It was Jacob who came to drag Marlon out of bed that morning. He had stayed up late, unable to sleep after the excitement and adrenaline of the fight, the interrogation, and everything that followed.

So it was with heavy eyes that the young man ate his breakfast while listening to the other fighters around him relate the events of the day before. Fortunately, nobody had the guts to come and disturb him to ask him what had really happened, but from what he heard, the soldiers or even Jacob must have talked about it, because the accounts were rather faithful to reality, and he felt the weight of the looks on his back.

"You're going to be famous all over Delia at this rate, kid."

He refrained from answering out loud and simply grunted, earning questioning looks from his tablemates.

He was glad to have a bath at his disposal and hurried to take one after his lunch, bothered by the scent of musky sweat coming from the fighters in the common part of the arena.

Go figure. The blood and viscera didn't bother him in the least, but the bodily stench was a little too strong. He took the opportunity to renew his application of the [Spirit Care] spell, feeling his psyche weakened by the previous day's events.

The relief he felt when the aura permeated his body did not have as much effect as usual, and he could not help but feel anxious that the effectiveness of the parry he had found was waning.

"It was inevitable. I told you that this would only be a temporary solution. It will be necessary to treat the root of the evil even if I admit to you that I don't know how to do it well."

"I can still gain a little time by strengthening the rune with the connections Djilany taught me. But I'll have to practice."

"And how much time will you save, Marlon? A week, a month, at most? We'll have to think in the longer term. Going to relieve your dementia against the Necros might not be such a bad idea. You'd probably gain some combat experience, too..."

Marlon swept the air with his hand and shook his head, not wanting to lose several weeks just in travel time to get to the war front, especially without any promise that this way of proceeding would help him in his problem.

He left his room and headed for the double doors, waiting for his name to be drawn, eager to fight and take out his frustration on his opponent.

Not many of them were standing in front of the stadium entrance, six fighters, almost all of them glaring at each other.

Marlon recognized each of the characters facing him, having had several days to watch their battles unfold and their almost overwhelming victories each time.

One of them, with a dark look on his face and an unhealthy grin on his face, was a summoner, capable of bringing nightmarish-looking creatures into the stadium to fight for him while he took a seat in the background and augmented their abilities with a variety of spells, each more effective than the last. But he did not fear him, certain that he could defeat him in hand-to-hand combat relatively quickly. It was all a matter of opposing fighting styles, after all, and Marlon was quite versatile.

A thin, shifty-eyed one was more complicated to deal with, as he could distort the light and make his opponents see illusions before stabbing them when they least expected it. But with his mana vision, he would make short work of them. Thanks to Loki, sure, but he'd still make short work of them.

The third one he knew had a Knight class and could fight hand-to-hand, compensating for his lack of ranged attacks by the fact that he could heal himself with relatively powerful spells, which had allowed him to win against all the opponents he had faced before.

For the others, Marlon had not seen them fight and could only wonder about their abilities. He could ask Jacob for more information, but he had no desire to do so.

It would make his fight far too easy, and he loved the feeling of being in danger. He loved the thrill of standing on the edge, balancing between life and death and laughing at what might happen to him, savoring every second he spent in that second state that made him forget everything else.

He never would have imagined becoming like this in his old life, but after all, he never would have imagined so many things until his mother was shot in front of him...

There is an old saying on earth that 'every cloud has a silver lining', meaning that there is always something positive to be gained from tragic events. He was beginning to understand. He didn't accept it, and he didn't know if it would ever come because of his insanity and all that it entailed, but he understood.

He let his thoughts wander freely about his condition and what lay ahead, one of the few moments of introspection he allowed himself, not very enthusiastic about inner and personal explorations.

He didn't come out until he heard the usual clamor from the stadium and the now-familiar voice of the announcer echoed through the arena with force and power.

His eyes became attentive and he waited impatiently for his name to be called to fight to the death, ignoring the sweet voice whispering in his ear and the scents floating around him, reminding him of his childhood.

