"You heard him," Maruun told the mixed-race group. "If the cloud chooses you, offer a non-vital piece, take the touch without fatal damage, and keep moving." He hoped that even if the reward was lost, their lives would not be.
Just after the warning, another cry rose across the arena. "Let me go, you damn cloud! I already surrendered!"
The Practitioner from the mixed-race group ran as if the sand were dragging at his feet. The air around him pulsed. The white cloud flickered in and out of sight, warping the light each time it appeared.
Finally catching its target, the cloud brushed his hand.
"Aghh." His skin bubbled. The palm slackened and sloughed like wax held too close to a flame.
The corruption crept up his forearm in a wet shimmer, the cloud devouring flesh as it climbed. He faltered, and the moment he realized there was no outrunning it, his legs locked. Cold fear clamped onto his spine and refused to let go.
