Hadrian held out his hands towards the fire, eager for warmth. Needles of pain danced along the skin of his fingers as the numbness slowly began to recede. He exhaled in relief, his breath casting a plume of mist into the dark. 
“The Desert gets cold at night,” said the Umbrinese soldier sitting across from him. The man smiled a gap toothed smile and offered Hadrian a bowl of soup. “I hadn’t expected that when I first got here either, especially since the days are so hot. You could cook an egg on a stone, I imagine, not that I have any eggs to try.”  
Hadrian grunted, taking the proffered bowl and staring into the murky brown liquid. It smelled vaguely of potato and water hemlock. 
“What is it?” he asked. 
“Food.” 
One week had passed since Hadrian had descended the steppes of Umbrin into the Basin. He had known it would be a grim and forlorn place, a hellish battleground built on the age old Umbrin tradition of sending their young to die. Every rumor he had ever heard said it was the worst place in all of Diadem, and they had been right. Hadrian had believed them, but he had also lacked imagination.
The Blood Basin was an unnatural wasteland shaped by the mind of a vindictive god. It was an expanse of crimson dunes, quicksand pits, and long crevasses so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. It was humid despite the lack of any substantive body of water, and smelled a little like the mass graves beneath the Great Arena. The Blood Basin, in all of it’s colorful alliteration, was aptly named. Centuries of fighting between Free Tel’Avar and Umbrin had dyed the land red as a poppy. It was impossible to walk in any direction for more than a few minutes without stumbling over a corpse, or catching a glimpse of a skull staring back at you from beneath a dusting of sand. 
The Blood Basin was well suited for warfare. Aside from the low dunes it was relatively flat and open, and the quicksand pits and crevasses were ideal traps for unwary soldiers. It sat directly between Umbrin and Free Tel’Avar on a stretch of lowland that was, unfortunately, not low enough to get swallowed by the sea. 
“So, what brings you here?” asked a voice to Hadrian’s right. The soldier sitting next to him was perhaps fifteen and Umbrinese, identifiable by the curl of his hair and the copper of his cuirass. He smiled disarmingly at Hadrian, and Hadrian returned a glare. Around the fire were three others, including the soldier who had offered him the soup. 
“I’m here to kill,” Hadrian replied, his gaze returning to his bowl. 
“Right enough! What’s you’re name? I think you and I are near in age to one another.” 
In the Blood Basin, the soldiers of Umbrin tended to congregate around fires for meals after each days fighting. There was rarely any conversation, as if the atmosphere of the basin stifled camaraderie. This boy seemed wholly immune to it though so Hadrian decided to humor him. 
“Hadrian,” he replied, not failing to notice the subtle shifting of weight among the other soldiers. “And you?” 
“You’ve got the same name as the new Redshield! That’s interesting, though the name is common enough I suppose. My name is Vexus. My family runs a farm outside of Antium. I’m going to be an Imporator someday though, so you best remember me.” Hadrian glanced at his shield out of the corner of his eye. It was wrapped in cloth and within easy reach. 
“Good for you, Vexus.” 
The boy grinned and Hadrian felt a pang of jealousy. The optimism that allowed someone to smile so innocently in a place like the Basin was something he didn’t understand. As miserable as Hadrian’s circumstances were now, he couldn’t remember them ever being any better. Maybe when Jakinthus had been alive, before either of them had known about the shield. It was hard to recall. Vexus’ smile reminded Hadrian of Jakinthus in a way. It was free of hate. It was the smile of someone who didn’t belong in Umbrin. 
Hadrian was moving even before he heard the snap of the bowstring, followed by four more in quick succession. 
Fast as a Viper, Hadrian Grabbed Vexus by the throat and yanked him from his seat. The boy panicked for a second as he was dragged aloft before Hadrian. Before he could properly react the first arrow thudded into his back with a hollow smack. His eyes went wide as three more arrows struck close to the first, while the fourth pierced his skull, punching it’s way out his nose. Vexus’ dead eyes stared at Hadrian in bewilderment. From off to one side he could feel the disapproval radiating from within the cloth wrapped bundle. 
“I don’t need your help with his,” he growled. “Mind your own business.” 
Hadrian dropped the body to one side and slowly rose to his feet, still holding the bowl of soup in his left hand. Suddenly the other three men around the fire were up and on their feet, spears and swords drawn. Scratching the back of his head, Hadrian crooked his neck and kicked a little at the sand. “Sorry,” Hadrian muttered at Vexus’ corpse, “consider it bad luck.” 
“Monster,” growled the gap toothed soldier. 
“Oh?” 
“He was innocent.” 
Hadrian poked at the arrow sticking out of the boy’s face with his foot. 
