Well. It’s finally happened.

 

Munera looks down into the champion’s quarters at the person who has purchased a ticket out of the colosseum with one-hundred saved Champion-Points. It is the ice fairy and reigning champion, Frejvald, prior to the arrival of the hero. The fairy had been closed before, but then placed a few unwise wagers to try and get out a little quicker, which set him back further than he was. But now, he’s earned back his lost points

, made it to one-hundred, and has, as the first person ever, declared to want out.

 

Munera can’t really understand why. The fairy has been doing so great here. Why would it not want to stay a little longer and win a little more?

 

Apparently, despite its affinity for violence, the small creature simply does not have the drive to want to win forever.

 

Disappointing.

 

“Hey!” snaps the fairy, holding the slip of paper above its head that the skeleton merchant had given it in exchange for the points. “Get me the hell out of here!” it demands.

 

People gather all around, watching. Nobody has ever left before.

 

Hmm. Oh well. A deal is a deal. Munera channels its energy into the fairy, unbinding it from the resurrection’s conditions.

 

 

Off to the side of the quarters, a groaning can be heard, like that of a waking giant. The two large, ornate doors that are built into the wall, but have never been opened begin to swing ajar. A great march can be heard from the other side as dozens of undead knights take formation, guarding the entrance. A single pathway leads out between them, an upwards leading corridor that returns out to the common area where the guests are allowed.

 

A few people clap, but not that many. Frejwald was fairly unpopular amongst the champions because of his unpleasant personality and cruel, unsportsmanlike tactics in the arena, but on the same note, he was popular with the viewing public because he made for great entertainment and betting opportunities.

 

“Later, assholes!” says the fairy, flying out through the procession and up along the tunnel on his way to the outside world.

 

As he leaves, the guards close ranks, marching back through the door that then shuts behind them with a resounding slam that echoes out throughout the underground.

 

 

Munera watches the fairy leave, flying out through the guarded tunnel and into the guest area.

 

There will be others soon, a small handful of gladiators who are coming up to one-hundred points as well. But it doesn't matter. The ranks have been filling themselves.

 

People bring their beloved dead to be resurrected as contestants, and the strong among the living come to offer themselves as willing participants. Of the five-hundred beds, four-hundred and ninety-nine are full now.

 

---

 

 

Frejvald flies out through the tunnels, shooting over the heads of hundreds of the dungeon’s guests, who are streaming in and out in all directions through the underground passages.

 

Gods, he wants to get the hell out of here.

 

First thing, he’s going to get some real, fresh air, and then he’s going to fly as far away from this hellhole as possible. It was fun now and then, but who the hell wants to get eaten by the Demon-Queen every third afternoon? The first time is novel, but the second one really starts to begin the downward spiral. Three is just too much.

 

The fairy shoots down a large passageway, watching the light get bright and brighter as it flies over the heads of the people below — inferior creatures because they lack wings. How do they even live with themselves?

 

And then, as quickly as he was flying before a second ago, Frejwald stops as he covers his face, feeling the heat of the sun on his skin for the first time in weeks, maybe months. It burns, but in a nice way.

 

The fairy can’t open his eyes more than a squint, his fingers slowly spreading themselves apart, as his eyes adjust to the light of a normal, sunny afternoon, which, compared to the dim underground or the lantern and spell-lit arena, is incomparable.

 

He’s free. After all of that shit he went through to get here and to reclaim ownership of his own life and destiny, he’s finally free again.

 

“YES!” screams Frejvald, his hands shooting up into the air as he flies there outside of the entrance to the dungeon, looking at the city that has grown over what was once a battlefield.

 

— Something screeches.

 

A wild hawk swoops down out of the sky and snags him, its razor talons cutting into his chest and throat, making mush of the flesh and bones of his spine, killing him instantly as it carries him away to eat the rest.

 

---

 

 

Munera watches, wondering if this is its problem.

 

…No… no… It has fulfilled its end of the bargain. It resurrected the fairy. He fought. He paid to get free. Munera freed him.

 

Everything that happens after the end of this exchange, well, it itself is just a dungeon. It’s not its place to challenge the whims of the universe.

 

…Or is it…?

 

Even for the scale of its games, battling against the strings of destiny itself seems like a bit of a stretch. Besides, it likes watching the violence more than having a direct part in it itself.

 

It's time to set up everything for tonight’s game. It can hardly wait!

 

---

 

 

“So… when are we making our move?” he asks, lying inside a bunk with the curtain drawn mostly closed, apart from one face that peeks out of the side of it. One hand rests beneath his head, with someone else lying on his elbow. His left arm is lying flat at his side.

 

“Soon,” replies the elf archer, Vilale, looking out of the privacy curtain for a moment. “We have everything ready,” she explains. “The ingredients are mixed, and the concoction is settling now.” She draws the privacy curtain back shut, looking down at him. “Gotta wait for the dungeon-core to get distracted,” says the elf, looking down at him. “Otherwise we won’t have a chance. We need a big event.” She shakes her head. “Maybe the next hero fight.”

 

“The core?” asks Marjus, raising an eyebrow. A bony hand rests on his chest from the right side. “How do you even know when it’s around?” he asks, tapping the side of his head. “It’s invisible.”

 

“It’s not,” replies Vilalae, lifting both of her hands and pulling on the tips of her long ears. “I can sense it. There’s this… pressure when it’s around,” she explains, before taking Marjus’ free hand and resting it back on the side of her bare stomach where it was a second ago. “Are you sure that we can trust this?” asks the elf, looking down next to the man below her at the third party here with them inside the tight bunk.

 

Marjus watches her for a moment and then nods, rolling his head to the side to look at the skeleton that is laying there together with them. Its mouth is open, releasing a gentle, never-ending exhalation into the air. Its bony hand traces a pattern on his skin, and his right hand grabs hold of its.

 

“We’re putting an end to this nightmare,” explains Marjus. “Together.”

 

The traitorous skeleton softly screams. Skinless, fleshless, magically held together teeth nudge against Marjus’ face.

 

 

---