**

"Dear audience, I have a big announcement to make before the fighting begins! We have been keeping this matter a secret, but now that it is resolved, we want to share the accomplishment with you!"

The man in red paraded in the middle of the stadium before an audience that hung on his every word.

"The Order of the Draconic Eye had now been searching for a few days for a heretic who was going rampant within the Arena and wanted to bring down the values carried by this Tournament, organized by our benevolent Emperor!"

The booing of the audience drowned out the sound of the announcer's voice, who played up the effect and waited for a few moments before resuming.

"They found it! They foiled an assassination that almost succeeded against one of our fighters, the very ones who gamble their lives to entertain you, and to win the prize of course! So, before leaving, the Order wanted to give us the head of this fool, to remind us all that the Empire protects us, and will punish without mercy those who attack its foundations."

In a theatrical gesture, he turned to one of the main supporting walls of the arena, and the whole audience could admire a head, planted on a metal spike, a frightened expression plastered on the face of Palnia's dead head.

Despite the distance, Niclos recognized the face of his lieutenant and angrily slammed his fist on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, in one of the private boxes of the arena, breaking the piece of wood and attracting the gaze of a few people sitting in the adjacent boxes.

Beside him stood Dejros, Aguénor and Kallum, and all their faces were dark, closed and filled with ill-contained anger.

He held back from shouting in frustration, not wanting to draw more attention to himself.

Of course, he didn't care too much about Palnia. No, what bothered him more was that she had been unmasked. Perhaps the target was now on his guard, and he had lost a valuable pawn at the same time. Palnia's skills at covert assassinations were valuable, and he was now deprived of that advantage.

The anger he felt was cold, calculating, and he immediately set a trap against the target that Palnia had failed to eliminate.

"This Revenge is going to leave the Arena, at some point. I want the three of you to post up outside the stadium and watch for his whereabouts. When you see him, follow him, track him, and don't let him out of your sight. No matter how good he is, he won't be able to do anything against the three of you together."

Niclos pulled three pieces of parchment engraved with a dark rune from a pouch on the floor and handed each of his lieutenants a piece of vellum.

"This is a communication rune. All you have to do is inject a hint of mana into it and it will allow you to make contact with the person you want, which is me. As soon as he comes out, use it, I'll create a diversion to lure the guards to another part of the city before I join you and help you take out this creep. And be careful, it's for one-time use..."

The three lieutenants nodded and stood up in unison, taking the parchment Niclos handed them and keeping a straight face as they took one last look at the lifeless head hanging on the arena walls.

Between his teeth clenched to the point of pain, Niclos reminded them one last time of the consequences of failure.

"Don't forget that the same thing can happen to you. Don't miss it, don't underestimate it, and above all warn me. It would be far more damaging for us to be caught by the guard or else by the Order than to be spotted by our target."

Even though Niclos' warning was redundant due to the nature of their mission, they said nothing, thinking about Palnia's abject failure, whose specialty was assassination.

Their leader then turned to the Arena as the announcer drew the names of the next two fighters at random. A roar of joy rang through the Arena as he announced the next two opponents to enter the field.

"So our next two fighters are Revenge, the runist, and Tarnos, the Spireater! Gentlemen, please step forward towards me, your clash will begin shortly."

Hearing the name of the one he wanted to eliminate, Niclos' eyes narrowed and a nameless rage became visible in his gaze, while his three lieutenants had already left to face the exit of the arena. He was enraged, but patient.

He would know how to wait for the right moment, and with a little luck, Tarnos would put an end to his existence without him having to lift a finger.

**

Marlon was facing Tarnos on the hot sand of the arena, whose decor had not been modified for this confrontation. He was ready to unleash on his opponent a rain of spells, each more offensive than the last, to finish him off quickly. When the red-dressed man had announced the class of his opponent, he had lost the confidence he felt before entering the arena.

After all, the mind was indeed one of Marlon's major weaknesses, and he had proven it many times.

