Lucien shook his head as he watched the battle finish. An ice dragon, and it had taken ten men to take it down. Only one had truly survived it, and it had been the one that had beaten every fight in the arena so far. ''Sword Saint'' Sayed. Lucien pushed a lock of his long white hair out of his face. Not even a worthy opponent.


    "Weaklings," he whispered as he looked through the glass and down at the dragon''s corpse below.


    "Oh, don''t be harsh, Lucien," the corpulent organizer of the fights spoke up from where he lay behind Lucien.


    Lucien sighed before turning back to the abomination of a man. He was larger than any man should be and was more fat than man. Lucien risked corruption just by looking at the balding man. He lounged on an oversized couch, one hand propping up his rounded, completely hairless head while the other picked up a bunch of grapes and slavered it into his mouth. He devoured the grapes in one gulp, pulling out the woody vines with sickening pop after sickening pop.


    "You promised me a worthy opponent," Lucien said, flexing his fingers.


    "And you will have one when they reach the pinnacle. They are merely dregs now, but the arena will mold them into the strongest you have ever seen. They will be pushed and grow, only to be plucked," the man paused, licking his lips, "by your glorious fingers."


    It took every fiber in Lucien''s being not to kill the man. He grasped his right wrist with his left hand as power gathered in it, and his gate opened on its own in his chest. His curse hungered, but Gulantry was not a meal that would nourish it. Lucien forced his breath in and out until his gate closed.


    "Oh, be still my beating heart." Gulantry fell back with mock abandon, his couch creaking under his weight. "Be patient. You will have the fight you desire before the end of this round of ascension."


    "You better not disappoint me," Lucien said, again looking down below at the dragon''s corpse.


    From the stands, people jumped down on the arena’s floor. They came from the lowest levels because the lowest levels housed the poorest in society. In small groups, they began to harvest the dragon, taking out axes and knives and carrying away parts in bags. Lucien smirked.


    "The struggle to survive," he whispered as he looked down on the peasants below.


    "Oh, Lucien," Gulantry said from behind him, and Lucien turned to see the man''s couch hovering through the air halfway between them. "I have a meeting with some of my best patrons. It would be...a blessing if you would come and show them what they could wage their fortunes on as the fights progress."


    Lucien narrowed his eyes at Gulantry and sighed. He had no desire to meet anyone who wasn''t strong enough to give him a proper battle, and he doubted the weaklings that bet on the fights were worth his time. However, Gulantry was the one who afforded him this opportunity, and to turn the corpulent man down would offend.


    Lucien nodded, and Gulantry clapped his hands, his couch turning around in the air and lifting him to the opposite side of the room. The entire place was full of seats and cushions, with mounds of food stacked on tables across the room. Gulantry''s couch dropped on one corner of the room, and Lucien sat on one of the nearest chairs, holding his hands on his knees to keep them occupied as he waited.


    "Ah, the screens.” Gulantry snapped his fingers, and several blue squares appeared in the air around them.


    Shadowed figures looked down through the screens, and Lucien sat as still as a statue as he kept his eyes forward. He carefully composed his face into an unfeeling and blank mask to give nothing away in the meeting.


    "It is good to see you all.” Gulantry flourished with one hand across all the screens. "May your wagers ever be profitable."


    "May our wagers ever be profitable," the shadowed screens said in chorus.


    "Now to business.” Gulantry leaned forward. "As you can see from the last fight, we have quite the contender in the Sword Saint. He alone was able to take down that vicious dragon. What would you all suggest as the next challenge for him?"


    Lucien narrowed his eyes. That was a lie. The man had only survived because he had fought with so many other competitors. The ice dragon was starved and weaker than it should have been. Gulantry was running a fraud by the men on the screens. Lucien thought back to what Gulantry had told him the first time he had sent an invitation to come to Glory Plateau.


    The house won ten percent of all bets, regardless of who won or lost. If some of the men were smart, they would bet high against the ''Sword Saint'' in the next bout and hope to win a large sum. Some of the more weak-minded men would then also bet on the ''Sword Saint,'' hoping to win the more considerable sums. Lucien had to admit it was a good con, but he had no patience for such underhanded tactics.


    Images flashed across the screens as each of the men submitted their suggestions. Lucien was able to catch a few, but none of them looked particularly interesting to him. They all would be easy foes to beat for him. Not a single one could bring him close to the glorious euphoria that a dance with actual death could bring. That was the only true reason to fight.


    "Oh.” Gulantry looked through the provided images on another set of screens that appeared near his hands. "So many exotic options. Good thing I can have any of them in stock in moments."


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    "Why not a prey that is worthy of such an excellent fighter if you are so right?” Lucien smiled with one side of his mouth, reaching up and pushing his long white hair behind his ears. "Surely, if this ''Sword Saint'' did so well against the dragon, he deserves a real challenge."


    Across the shadowed screens, the men murmured, and Lucien assumed they had noticed him for the first time. They were so caught up in their greed that they had failed to even assess the room. If they had been in the same room, he might have taken one of their heads to serve as an example. Alas, he could not just take Gulantry''s head- not yet, at least.


    "Who is this man?" One of the shadows leaned forward in his screen.


    "A former Apostle," Gulantry said and quickly kept going. "He is interested in the fights, much the same as all of you, but not for monetary gain. He desires to fight the strongest of my arena to test his strength and will serve as the final challenge for whoever reaches the top."


