The crowd had gone eerily silent.

  Cassian leaned forward over the railing, his eyes narrowed as he studied the two fighters below. Myrren scribbled furiously beside him. Lucen cracked his knuckles in anticipation. He looked over his shoulder at Darius walking away from him, and scoffed.

  "That guy annoys me."

  "Are you confiding in me?" Cassian joked.

  "Hardly, at least you have a reason to be cocky... but that little shit." Lucen folded his arms.

  "Commander Darius is a good man. Gossiping behind his back is beneath you, gentlemen." Myrren adjusted her glasses.

  "What the hell do you know, bookworm?" Lucen barked.

  "Apparently, the same thing as her Highness Selene. She obviously agrees with me." Myrren huffed in defiance.

  "So blatantly, rooting for my future wife to betray me?" Cassian asked.

  "I'm rooting for her to be able to choose her happiness, at least once in her life. From everything I've seen... she just makes do." Myrren argued. Before Cassian and Lucen could counter her, a sharp, piercing tone cut through the air, signaling the start of the match.

  The entire audience erupted into a deafening roar.

  The Titan Orc exploded into motion.

  Despite his size, he moved with incredible speed. Sand burst behind him as his feet tore through the pit floor with each step. He swung his massive hammer forward with both hands, and the air boomed as he brought the mighty weapon down in a wide, furious arc.

  A shockwave blasted through the sand.

  Myrren gasped. Cassian's and Lucen's eyes snapped up instantly, never losing track of the Phoenix, who shot into the air in a single fluid motion. The Phoenix's wings unfurled in a flare of flames.

  Brilliant feathers ignited along his wingspan, and his wings flapped in a rush of heat, releasing a sweeping cascade of burning feathers that fanned downward across the pit.

  Sand leapt upward around the Orc as he shielded his body. With a wave of his hammer, the sand barrier burst, blowing and extinguishing the flame-covered feathers.

  The crowd screamed. Some in delight. Some in terror. All in exhilaration.

  Up in the VVIP balcony, Myrren whispered, "Incredible…"

  Lucen grinned. "Oh, this is going to be good. Looks like the Orc has the elemental advantage."

  Cassian remained silent. His eyes were sharp, intense, calculating. He couldn't see who had the clear advantage with that exchange. It seemed like it truly would be an unpredictable, exciting match. For most of them. Cassian looked over his shoulder to see Darius disappear into the room behind them.

  ******

  The debauchery of the VVIP lounge had diminished, but was still there. Most of the guests had had their attention held hostage by the spectacle happening below them.

  Darius stepped through the space quietly, slipping past laughing demons and lounging vampires. He ignored the hands that brushed against his arm, the flirtatious looks, and the way the music pulsed beneath the floor.

  He had his sights set on the bar near the back wall.

  The bartender stood polishing a glass. He was a tall, dark, golden-skinned figure with faint arcane markings etched into his skin. He was a golden statue of a male, chiselled from a dream, and he knew it.

  He gave Darius a sultry smile as he sat down. The golden bartender tilted his head.

  "You're not going to enjoy the fight, sir?" he asked, voice low and dripping with seduction.

  Darius didn't look at him. "I'm not interested in things I already know the outcome of."

  The bartender's smile widened—and then his entire form shimmered.

  His shoulders narrowed, his hips curved outward, his hair lengthened, and his face sharpened into something seductively angular. In seconds, the bare-chested man was gone, replaced by a bare-chested, voluptuous woman who leaned over the bar with a pout. Darius hadn't spared her a single glance.

  "It seems you're not interested in much at all," she said with a small huff. Her voice was a melody of corrupt hypnotic vibrations.

  "I'm interested," Darius said, still refusing to meet her eyes, "in you putting on some clothes and getting me a drink. That—" he motioned at her bare form "—cannot be sanitary."

  He cleared his throat, trying to hide the embarrassment in his voice.

  The barmaid giggled, snapped her fingers, and an illusion of sheer fabric draped over her body like mist. Not much more modest, but at least covered.

  "Better?" she teased.

  "Debatable," Darius muttered. "Now get me something strong. And human, preferably."

  "Coming right up," she said, her voice velvet-smooth.

  She began mixing the drink with practiced flair. As she worked, the arena boomed from below—an explosion so powerful the bar's glasses rattled. Darius didn't even flinch.

  "You're sure you're not interested in the fight?" she asked. "People have waited a long time to see those two face each other."

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  "The Phoenix will win." Darius rested his chin on his fist. "There's no point in watching."

  "You sound certain."

  "I am."

  She slid the drink across the bar. Darius took it without looking at her.

  "Please," she purred. "Do explain."

  "They're similar in level," Darius said casually. "Their records, the vaylora rolling off them, perfectly matched... on paper."

  "Hmmm, so what separates the two?" She asked.

  Darius tapped the bar once. "Desire. Intent. The drive to win. You can see that in the eyes."

  As he spoke, the battle below unfolded.

  The Orc was covered in burns, his breath coming in heavy bursts. Blood dripped down his arms and chest. His hammer dragged in the sand. The Phoenix, meanwhile, hovered effortlessly above—untouched, wings flickering like living flames.

  "The Orc's eyes tell me he is looking for glorious battle. Winning and losing don't matter." Darius chuckled.

  The Orc roared, raising his hands.

  The sand stirred.

  Then churned.

