The itching curse throbs at the opportunity, I have to focus to fight off the cravings.

“No, I'm good!” I blurt out, a little too hastily.

“Suit yourself.” 

The till clangs as she throws the coins in and slams it shut.

I rub my arm, caught between leaving for the door to find Spirit and winging it in the crowd to find Portland. Both ideas are stupid, I’ll push my Uke.

“So Port, he about today?” 

“Of course.” She shoots daggers at me, the rejection not going down well.

“I owe him a drink, lost a bet you see. Can I get his usual and maybe… you could point me in his direction?” I ask a little too meekly.

“Sure.” She beams at me with a full view of her dancing teeth, each one is out of step or missing a partner. Grabbing several bottles she mixes a blue concoction with a teal foam top, delicately placing it on the counter. “A ‘York’s Promise’. His favourite, that’ll be 10?”

Bugger.

I hover over her hand with the coins. Fuming with the knowledge that I’m getting ripped off and I could have washed away the coral with her blood.

“And where’s Port today?” Coins still hovering out of reach.

“His usual, Legends pit.”

Coins still dangle.

“Big man with rainbow sea dragons on his shoulders.” She snatches the payment.

I wave her thanks and she gives me a slighted smile, definitely taking it personally then.

Each pit has its name hanging by the steep gantries; Muk, Ash, Warrior, Hero and Legend at the back. The gantries around the final pit shake and bow as the patrons jump in excitement. 

“Cut from Order’s mighty flesh himself.” A groomed man in a sharp cobalt uniform squeezes my shoulder.

I volt back from the sudden groping, a bit edgy after recent unwanted attention.

“Could you not.”

“Don’t waste your precious form in there my friend. Aspiration for greatness, I see in your future.” He smoothly unfurls a scroll.

‘Sign up to today, become a God tomorrow,’ the Yorkton’s insignia takes up the majority of the recruiter’s parchment.

“No thanks, I’ve heard the stories.”

“Of glory, heroism and treasure. You’ll be a Legend, surrounded by women, men or beasts to service your every desire.”

Luckily the spectators simultaneously boo and quickly file out to place more bets.

“I value life too much to go on a death march over the edge.” I head to the pit as he rattles off some more.

“If that’s true then look for our sign! It's ab…” The rest is drowned out by the mob.

Weaving through the dawdlers is tricky, but I make it inside the viewing area without spilling a drop of the fancy drink.

I peer over the edge of the octagonal sunken pit as I get in. The floor is laid with straw and painted in blood and organs. The latter being a recent addition. Strange runes that I can’t decipher mark the eight walls, each shiny and a different colour. The far side houses private booths with prime views of the carnage without the stench of fellow customers' breaths ruining the entertainment. Of the three, only one contains a man that fits the horny bar woman’s description. I wouldn’t have thought Folkston would mingle with his sort, but the traveller certainly has a few stories from around the globe.

Confidently I step up to the booth and place the drink before the huge fellow. His entourage of grizzly looking adventures and lackeys stir at my approach. 

“Hey, Port I'm guessing. An old friend of yours says hi.” My smile fades as the silence rings out.

“He said you could help me get Topside with the other heroes.” I give them a cheerful wink that vaporises halfway when a robed woman places her hand on the table. Her fingers are long like spider legs, they shift positions and warp in an obscenely grotesque manner.

“What is this?” The drink's rim pings as another flicks it with armoured fingers.

The bloody drink, of course.

“Ah, a York’s Promise.” I gloat with pride as if I’d made it myself.

Port stands to his full 7 ft. 

“Not your favourite then?” I backtrack.

“You compare me to that snivelling librarian, mock our banishment to Undercity and present this.” The drink disappears into thousands of green pieces beneath his elephant hand. 

“What did you call it?” His deep husky voice manages to ask and threaten at the same time.

I look for an exit but his entourage has spilled out of the booth to block the paths, only the pit is open behind me.

“A York’s Promise.” I whimper out.

“My mortal enemies, that disgraced my House and promised we’d never rise again.” 

The table scrapes forward as he leans towards me. His outstretched hand slowly wipes the shattered glass across my face. Petrified, I hardly move as it cuts me.

“I promise you a quick death in there,” He nods behind me. “Or a painfully slow one out here.” 

This is the last time I don’t sleep with or murder the barmaid.

“I’m sorry, wrong table. Let me just clean this off.” I wipe the shards off his hand, cutting me and him even more. “Oops so sorry. How about I get everyone a round or lunch.”