    There were more mumbles from behind the screens, but Lucien ignored them. He was not some cowering dog in the face of these men. No, he stood up from his seat and walked over to the screens so they could see him clearly.


    "What every being strives for is an ultimate challenge. A fight to the death where only the strongest can survive. I say that this ''Sword Saint'' might have bested Gulantry''s dragon, but how would he fare against a far stronger foe? How would he fare against a nightshade?"


    The talking fell to the silence as Lucien looked from screen to screen. All the men knew what he spoke, so they had some influence and power on their own islands. Nightshades were creatures that dwelt deep in the mists. Not the normal mistwalkers that came out when a rift in the Veil opened, but the true predators of that realm. Entire armies had fallen to keep them away from cities in the early days of Erth. Lucian knew from experience how ferocious a nightshade was.


    "Ah, a jest.” Gulantry laughed, looking up from his screen. "A nightshade is not something that I could bring out. The light of the day itself and the lack of mist would dissipate it instantly."


    "Even if we could bring one to bear, there would be nothing to bet on," one of the images spoke in a monotone voice. "A nightshade would easily win, even if we sent in a hundred prisoners. It would be more interesting to send in something a little stronger than the dragon to test their might. There would be more profit to be made that way."


    Lucien''s gate opened again, and he didn''t let it close this time. A dark red mist began to rise around his body, and wails echoed out into the room. Gulantry immediately fell back on his couch, the legs creaking as they broke, and he tumbled backward on the floor. The men in the monitors gasped though they were outside Lucien''s reach.


    Ba-boom. Ba-boom.


    In the darkness behind Lucien, the sound of a creature approached. From the mist, an alabaster-colored clawed arm shot out, slamming into the nearest chair and shattering it in a hail of splinters. Lucien took in a deep breath, closing his gate and letting the arm dissipate into particles of dark mist before all of it was sucked back into his own body.


    "Merely place me in the room, and I can bring out such a creature," Lucien said, looking across the screens. "Though, if I must admit, one of you was right. At his current strength, a nightshade would win far too easily. There would be no struggle to survive. There would not even be time to despair. Perhaps we should save it for a later fight."


    Gulantry lay on the floor, and Lucien pointedly walked back over to his seat and sat down again. He couldn''t help but smile. Now, the men on the screens knew the true stakes. They knew that in the end, he would win. Everything else before that was just an appetizer before the main course.


    "So.” Gulantry pushed himself up on one knee after a few moments and with a few grunts of effort. "What should the next fight be then, gentlemen?"


    No one spoke as Gulantry plopped himself back onto his couch with a massive creak. Gulantry went back to going through the images of various creatures. Lucien kept his eye on the screen but again saw nothing of interest.


    "I have a proposal," a woman spoke this time, and Lucien raised an eyebrow.


    "Go on.” Gulantry stopped perusing the images. "The more suggestions, the better."


    "Why not pit them against each other this round," the woman said. "What better way to thin out the herd and ensure that only the strongest are left? Place as many as you can into the arena and give them a time limit. They are to kill each other until only one remains or the time limit is up. We can place bets on the number of survivors."


    "And how many shall participate then?" a man asked from a different screen. "How many prisoners do you have down below Gulantry?"


    "Almost one hundred, but most would not be suitable for a fight," Gulantry said, rubbing his corpulent chin as he looked over a screen. "I think that around twenty of them would give a good fight. The way I normally call them into the arena would also allow for a few more. I like willing fighters more than unwilling ones."


    "True," the woman said. "Cowards that just piss themselves aren''t worth watching."


    Lucien had to agree with that. There was no point in killing the weak. The more equal the match-up, the more chance that both the fighters would experience the ecstasy of fighting for their life. Without the possibility of defeat, it would simply be too easy, and neither would ever reach that height.


    "But where is the drama in that?" another screen asked. "Imagine how they would fight if they had the weak among them to defend. Imagine how they would cry when they fail. Think of the suffering that would cause."


    Lucien looked up at that voice, and the shadowed figure on the screen tilted back and began to laugh. Lucien would not object, but he did not think the weak were worth fighting. It would mar the joy of the fight, but if he was honest, Gulantry had already done that with his mere presence.


    "Ho," Gulantry said, looking over at his screen. "Indeed, it would be interesting. It would give all of them the motivation to fight. There are camps down below where they gather. Brother against brother. Friend against friend. It has a certain drama to it. Indeed, we will make a large arena and randomly distribute the fighters."


    Lucien frowned. Whoever survived had better be strong. If they weren''t, he would torture Gulantry before he killed the man. That would be his compensation for how this arrangement mocked the real purpose of battle. There was no struggle in a fight against the weak.


    "Then it is decided," Gulantry said. "I will prepare a suitable arena for tomorrow''s bout, and it will be a free-for-all with an hour time limit. Whoever among the prisoners survives will be deemed worthy to go forward in the greater fights. If they are strong enough, they might even be able to face Lucien''s nightshade next."


    Lucien''s lips curled up in a smile. The fight would indeed be worth it if it brought him fighters closer to his own strength. They might even stand a chance if the strongest from the fight were pitted against his nightshade.


    "Place your bets tonight, and may the results ever be profitable," Gulantry raised his hand before dismissing the screens.