She studied him as he prepared himself for the opening strike. The way he moved spoke of years drilled in the discipline of the knightly orders. His sheer size, the thick lattice of scars across his chest and arms, all hinted at a lifetime of grueling temperance, the kind that forged men into living weapons.
Knights, like mages, had their ranks, though both systems were nominal at best. Most began as pages, before rising to sentinels, then to vanguards. Above them stood the flagbearers, warriors whose raw might rivaled that of archmages. Sorel was one of them.
And though the man before her was no flagbearer, but he had the look of a seasoned vanguard, his physique sculpted by war, his presence solid and immovable.
But to Celeste, it didn't matter
Running through her veins was the blood of the Nephilim, burning hotter than a second sun. In this world, there were many kinds of gifted bloodlines, some acquired through ritual or pact, others inherited by birth. But none could rival hers. She was a Dehmohseni scion, a descendant of a line that had defied gods and spat in the face of defeat.
The announcer's cry of "BEGIN!" had barely faded before she moved.
Celeste became a blur, her boots kicking up sand as she lunged straight for him. Her left dagger flashed, its edge whispering toward his neck in a quick, precise strike.
The Maw pivoted with surprising speed for his size, avoiding the cut. His left axe fell from his hand, not in surrender, but as part of a fluid motion. The freed hand clenched into a fist the size of a brick.
Then it struck.
The punch drove through her midsection with bone-breaking force, tearing through flesh and muscle, his entire arm punching clean out her back.
The crowd exploded, the stands shaking under the weight of their roars. They smelled blood, tasted victory. A brutal, quick kill.
But then The Maw tried to pull his arm back.
It didn't move.
A faint hiss rose from where his skin met her wound, a sizzle like meat on hot iron. The flesh of his forearm began to blacken, dim sparks dancing in the open air as something gnawed at it from within.
Celeste's head tilted back toward him, eyes alight with something unholy. She smiled, not with joy, but with the terrible glee of a predator that had just felt its prey's heartbeat stutter.
It was the smile of someone who wasn't finished yet.
The Maw didn't hesitate. The moment he felt the burning creep further up his arm, he brought his remaining axe down in a brutal arc. Steel bit through flesh and bone in a single clean strike, severing the limb just below the shoulder.
Blood sprayed across the sand as he staggered back, his heavy boots grinding furrows into the dirt. He was already retreating, putting distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers.
Celeste barely flinched. Her hands closed around the severed arm still lodged in her torso. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled it free. The crowd saw it, saw the gaping wound in her abdomen knit itself together before their eyes, flesh weaving back over muscle, muscle wrapping over bone. The healing was not just rapid, it was almost smug in its perfection.
Against Sorel, an automaton who had no blood to spill and no flesh to heal, she'd been denied the chance to show what her vitalism could truly do. That had been a disappointment. This, however… this was a gift.
Her smile widened. Her heart thrummed with exhilaration. She glanced at the limb in her hand and spoke as if to a generous host. "Thank you."
The arm twitched.
Then it began to swell. Veins rising, skin splitting, the pale meat beneath bubbling and twisting. Black pus oozed from the seams, carrying with it the scent of rot and acid. Knuckles bulged into something not quite claws, and the hand split down the middle like a flower of bone.
"You can have it back," she said sweetly, letting it drop to the sand.
It didn't stay there.
The arm spasmed once, twice, then contorted into something monstrous. Its form expanded into a hunched feline shape, but wrong in every possible way: too many joints in its legs, eyes scattered across its face at uneven heights, teeth jutting through places they shouldn't, some pushing through the skin of its throat. It let out a wet, rasping growl that seemed to echo inside the skull.
Before the crowd could even scream, the beast launched itself at The Maw, claws tearing through the air.
The knight roared, lifting his remaining axe and bringing it down with all the weight of his massive frame, the blade gleaming in the torchlight as it arced toward the abomination.
The Maw's axe cleaved into the beast's shoulder, severing one twisted limb in a spray of black ichor.
The thing barely slowed. Its other paw slammed into his chestplate, denting steel inward with a sickening crunch.
He grunted, sliding back a step but holding his ground. The crowd howled, half in excitement, half in horror.
Celeste tilted her head, watching like an artist admiring the first brushstrokes on a canvas.
The beast moved without hesitation, lunging again, all claws and snapping teeth. The Maw spun the axe in his good hand, catching it under the jaw and ripping it sideways, tearing a line of bone and muscle.
The creature screamed, not in pain, but in something far worse. Its body shuddered, split open along its spine, and a second head pushed free from the wound, dripping with pus.
Celeste's grin was a knife in the torchlight. "Oh, you'll like this part," she murmured.
The beast lunged from two angles at once. The Maw twisted aside from the first head, caught the second with the haft of his axe, and slammed it down into the sand. He pivoted, kicking the main body hard enough to stagger it. Even with one arm gone, his movements were disciplined, controlled violence honed through years of war.
He came for her next. Axe raised, he closed the gap in three powerful strides, aiming for her neck. She caught the swing on the crossguard of her dagger, sparks leaping where steel kissed steel.
The blow forced her back a half-step. She laughed. "Better than you look."
He pressed the advantage, bringing the axe down again and again. Celeste parried, sidestepped, ducked, her motions flowing like liquid. The crowd's cheers rose to a fever pitch as they traded blows, the beast circling like a shark, waiting for an opening.
Finally, she slipped past his guard. One dagger flashed, slicing open the meat of his thigh. Another cut traced along his ribs. His breathing grew heavier, his footwork slower.
The beast struck, pouncing from behind. This time, The Maw wasn't fast enough. Claws sank into his shoulder and side, dragging him down. He roared, spinning to hack at it, but Celeste was already there, her blade slipping under his chin, up through the roof of his mouth.
His body went still.
She wrenched the dagger free as the beast tore itself apart in a frenzy of spasms, collapsing into a heap of steaming flesh. The smell of rot filled the arena.
Celeste stood over him, chest rising and falling, her expression unreadable for a moment, then that wicked smile returned.
The crowd's roar followed her all the way to the tunnel, echoing off the stone like rolling thunder.
"Impressive," Mars said, falling into step beside her. "Songworthy, even. You know what—maybe—"
She was already turning away from him before he could finish, his voice fading into a droning hum. Her eyes found her cousin in the shadows. A grin tugged at her lips.
"Now that," she said, wiping a streak of blood from her cheek, "is how you entertain a crowd."