“No one of Umbrin is innocent,” he replied. “Anyway, you’re too obvious.” He held out the bowl of soup. “Water hemlock? Really? There’s enough of it in this soup to put down a horse. I could smell it before I even sat down.” 
“You’re death would have been more pleasant if you had just drank…” 
“You think you have what it takes to kill me then? That’s pretty confident of you. Show me then.”
“We outnumber…” 
Hadrian swept his foot in a wide arc through the fire, scattering the burning logs in cloud of sand and ash. He wasn’t about to let the man finish talking. In a fight, surprise was often the best weapon you could get. Surprise, and shadow.  
Hadrian breathed into his diaphragm, expanding his chest and stomach. 
It only took a moment for his blood to start boiling and his eyes to adjust to the dark. He had always been good at summoning his power, and calling upon his blood. 
The three men at the campfire were circling Hadrian now, and he could see by the engravings on their weapons that they were no ordinary foot soldiers. They were phalanx, personal guard to Jakartha, and to Jakinthus. Hadrian had never had phalanx of his own, but he had seen them around enough to recognize them. 
“Did my mother send you to kill me?” he called into the night. 
None of the men replied, but Hadrian could tell from the glances they shot back and forth that he was correct. He heard the bowstring twang again and leapt to one side, in the direction of his nearest assailant. 
The assailant raised his sword, preparing to strike. Hadrian rushed forward, driving his fist into the man’s face. He was satisfied to feel bone crunch beneath his knuckles as the man was knocked back and off balance. Spinning on the balls of his feet, Hadrian drove the heel of his hand upwards and into the man’s jaw. Bits of teeth accompanied a spray of blood on their way out of the man’s mouth. 
Things were starting to get fun… 
Hadrian reached out with both his hands, grabbing the man by his cuirass before slamming his forehead into the man’s face again, and again, and again. When Hadrian let go, the man crumpled unto the sand in a disjointed heap. 
“One down,” he said. 
The remaining two phalanx shared an unmistakable look. 
Fear. 
Moving towards the remaining two, Hadrian stepped easily out of the way as another arrow sailed through the empty space where he had been. The phalanx closest to him stepped back as Hadrian kicked out. He drove his foot forward, directly into the man’s chest, sending him flying back and out of the ember light from the fire. The print of his boot had sunk deep into the metal, probably crushing the man’s lungs. Breathing would be next to impossible now. 
“Two,” he said. 
The last phalanx made a move towards Hadrian with his spear, apparently feeling brave. 
The tip of the spear whistled with deadly precision towards Hadrian’ exposed flank and spear arm. Hadrian allowed the attack, and then, with a slight movement of his body, he let the point of the attacker’s spear pass between the crook of his arm and his hip. Grabbing the haft just below the spear point, he twisted, yanking the spear free from his opponents grasp.
The man looked down at his empty hands, his eyes big and confused. 
Hadrian spun the spear around and stabbed him in the head with it, punching through the man’s eye socket and into his brain. 
Off in the distance, he could feel the presence of the four who had fired arrows at him, plus one extra.  
“Three down” Hadrian walked over to his shield and picked it up off the ground, giving it a little dusting off as he did. “Now you can help,” he said, taking off into the darkness. 
He found the first archer lying in wait about forty strides away from the campfire behind a small outcrop of stone. They were obviously trying to get eyes on him, or possibly waiting for a signal as to what to do next. Hadrian came up behind them, giving them a little tap on the shoulder. The phalanx turned, and Hadrian could see it was a woman. Her eyes went wide, but Hadrian bashed her face in with the shield before she could react. Internally, he apologized to Jakinthus for the mess. 
“Four” 
Picking up the bow, he pulled four arrows from the phalanx’s quiver, and held them in his draw hand. Readying his first shot, he pulled back the string and looked down the sights. A hundred or more strides away he could see another of the archers, this one partially obscured by a rising dune. Hadrian loosed. 
“Five.” 
Hadrian wasn’t a big fan of bows, but he had to admit that they were efficient. 
He didn’t even bother counting the other two archers. His arrows found their marks, and that was all that mattered. He glowered at the bow. The killing had lost all sense of sport the moment he had used it. It was disappointing. Next time, he decided, he wouldn’t kill from range. 
At least he had one left. 
Casting his senses out into the night, Hadrian was surprised when he felt no presence. 
“Where have you gone?…” He whispered. Had they run from the fight? Unless they were the fastest runner alive, he doubted they could out pace his senses in so short a time. Which meant they were still nearby, and were adept enough to conceal their blood lust. 
Hadrian ducked down, lifting his shield just quickly enough to block the overhead strike from a spear. It slammed down against the metal with enough force to almost drive him to his knees. The muscles in his arms flexed as searing pain roared down and into his shoulders. Turning the end of the spear against his shield, Hadrian rolled to one side and came up in the direction of the attack. 
