be bored again. And I really wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“What the hell does that mean? How is whatever this,” she gestured to everything frozen around them “protecting me?”

“I’m giving you time to observe. To consider your options,” Pitch flicked a talisman the Orc it was perched on. “Time to use that superior human advancement that you told me about. Go on, Namethief, show me what you’re capable of.”

Ignoring the frustration rising within her, Len did as instructed and really considered the Orcs. That gesture with the talisman had been a misdirect, both of them wore identical ones, she’d noticed them on several of the observers she’d seen in the stands. It was some sort of tribal thing that held significance, but couldn’t be what was controlling them. No, it was the rings! Blackened skulls of polished obsidian adorned each of their left hands on the index finger. The more she looked at them, the more she could FEEL the wrongness of them.

“Excellent. You’re a quick one when given the chance. You’ll bring me much amusement. Anyway, ciao.”

She could’ve sworn the thing winked at her as it retreated back to the shadows and everything sprang to live again. To the confusion of all assembled (herself included), Len now stood behind the pair, club still in hand. Lurching once more, the two resumed their pursuit.

The pause had given her more than a positioning advantage, it had given her a desperately needed breather. Even the headache seemed to have withdrawn a bit, though that was likely more to do with adrenaline than anything else. Even more importantly, she now had a plan for how to take these things on.

Instead of lashing out blindly, she was now aiming her strikes at the rings. It took a few attempts, and more than one near miss where they could have grabbed her, but eventually she managed to land a solid blow on the left Orc’s ring. The thing shattered with a flash of green energy, and the Orc dropped to the ground, very dead. Before she could rejoice in the victory, however, the other one was upon her, grabbing her free arm and clamping tight with cold, dead hands. Dropping her club, she made a frantic grab at the creature’s ring, barely managing to grab it and rip it off. She wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but a blast of energy shot from the creature’s hand as she removed the ring, sending her flying through the air and into the wall of the arena. Her last sight as consciousness abandoned her was the orc dropping as well.

* * * * *

Slowly, awareness returned to her. She was on a cot in a medical room again. Nice that that had come full circle, she thought to no one in particular. Opening her eyes, she saw that her goblins were each in there with her, mostly intact and hovering over her with worried looks on their faces. Weakly, she gave them a thumbs up and rose to a seated position.

“What happened,” she asked.

“We uh… lost,” said Moe dejectedly.

“What, but I-” she began.

“Well, technically we tied, but that’s not good enough to advance. Have to at least have one person standing at the end of the fight and we didn’t.”

“That’s bullshit,” she snarled.

“Perhaps,” said a voice from behind the curtain. “But the rules are the rules. Maybe you’ll perform better if you survive long enough for the next Proving.”

Standing there, a look of smug self-satisfaction on his face, was the presenter who’d set her up to fail after the first Proving.

“Why are you here,” she asked, glaring daggers at him.

“To congratulate you on your survival,” he said with a smirk. “I’d expected you to die out there on the first day.”

“What is your DEAL, man?” she asked. “What did I do to piss you off so much?”

“To me? Nothing at all. Your mere existence, however, disrupts the order of things. The Demon Army is constructed with very specific ideals in mind. You are not leadership material. It is my job to see that… inferiors don’t rise above their station.”

“Listen here, you assh-” Larry began.

“You will be silent,” he hissed. “Your life hangs by a thread, goblin. Out of respect for your performances, I’m inclined to spare your lives, but that inclination can vanish in an instant if you try your luck here.”

“It’s fine, Larry,” she said.

“You will have your assignment within the day. You will be put to use at the Demon Lord’s whim and you will be grateful to have this chance to serve.”

She wanted to say something, to call him a bastard, to attack him. Instead, she swallowed her pride, swallowed her rage, and let the scumbag talk. He held the cards here, and she was just going to have to take it.

“Good to see you’re learning your place,” he smiled. “Rest well, Wraithwhisper, for you will leave before the day’s out.”

As he turned to leave, Len caught a final flash of contempt on his face and he gently rubbed a ring on his hand. A silver skull with glowing green eyes.