  Then rose.

  Dozens of hardened spears condensed out of the swirling sand, each one sharp enough to punch through stone. With a bellow of rage, the Orc sent them hurtling into the sky.

  The crowd gasped.

  "But the Phoenix... his eyes tell me something different. He wants to win... he has to."

  The Phoenix moved.

  He didn't fly—he danced. Dodging effortlessly between the deadly projectiles, wings folding and snapping outward with perfect precision. The spears he avoided twisted sharply in the air, guided by the Orc's will, and chased him from behind.

  The Phoenix was surrounded. A ring of death tightened from all angles.

  He wrapped himself in his wings. The moment the spears converged, the collision sent a violent shockwave through the arena, stirring the sand into a storm.

  Even the barmaid paused her movements to glance towards the fight.

  "Well, if what you're saying is true," she hummed, " that's very observant of you." She refilled Darius's cup and asked.

  "That discerning eye of yours—is it a perfected skill or natural talent?"

  "Neither," Darius said with a small shrug. "Or maybe both?"

  The barmaid's white eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

  Darius finally looked her in the face.

  "I've learned to treat these things like a game. And I've found that I'm very good at games." He sipped his drink. "Once I know the rules."

  "And what rules did you figure out here?" she asked, voice dropping slightly.

  "That even in this den of decadence," Darius said slowly, "everyone gives this bar—specifically this section of it—a wide berth."

  The barmaid froze.

  "Even the older demons," Darius continued, "instinctively avoid you."

  Her eyes glowed faintly.

  A dangerous smile curved her lips.

  Below them, the explosion in the pit cleared enough to reveal the Phoenix. His wings unfurled with a burst of flame. The sand spears around him had turned to glass—now shattering into glittering shards that rained over the arena.

  The Orc snarled.

  He slammed his foot into the sand.

  The sand beneath his feet surged upward, rising into a pillar that hurled him skyward with tremendous force straight at the Phoenix.

  The Phoenix didn't retreat. He ignited. His entire body erupted into flame, reshaping into a magnificent, blazing phoenix—the true form of his lineage.

  The audience screamed with delight.

  The two fighters collided.

  A blinding light flooded the entire arena.

  Reflections danced across the barmaid's face as she stared at Darius, her expression hardening.

  "What is it that you want with me," she asked, "Inquisitor Commander?"

  Darius didn't blink. "So you know who I am? Then you probably know why we're here." Darius gave her a lazy smile,

  "Are you the one who runs this place?"

  "There are a few of us who don't know who you are. Commander Veyle. And I'm one of ten who are tied to this place," she admitted.

  "That's not what I asked. Are you in charge?"

  Her sensual smirk vanished.

  Her lips curled into a snarl. "Just because the princess is sweet on you doesn't mean I won't kill you, human."

  "That's exactly what that means." Darius's voice was calm. Unshaken. "Unless you're one of the traitors."

  Her jaw tightened.

  "And I promise I can lay waste to this place before you lay a hand on me... demon." Darius leaned in closer, and for the first time, the barmaid got a good look at his face. Particularly his eyes. They were filled with an unwavering focus.

  Something like annoyance—and fear—flashed in the pit of her stomach, the moment their eyes met.

  At that exact moment, the pit below erupted in its final burst of violence.

  The Phoenix dove.

  The brilliant glare faded. The Phoenix had carved a perfect cauterized opening through the Orc's chest. The Titan Orc didn't fall immediately. He stared down in shock, the wound smoking as he swayed and toppled into the sand.

  The Phoenix descended slowly, flame fading as he returned to humanoid form. He was covered in bruises and cuts. His chest heaved as he desperately tried to catch his breath. He raised a single fist high.

  The crowd exploded.

  Coins flew into the air. Shouts of triumph and despair mingled. The stands shook under the weight of pounding feet.

  The barmaid tilted her head at Darius. "It seems you were correct."

  "I usually am." Darius didn't look at the pit. He stared directly at her.

  "So," he asked again, "are you in charge of this place or not?"

  "Why should I tell you anything—"

  "Oh Lilith…"

  The voice came from behind the barmaid.

  Darius recognized it immediately.

  Lilith froze.

  Selene stepped into view, walking around the blind spot behind the bar with the calm, predatory grace of someone who knew she belonged anywhere she chose to stand. Her gold eyes gleamed with amusement as she rested one elbow on the bar counter, leaning slightly toward Darius. Their eyes met, and she gave him a playful wink.

  "Why not tell him?" she asked sweetly. "I'm curious myself. Who actually runs this place… hmm?"

  Lilith's shoulders stiffened. Her forced smile twitched painfully at the sides.

  "Good evening… Princess," she managed through clenched teeth.

  Selene tilted her head. "So who is it, Lilith? Who's helping Pale Seer? Your lover? His brother?" She smirked. "Maybe both?"

  Darius turned fully toward Lilith now, his presence imposing, cold, unwavering.

  Lilith swallowed hard.

  It was the first time she had ever felt such pressure from two "children." It wasn't the power that they held. It was,

  ~Their eyes...~ She thought to herself. Each pair stared holes into her ancient soul. She had seen eyes look like that before. On those who'd stop at nothing to take what they wanted. Those driven by something greater than themselves,

  ~Absolute zealots!~ she muttered silently.

  Darius leaned forward slightly, voice low and commanding.

  "Well?"