A woman was looking at him, her hand wrapped tightly around the base of the spear. She examined the weapon, and then him, a slow steady smile creeping across her lips. 
“Impressive, Redshield. I’m surprised you managed to react to that in time.” 
The woman was dressed like the other phalanx, and there wasn’t much remarkable about her. She wasn’t as muscular as Hadrian, or as tall, yet she had concealed herself from him, and the force of her strike had been remarkably heavy This woman, like Hadrian himself, was using her bloodwill.  
“You’re fairly impressive yourself. It’s been a long time since someone struck me that hard.” 
Letting the spear slide down her palm, she planted the base of it in the sand. Instead of replying, she watched him for a long moment. Was she sizing him up? Or was there something more? Even though she looked like a regular soldier, Hadrian couldn’t help but notice the ember light catch her eyes. They were the color of polished brash catching a ruddy light, a sort of unnatural yellowy orange. 
“You’re not like the others.”
“Very observant of you,” she replied. “It seems you do have something in common with him after all.”
“With who?” 
She didn’t reply. Instead she lowered her stance and readied her weapon. 
“Fine,” said Hadrian. “I prefer it this way.” 
Before Hadrian could so much and blink, she was on him again. The point of her spear flashing in and out out of striking distance as he tried to keep his shield between them. Every time they two met the sound of steel rang in the night as Hadrian was pushed back. It was like trying to fend off a hurricane with an umbrella. 
Throwing caution to the wind, Hadrian launched himself towards towards the woman, closing the distance between them in a blink. A brief look of surprise flitted across her face as he came up beneath her, driving his shield towards her chest. Nimbly, she danced off to one side, re-establishing the distance between them. 
Hadrian glared at the woman. 
This was why spears were such a hassle. You had to get inside of their strike zone, but in capable hands, that was easier said than done. 
“You’re too good for such a shit job,” said Hadrian. “Why is someone of your caliber fighting alongside these weaklings? Hmm?” 
The woman glanced outward into the night, presumably towards her dead comrades, and shrugged. 
“Them?” she paused, taking a moment to think. Hadrian took this opportunity to charge in again, but this time his speed did not catch her by surprise. Wielding her spear more like a staff, she easily blocked each of his strikes as she spun it from hand to hand. “I suppose,” she continued, “because I wanted to see for myself?” 
“See what!?” Hadrian howled, not letting up on his onslaught. 
“If you were worth using.” 
Suddenly, the woman ducked down, sweeping out on her legs in wide kick that caught Hadrian by surprise. As his back hit the sand, he could see the tip of the spear sailing towards his throat. 

“Ah,” thought Hadrian. “This is too soon.” 

The tip of the spear stopped, its point just deep enough in the skin of his neck to draw blood. 
“Hmmm,” said the woman. “You’re strong for your age, Redshield, but you have a long way to go if you want to reach the peak.” Releasing the spear, Hadrian watched in shock as it fell to the ground. “I imagine you and I will meet again, Redshield. The cycle, the song… They’re funny like that.” 
Turning her back to him, she began to walk away. Hadrian said nothing as he watched her go. Slowly, she faded into the shadows of the night. She was getting farther from him, but he could still sense her. 
Reaching down, he picked up the woman’s spear, and craned his arm back. Channeling all his fury into his blood will, he loosed. 
Looking around the camp, Hadrian admired his handiwork before following the path of the spear. 
About one hundred strides from their battle, he found the woman. 
The spear had taken her in the back of the skull, killing her instantly. 
“You shouldn’t have let me live,” he muttered. He poked at her with his foot, and she didn’t move. It was silly, of course. She was dead. No one could survive a spear through the skull. “Why did you walk away from me…” Hadrian stood over her for a long moment, staring down at the body. He had killed eight people tonight, but he had only won seven fights. This strange woman had bested him, and then walked away. It had been foolish of her, to be certain, but Hadrian felt no gratification from her killing her. 
He clicked his tongue and walked back to the fire.  
After going through his would be assassin’s supplies, he managed to find a bit of food without poison in it. After putting the fire back together, Hadrian had a quick bite, and then settled off into a restless sleep. Was he weak? If that woman was as strong as she was, who was to say there weren’t more like her. If he was to become strong enough to raze his homeland to the ground, he would need to become so here. He would kill, and kill, and kill, until his strength was untouchable. Then he would return. It would take him years, but that was fine. He had time, and he had patience.
He was the Redshield now, but he still needed to become the justice his country deserved. 
When Hadrian awoke just before dawn, he walked back over to where the corpse of woman who had bested him should have been, only to find it had vanished in the night. Hadrian swallowed a lump in throat as he stared at empty spot of sand, identifiable by the patch of dried blood. 
Maybe she had been right. Maybe he would see her again.