Gareth shot into the dark like a rocket. His foray into Mogeel’s temple had inoculated him slightly to the effect of being blinded. He wasn't going to say it wasn't spooky, but it wasn't nightmarish.

  His [Darkvision] feature of [Falcon eyes] activated two seconds later, allowing him to suddenly see through the magical darkness. Unfortunately, his eyes didn't adjust quickly enough and he felt a massive, slender, bony hand wrap around his right ankle and yank!

  The impaired vision and the hauntingly familiar tug on his leg forced Gareth to recall his experience with the Cursed in the Oni’s tunnel. It reminded him of a time when he was powerless, a time when he was nothing. His fight and flight instinct kicked in and he tried to retaliate, but his breath was knocked out from the fall… he couldn't inhale to get his breath weapons going.

  From pure panic-induced instinct and adrenaline, the equivalent of button-spamming, desperately wanting for it to be brighter than how the tunnel had been, he activated an ability that he had thought somewhat...useless.

  A soft, gentle light illuminated the area around him as [Emit light] kicked in. The light didn't shine very far, only about a four feet, but its effect on what had been dragging him around was immediate.

  “Screeeee!!!!” An inhuman voice wailed and hissed.

  This all happened in the initial four seconds of the match. Gareth finally got a second to assess the area around himself…and found that his [Emit light] ability was counteracting his [Darkvision] trait. He was therefore stuck with the decision to turn off [Emit light] and in so doing be able to see his enemies yet be vulnerable to attack, or he could keep it active, be blind to the world, and hope for the best.

  Or, he thought to himself, I could try rapidly switching between them.

  He flicked out his arms as mental preparation and flicked the ability off…and…………on-on! ON!

  Fuck!

  Gareth wheeled his arms and fell directly backwards to prevent a taloned hand from slitting his throat.

  Looks like this ability has a fucking cooldown of some sort! He screamed mentally.

  He stopped paying attention to the ability as his focus was completely consumed by the horrifyingly scary slenderman looking motherfucker coming at him! Even with [Dark vision] active, he could only see it if he looked at it peripherally. In that moment Gareth was done being scared.

  He tightened his grip on his sword, and the next time it lunged at him - claws leading - he brought his sword down vertically, cleanly cutting the hand in half.

  “Skrereerere!!!” It howled in fury and pain!

  Unfortunately for Gareth, the Shadow Wraith was only one half of the pairing. He was so overwhelmed by the pure feeling of hostility howling from the creature that [Sense Hostility] did not notice the goth girl sneaking up behind him. She drove her dagger into his lower back and up, flashing Gareth’s mind back to the day his father had shot him in an alley. It was so sudden, such a raw and unprocessed trauma, that Gareth’s mind froze. He didn't pass out immediately, but his legs went numb from mental shock, making him fall backwards. He felt the dagger rip its serrated way out as the backstabber, the Whisperknife, removed her dagger and let him fall to the tarry sand.

  -

  Gareth should have been taken to the infirmary just then. Marcus Hightower was even about to step in, and bring his assigned youth to safety when an immovable hand landed on his shoulder.

  Marcus flared his aura in alarm. It was squashed immediately and without apparent effort, "Hold now, boy!"

  Marcus followed the unyielding hand to its source, seeing Elder Guanji Crimson Tide, "My disciple can take a stab to the lungs. This Elder begs you to stave off taking him out just yet. You would be doing this one a favour."

  Marcus nodded in mute terror as he forcibly suppressed his own aura, not trusting himself to be in control with it. "O-of course, Great Elder!" Ripping himself out of the now-relaxed grip, Marcus performed an overly formal martial bow to show his respects...

  When he did not hear a response, he looked up to see Master Guanji missing. Questions, mysteries, and conundrums quaked through Marcus Hightower as he returned his attention to the youth lying on his back, blood pumping into the sand, blood bubbles foaming at his mouth. If he could survive that, then he was surely worthy of being Elder Guanji's disciple.

  Yet one question reigned supreme over all others, one he did not feel brave enough to mutter aloud: Who is this man who would call the Crimson Tide 'Master'?