"You're right, don't give him time to react. Flood him so that he has to defend himself and doesn't have time to attack you. Otherwise, I don't know what he'll manage to do, and I don't like risks as much as you do."

For once he could not find fault with Loki's advice...

The man in red, as usual, went to take cover, and Marlon took advantage of this short respite before the beginning of the fight to gauge his opponent with his own eyes.

He was not tall, and a certain overweight gave him a look that did not fit the idea of an arena fighter. But this impression was erased when one looked into the man's eyes, which reflected only one thing: cruelty.

A sadistic smile had not left his face since he entered the Arena, and in his eyes floated a cruel glint. From time to time, he would slowly lick his lips as he ran his thumb down his throat slowly, mimicking the slitting of Marlon's throat that he surely wanted to do.

From one side of his face to the other, dots were tattooed and formed like a constellation on his cheeks connecting by the bridge of his nose.

When he saw the look that Marlon threw him, he addressed him only one sentence, his hoarse voice crossing the distance and swearing with his physique as much as his look.

"Each point is one of my victims. They accompany me at every moment. In a few seconds, I will devour your mind as well and you will be part of me, accompanying me every moment. Hahaha..."

"Creepy. Almost looks like you, but less attractive...more seriously, be careful, kid. It would be very disappointing for me to watch you die in front of someone like that."

"Thanks for the encouragement..."

The man in red then started the fight as usual and Marlon immediately took out a bunch of scrolls from his pockets and started injecting mana into several of them.

But before he could finish anything, Tarnos raised his hand towards him, and a silver spear with no physical consistency came to pierce his skull at a staggering speed without him being able to do anything to stop it.

The spear had been as quick as a thought, and Marlon felt no pain. No. Instead, a great sorrow overcame him, a psychic suffering such as he had not felt since he had witnessed the scene of his mother's death.

His eyes clouded over and he heard a voice in the depths of his mind, a voice that sounded strangely like his own.

The arena did not quite disappear. It was enveloped by a cottony fog that seemed to slow down his thoughts and reactions, as if he was seeing everything in slow motion.

He saw Tarnos start to walk towards him with a confident step, his hand still raised towards him, without being able to command his mind to retaliate.

No, he seemed to be caught up in this vortex of despair and mental suffering, reviewing all the tragic events of his life.

The first time he saw customers molesting his mother before raping her in the next room, without them being aware of what was going on. Only his mother had glanced at him, tears streaming down her cheeks as her body was shaken by the onslaught of the bullies...

The time he lay prostrate on the ground for hours, his crippled body not having the strength to get up and his heart about to stop without anyone being able to hear the feeble cries he was making, sounding more like murmurs than anything else...

Finally, the time when his mother took an energy blast in the head and his skull exploded into a thousand pieces, spraying the scenery with pieces of brain and bone, and he was tied up in the injection cabin, too drugged and too weak to do anything, unable to fight or to avenge the one who had given birth to him. He heard her last words again and seemed to live this scene, the most traumatic of all, in a loop.

Between two visions, he could still see Tarnos coming closer, now four or five meters away from him, that sadistic smile still hanging on his face and his hand raised towards him without him being able to do anything about it.

His mother's vision was superimposed on reality, as if a visual filter was applied to reality.

He heard the voice again, clearer, stronger, and an extremely powerful smell of cocoa invaded his mind, as if he had just plunged into a bathtub filled with these dried beans with an enticing fragrance.

"Let me help you...I can do it, just let yourself go..."

He turned to the voice and was surprised to see a darker replica of himself.

His eyes wept tears of blood, and a sad smile adorned the face of the apparition, which held out a gaunt hand towards him. Through his hand one could see bones and various tendons and ligaments appearing and playing under the skin.

Tarnos was only two meters away now, and his second hand was reaching out to him, a black steel dagger in his hand ready to plunge toward his heart, ready to take his life.

"Let us win, Marlon. Accept the strength I can give you. I am the one who will do what you refuse to do, the one who takes pleasure in drinking the blood of his enemies and tearing them apart without mercy. The one who could have defended Mother. The one who brings you your liberation on a platter."