“Give him to me Kork. I’ve got a fresh hive that needs a warm home. Even his skinny frame will take them a few weeks to get through.” The spider woman licks the blood from my face. “Oh, he’s perfect, such fatty blood. What a prestigious upbringing he must have had. Definitely sent from the Yorks to mock you.”

Kork stares at me with a blank face, waiting to see if I accept the challenge.

“Look it was an honest mistake, I’m not from around here and honestly need to get Topside. We’re all human, mistakes are a natural part of life.”

The woman stares at me with delight, six more black eyeballs open up across her forehead to watch me squirm.

Kork turns away as a short dumpy man approaches. “The coward is yours, m’Lady.” He dismisses me with a flick of the wrist.

“I accept!” I shout before she can lay her eggs in me. Even the thought makes my skin crawl. “I accept your duel.” 

They all share a look and laugh, sadistically at my naivety and rapidly approaching end.

“Duel. Make sure you fish that silver spoon out his arse.” A roguish man jests, dazzling me with impeccable teeth.

“Tis The Zoo not the Prince’s Square.” Kork takes a slab of wood from the chodelike man and hands it to me. A contract that states I’m legally accepting all responsibility for entering the Legend’s pit of my own free will. 

“Sign with that delicious blood.” The woman licks her teeth.

I'm struggling to read through the Zoo’s policies and process the information with everyone staring. There's so much fine print that whoever wrote this must have gone blind before finishing.

“It’s very simple.” Kork grabs the back of my head and smashes my face against the wood. Smearing my bloody signature across the paper. “You sign up, you step in, you die and we get your stuff and the Zoo takes a third.” He hands the documents to the official who beckons for me to follow.

Half delusional, I stumble around the pit. Almost falling in, when a hand catches me and stops my fast plummet to death. That would have been nice.

“Cheers mate,” I mumble.

“No worries, buddy.” Says the sharp rogue in the midnight cloak and silk gloves.

“I'm not your-” He grins with those ivory chompers. “Oh fuck off.” I snap and gain an odd look from him.

We are brought to a back room behind the betting stalls. The official examines the paper before showing it to me.

“Do you see a title here? No. How's the announcer supposed to present you in front of the crowd without one? What will I write on the ballet card?”

“I don’t care.” I scratch my arm aggressively. The rogue senses my unease and hands me an ebony. 

“How about ‘Kork’s a little bitch’.”

“Too many syllables. Any nicknames from work or your childhood.” 

“The Shepherd.” 

The official suddenly shouts it aloud to the great irritation of everyone in the tiny room. My unofficial chaperone stands up and slaps him across the face.

“What? I had to check how it sounds.” He rubs his reddening face as the rogue sits back down, smoking away.

“Now, before your match are there any rituals, summons, prayers or equipment you need to help prepare with?”

“Can I leave to go get something?” I ask.

The official is about to say yes, looks at the rogue who’s shaking his head then back to me. “You should have brought it with you.”

“Well, I didn’t know I was going to fight?”

“Please say you at least have money to bet with?”

“Is that even legal?”

“Of course. Wait, tell me you know the rules?”

“Obviously not!” I yell out, standing and kicking my chair against the wall where it smashes into splinters.

“You have to pay for that.”

“Take it out of my winnings.”

“There won’t be any if you don’t bet.”

“Oh go rut yourself.” I flick the ebony butt at him, the useless smoke is doing nothing to relieve the itch now. The coral growth has enlarged my arm, swelling to push my armour outwards.

The small man wipes the small ash mark from his uniform and goes to leave. 

He stands in the doorway and turns back to me. “Good luck.”

“That was rather rude.” Says the rogue.

“I’m literally about to be pulled apart because I didn’t want to catch whatever this world’s equivalent of syphilis is. Probably Omnia’s ball rot or Hero's floppy sword syndrome.”

I lean against the wall and consider my options. I could leg it, cut this man down and head back to the tavern. I’d be out of the city with Cane before dinner.

The rogue answers a knock at the door. Three more of Korks goons stand outside and they exchange a few words.

“You’ve got time for one last smoke.” He hands one over. 

I puff away since cancer will never have a chance to get me, I won't be able to fight through all of them.

“Did you say syphilis?” He asks.

I ignore him.

“Haven’t heard that word since I got here.”

I turn to the man. His perfectly straight teeth should have been the first sign.

“You're from Earth.”