  -

  Gareth’s saving grace was that she had written him off, the shadow-demon thing disappearing deeper into the darkness to find a new enemy.

  She had made one critical miscalculation - Gareth was down, but not out. His mind jarred back to the present as his head slammed into the sand and came to a sudden stop.

  He shook his head and tried to take a breath through the searing pain in his lung and back...but failed. His panic surged. She had punctured his left lung…his [Water breathing] lung. Hope mixed with iron-willed determination as he came up with an idea. If he could somehow close the hole, it would allow his diaphragm to build up pressure again, and he might be able to breathe through the blood.

  He breathlessly drew his side dagger, and with a sluggishness that rose with each second, cut a strip off his combat robe. Painfully reaching around, he tried to shove the strip of cloth into the wound. It caused agonising pain to bundle the cloth into the jagged hole in his flesh, but he managed. Somewhat. It was bad. It hurt a lot and wasn't even 40% effective, but it would do.

  The tarry, dark brown sugar-like substance of the arena floor clung to his hair, to his back, and to the bandage as he performed some emergency care on himself. The arena, now that he had a spare second to actually look at it, had a really weird layout. He was on a small streak of sticky sand, while a few feet to his right a glass-like obsidian striation cut through the sand, making way for cold rocky volcanic ground.

  He crawled over to where he had dropped his sword, used it as a support to get back onto one knee, and looked around.

  Whisperknife's demon was on the other side of the arena, sneaking up on an orc and dwarf brawling badly on the hard volcanic ground.

  Mary, Jorund’s apprentice, was busy summoning vines around herself and appeared to be using them like spider webs to fend off a blindly swinging swordsman. She had tens of thorny vines spread out in a circle around her, and every time the swordsman stepped on one she would converge a few thicker thorny vines, then blindly attack where she suspected him to be. The glass-like floor made their footing precarious, but Mary had the ranged upper-hand and was making the blind swordsman pay for it.

  Gareth studied the other fighters, and was startled to realise that only Whisperknife and her demon thing could see in the Darkness. If he could take her out…he might be able to win.

  He couldn't keep track of the demon thing because it was just too well-camouflaged in this environment, so he could forget about sneaking up on her.

  It seemed his water breathing lung could in fact breathe some blood, but he could feel himself fading rapidly. He needed to hurry.

  Think Gareth! Think! You can't get close, so you gotta have ranged!

  He hefted his trusty dagger in hand, and gave it two flips, Should work on her.

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  He then employed the passive trait that had been the hardest to get used to: [Exacting Strength].

  It allowed him to use the full potential of his muscles, without hurting himself. Activating it was like his muscles were permanently under the effects of adrenaline and the ultimate workout pump. For weeks after awakening this bloodline he kept breaking things, skipping when he climbed stairs, or accidentally launching himself forward each time he sat up in bed!

  It took a lot of effort to mentally calibrate his fighting techniques and muscle memory, but in the end it was all worth it.

  He flipped the knife, grabbed it by the blade, calculated the distance as Oliver had shown him, and let fly with all the power his arm, hip, core, wrist and fingers could muster.

  “Hyup!” He grunted as the blade left his hand, leaving a small cut on his index finger as it slid past. It flew through the air, made two rotations and flawlessly, like fucking perfectly, hit Whisperknife, with the handle, in the head.

  “Shit!” Gareth cursed quietly, as he had meant to sink the blade into her upper back, his version of pay-back. Luckily, the dagger was still hefty enough to knock her out cleanly. She struck the floor and disappeared as the an attendant whisked her off. Thankfully, her shadow monster left with her. Now, it was just a matter of cleaning up the blind. He felt bad about saying that, but fuck it!

  I'm in a competition! Kill’em all!

  He felt bad about taking Mary out of the match so early, so he left her and Slashy the swordsman to their little dance.

  That just left Beardo, a tall dwarven man. He was clad in an elaborately engraved heavy plate mail, and somehow wielding a large hammer and tower shield (relatively speaking) without losing his balance.