So he did the only thing he could still do.

He agreed. Not that he believed the apparition's words or that he thought it was a good solution. But it was the only one. His mind, paralyzed by the visions he was reliving as if they were unfolding before his eyes, prevented him from reacting, and he would end up dead in a few seconds if he did nothing.

He felt his mind split even more than it was, as if a blade was tearing his brain in two, splitting his personality into two distinct parts and putting a paper-thin wall between them.

Immediately his perception became more passive and he became a spectator of his own body, as if someone else had taken control of his body. It was one of the madness attacks he had suffered many times, but this time he was aware of what was happening, fully.

From the outside, the change was also brutal.

Marlon's eyes turned even colder than usual, and a smile much more frightening than Tarnos' appeared on his face. The runist, who had fallen to his knees under the influence of the Spireater, stood up and grabbed Tarnos' hand as it came down on him.

With a high-pitched laugh, he turned his wrist, enjoying the sound of the bones cracking under the sharp twist that Marlon made them undergo, piercing the skin to appear in the day, tearing by the same time a howl of pain to its owner.

He tried in vain to free himself, but the grip of the one who was not really Marlon anymore was increased tenfold by his madness and nothing could make him let go.

"ARRRRGGHHHH...this is...this is not possible !!!! My mastery of the mind cannot..."

Letting go of the man's broken wrist, Marlon sent a sharp uppercut under his chin, brutally closing the man's mouth and slicing his tongue at the same time, which fell to the ground as a spray of blood gushed from the wound.

"Shhhhh, it's going to be okay...you can't break an already fragmented mind, didn't you know that? Hahaha"

He almost tenderly stroked Tarnos' hair, looking at him with a strange emotion in his eyes, like a certain understanding that was beyond the human realm.

Drawing his sword, he spun around and using the momentum of his movement, he cut both legs of the man at knee height, who screamed in a confused gurgle of pain and terror. With his tongue cut out, he could not give up and therefore stop the fight.

That was the real reason behind Marlon's gesture. He didn't want to win, not necessarily. No, what he wanted now was to make him suffer. To see the pain in his eyes, until the moment when his eyes would shine with a gleam of recognition when he would finally free him from this pain.

A better world awaited him, and he would be happy to send him there.

Tarnos was now on his back, and a pool of blood lay beneath him. He was no longer screaming, merely choking on his own blood as Marlon, or rather the thing that had taken Marlon's place, stood over him and in one unadorned gesture stuck his blade into the chest of the Spireater, where his opponent's heart was.

While doing so, he turned his gaze towards the presenter, and as Tarnos drew his last breath, he stared into the eyes of the man in red and turned the blade into the body of the butterfly he had just planted on the ground, feeling the quasi-sexual pleasure rise up in his whole being.

The fight had only lasted a few minutes, and the crowd was stunned by the turn of events. An almost deafening silence fell over the arena, and when the crowd realized that the fight was over, and that Revenge, the Outsider of this Tournament, had beaten the odds again, they jumped up in their seats, shouting their joy and excitement as the sand around Marlon was dark and sticky from absorbing so much blood. The clamor of their clapping hands echoed like an earthquake in the arena and took a few minutes to die down.

Just as suddenly as Marlon had felt his control of his body slipping away, it came back to him, like the snap of a finger. His consciousness returned to the forefront and he was no longer a spectator of his own actions.

The sensation was close to the vertigo you can feel when you fall from a great height, that terrifying moment when you feel like you're going to crash without being able to do anything and your brain screams its fear.

His back arched under the impact, then he straightened up, taking a deep breath and looking around in amazement at the experience.

He heard a voice moving away and addressing him:

"Don't forget to call me if you need to, haha...after all, we are one...shadow and darkness in a deadly ballet..."

The echo of the laughter echoed for long seconds in his mind before a more familiar voice resonated within him.

"What the hell was that?!?!"