  His giant ginger beard, swaying against his chest as he fought, had gold highlights that were simply gorgeous, even in the greyscale his [Darkvision] forced on him! Gareth really wanted to ask him if it was due to genetics, or if there was an oil to get it gleaming in such a low-light area. Gareth could grow a full beard, but Guanji had a strict shaving policy that forced him to shave each day. It was a small freedom he was willing to give up in the grander scheme of things, but one day when he was independent...he would grow one mothafucka of a beard.

  Anywaaayyy.

  The last one left was Orcus the orc.

  Big. With a capital Bi~tch. Fucken hu~ge cunt!

  Easily 7.5 ft tall of pure muscle. He was ripped to the tits, and wielded an axe bigger than Gareth like it was his favourite stepchild. He swung it about, hoping to hit the thing he felt battering ineffectually at his legs.

  This was the moment when Gareth truly missed his neurolink, because he couldn't capture the slapstick event playing out before him.

  Beardo would ram his shield forward, make contact with Orco’s leg, and then bring his hammer around to crush whatever he had made contact with.

  Orco, very lightly armoured in furs and leathers so as to conserve his freedom of movement and mobility, would feel the blow, move his leg, and retaliate with his own axe swing.

  The problem was a matter of height.

  Orco, his reaction speed immaculate, would move his leg out of the way quicker than Beardo could hit it. Beardo would stumble slightly from his missed blow, causing him to duck just low enough for Orco’s axe to go swinging well above his head. This would repeat, again and again.

  If he weren't injured Gareth really would have just left the couples to it, but given that he would eventually bleed out, he knew he was on a timer.

  “Sorry, Mary.” He mumbled because she was honestly the most dangerous of them all. She could actually end up finding him with her web of vines, and he wouldn't survive a straight fight. So, he hefted an obsidian chunk lying on the floor, gave it a few tosses for his improvised mastery principle to gauge the best way to throw it, and lobbed it in her direction. The chunk sailed through the air like a streak of ink across a black page - barely visible - and made contact with the back of her head.

  There, off she goes. He thought rather calmly. The blood loss was sapping his emotional capacity - he was rapidly losing energy. His meditation principles helped to keep him aware of his purpose.

  He made sure to not hit her in the face though, hopefully she wouldn't be too mad. Then it was simply a matter of baiting Slashy to the other two noise-makers. Not that hard.

  “Hey! Hey-you, Slashy! Over here!” Gareth called in the direction of the cutlass-wielding guy. Her vines had collapsed the moment Mary had been knocked out, leaving the guy foolishly swinging at nothing until Gareth called out.

  The guy's head swiveled in his direction, and when he started cautiously thrusting in his direction, sword leading the way like that stick a blind person used, Gareth simply backpedalled around the other two, forcing the three into an altercation.

  Finally, some equilibrium was met as Slashy ran into Beardo’s back, who in-turn stumbled into Orco’s legs. Orco tripped over the literal block of metal at his feet, and brought the mighty meaty tower crashing down. Slashy likewise didn't keep his feet and fell onto Beardo, who was on Orco.

  Another foto-worthy moment, lost.

  Gareth nevertheless moved in quickly, held his sword to Slashy’s neck to indicate a deathblow - he promptly vanished - then touched Orco on his beefy green arm to try activating [sleep touch] for the third time ever.

  It didn't work immediately, and in a blind swing of his arm Orco managed to knock Gareth’s sword from his numb hand. Gareth didn't have the strength to resist it, and just let the blade fall as he put his entire focus on learning to use [Sleep touch]. His sweaty palm and weary fingers tingled wherever they made contact with Orco's oily upper arm. The longer he held on, the more intense the tingling became, until it suddenly ratcheted into an intense itch.

  He imagined that his [Sleep touch] functioned like the microscoping stingers of a jellyfish, shooting barbs of toxin-covered needles through his target's skin to force the other person to fall asleep. Guanji assured him this was not the case, but he still liked the visual as he literally had no idea how the ability functioned.

  Seconds ticked by as the longer he held on, the less Orco struggled. Five seconds of continuous contact later, the mighty Orco Bigmeat passed out. Simple as that.

  Which left Beardo.

  Poor, poor Beardo.

  He tiredly struggled to his feet. The weight of his armour and futile fighting finally catching up with him, and forgot one basic habit all fighters should cultivate…to raise his shield.

  He had no sword, no dagger, and his body was fading fast.

  With two steps Gareth was in front of him, and kneed him in the head so hard his nose broke in a fountain of blood. Not one to let an opponent recover, Gareth pulled back his southpaw and hit him right under the chin.

  His magnificently lustrous beard helped Beardo weather the storm, but he once again raised his shield.

  The dwarf was between him and his blade, which lay on the volcanic rock he now faught upon.

  “Surrender mate. I can see, *wheeze* and you can’t.”

  “Argh! If you think I'll be givin’ up that easily, you've got another thing coming! Have at thee, knave!” He bashed his shield in the direction Gareth’s voice had come from, but missed. Gareth had already moved away.

  “Stop or I'll flame breath you, and then your beards gonna be fucked!”

  The dwarf gasped thatrically, “You wouldn't - couldn't!”

  “I would! It's purely out of respect for your glorious beard that I haven't done so...yet. Please, sir!” Thinking that flattery might help he continued, “You appear to be a mighty warrior laid low by circumstance. Concede and I will happily spar with you afterwards on a field of Light where you can prove your martial might!”

  He tried a few more times to hit Gareth, and he was honestly growing pretty sluggish due to blood loss, but his patience outlasted his opponent's.

  At last, the dwarf spat, "Prove to me ye can spew flame, and I will concede. But on the Golden Throne, if ye be lying, I will not stop until the Everlasting flam-" he was cut off as Gareth tried to use breathe fire.

  Crimson flames painted the ground beside the dwarf, briefly illuminating the volcanic floor. A second of silence passed, and Gareth saw the internal struggle behind his bushy brows, as he now knew where Gareth was standing. Honour and pride warred, because now that he knew where Gareth was, he could attack him. Yet, he had given his word.

  The dwarf lowered his shield and sighed tiredly, "I...concede."

  The booming voice of the referee rolled across the small arena, declaring Gareth the winner. Gareth ignored him in favour of speaking with the dwarf.

  “I would know your name, mighty Dwergar.” Gareth asked as the ref went on to congratulate the fighters and everyone who participated and the winner and the sponsors and all the spectators.

  “My name be Gruin of the Gloryhammer clan, and yerself?”

  “Gareth Elson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gareth would have bowed slightly out of habit, felt the immensely painful hole in his back twitch, and hurriedly gave up on that idea.

  “I would say the pleasure is mine, but I just lost this round, and need to tend to me pride. I wish ye the best in your remaining fights, Gareth Elson. Win, and me pride might be spared. Lose, and me shame will be even greater. Glory to Gold.” He hit his fist to his chest and proceeded to blindly stumble in a random direction until he found the edge of the square.

  Gareth stumbled all of a sudden as his right leg almost gave way, and realised he was still bleeding out. Mustering what energy he could, he hurriedly walked to his side of the square, where Oliver stood.

  He approached the edge of the square, the wall of white he had noticed earlier in the fight turned out to be the outside world that was bathed in light.

  As a final test to reassure himself that it was still working, he focussed inwards at the little ball of light he felt in his centre. Then activated it by flexing his core ever so slightly.

  The world was immediately bathed back in blackness. All except for a metre of light around him, as his skin glowed with faint stars swirling in elaborate constellations across his skin. It was likely vain to think it, but he thought it was beautiful. Yet, it meant more to Gareth than just some ‘pretty sparkles’.

  He had spent years of his life in darkness. On the sublayers of Terra. Then in the dingy dark cell of Ian’s compound. While he no longer ‘feared’ the Dark, it nevertheless brought to mind unpleasant memories he longed to forget. With this ability, which cost him so little mana as to be barely noticeable, he would never be in the dark if he didn't want to be. He could bring the Light with him.

  As blood loss finally caught up, and consciousness fled, a gentle smile graced his lips.

  He would never be stuck in the dark ever again.