The platforms had drawn so close that Lucid could see the faces of the other participants. Celeste's sharp features, her doll like guards' identical emptiness. The Congregation's purple hoods, hiding whatever lurked beneath. And Valen Thorne, his yellow hair catching the light, his golden eyes fixed on the pedestal where the relic waited beneath its cloth.
The voice did not announce the next lot. It announced the end.
[ Final round. All remaining parties must place their final bets. All the other parties will lose immediately. ]
Lucid's stomach clenched. No more sequential bidding. No more chances to withdraw. This was it. Everything they had, everything they were, all of it on the line at once. The relic would go to one party. The rest would fall.
Fenwick stood beside him, his hands shaking, his face pale. But his eyes were clear. He had cried himself dry. Now there was only the hollow acceptance of someone who had already imagined the worst and found he could still breathe.
'We have the sponsored mark. The queen's trust. That has to be worth something. Enough to compete. Enough to win.'
But even as he thought it, Celeste stepped forward. Her white hair floated in the still air, and her smile was the smile of a predator who had finally cornered its prey.
"I bid the Violet Lady," she said. The painting materialized beside her, the woman with purple hair, the colors shifting, the eyes following. "Plus the deed to the eastern spire, the western docks, and the distant land holdings in Everlight. Registered value. Eight hundred platinum marks."
The crowd gasped. Eight hundred platinum. Enough to buy a small kingdom. Enough to drown any commoner's fortune a thousand times over.
[ Party Two bids eight hundred platinum. ]
The Congregation's leader stepped forward. Their voice was the scrape of stones in a landslide.
"We bid six hundred human sacrifices. Bound by contract. Their future labor, their potential, their compounded interest over decades. Total value. Eight hundred platinum marks."
Fenwick made a choking sound. Lucid felt his own blood run cold. Human sacrifices. The Domain accepted that as currency. Accepted lives as value.
[ Party Three bids eight hundred platinum. ]
Valen Thorne raised his hand. His golden eyes swept across the platforms, lingered on the Congregation for a moment too long, then moved to Lucid.
"I bid five hundred platinum marks," Valen said. His voice was calm. Measured. "From the vault in the Ater's Markets. Verified and registered."
[ Party Four bids five hundred platinum. ]
Lucid's sponsored mark flared on his wrist. The Domain processed it, weighed it, measured it against the others. And found it wanting.
Then simultaneously everyone yelled.
"Merge!"
"Deposit!"
"Blend..."
[ Party One's sponsored mark value. Equivalent to a diamond. ]
'A diamond. More than half of what Celeste offered. More than the cultists. Even more than Valen. But as a combiened factor, I am losing. We are losing.'
If you combined their wealth it reached two diamond marks.
Fenwick grabbed his wrist. His grip was weak and rembling. The nobleman's face was wet again, but he was not crying. He was smiling. A small, sad, broken smile.
"You did your best," Fenwick said. His voice was barely a whisper. "I dragged you into this. My debt. My desperation. My family's legacy. None of it was your burden. You tried. That is more than anyone else has ever done for me. I do not blame you."
Lucid shook him off. "I am not done."
"The numbers do not lie. We cannot match them. We have nothing left except the relic we already won. The false one. The decoy." Fenwick's smile widened, bitter and knowing. "And that is not even real."
[ Party One has thirty seconds to raise their bid or forfeit. ]
Lucid looked at Valen. The yellow-haired boy stood motionless, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He had saved Lucid before. In the alley. In the square. He had walked to a guillotine for a stranger. But now, when it mattered most, he did nothing. He simply watched, and his watching was worse than any attack.
'We want the same thing. The relic. Why did you save me back then from those cultists? You want to destroy them, right? So why are you turning against me now?'
Valen's eyes met his. For a moment, something flickered there. Recognition. Pity. And then it was gone, replaced by the same calm indifference.
[ Twenty seconds. ]
Lucid reached into his coat. His fingers closed around the newly won relic. The Heart of the Forgotten Covenant.
"I bid the relic," Lucid said. His voice rang across the platforms. "The Heart of the Forgotten Covenant. Currently in my possession. Value assessed at close to a diamond mark."
Fenwick's head snapped toward him. "Smart thinking!"
"The Domain does not know. The Domain only knows what is presented. And I am presenting it."
[ Item recognized. The Heart of the Forgotten Covenant. Registered value. Equivalent to one diamond mark. Party One's total value now exceeds all others. ]
Celeste's face twisted. Her painting flickered, the colors bleeding. The cultists leader remind silent.
[ Party One leads. Any other bids? ]
Fenwick grabbed Lucid's arm again, but this time his grip was fierce. "You won. You actually won. Take it. End this. Let us leave before they—"
But the others were already moving. Celeste raised her hand, her voice sharp as a blade.
"I raise my bid. My house. My name. My heritage. Everything I have ever owned or controlled. Total value. One diamond mark."
[ Party Two bids one diamond mark. ]
The Congregation's leader turned to the figures behind them. A knife appeared in their hand. Not a weapon. A tool. They grabbed one of their own, pulled back the purple hood to reveal a pale, terrified face, and drew the blade across the throat.
Blood sprayed across the platform. The body fell. The Domain pulsed.
[ Party Three adds one blood sacrifice. Value increased. Total now exceeds one diamond mark. ]
Another knife. Another throat. Another body. The cultists were offering themselves up, one by one, a practiced ceremony, a ritual of sacrifice that made the golden light turn red at the edges.
[ Party Three total value. One diamond mark plus compounding interest. ]
Valen Thorne took his hands out of his pockets. His golden eyes were no longer calm. They burned with something that had been contained for years. Wrath. Hunger. The need to see the Congregation destroyed.
"I bid everything," Valen said. His voice was low, almost a growl. "Every asset I have accumulated. Every favor I am owed. Every promise I can extract. Total value. One diamond mark plus five hundred platinum."
[ Party Four leads. ]
The golden light floated from Lucid's hands. Crossed the golden space. Settled into Valen's palm. The yellow-haired boy closed his fingers around it.
Lucid wanted to bet again. Wanted to challenge Valen, to take back the worthless stone, to prove that he was not finished. But something in his stomach stopped him. A cold, certain feeling that said no. That said this was not the moment. That said someone would fall.
Fenwick observed Lucid's hesitation. His eyes widened. He yelled, "Do not! Something is wrong. Everyone is going all in. Someone will fall. Someone always falls when everyone goes all in."
Lucid looked around. Celeste was trembling, her white hair disheveled, her guards collapsed around her. The Congregation had sacrificed half their number, bodies stacked like cordwood on their crimson-slick platform. Valen stood with the false relic in his hand, his golden eyes fixed on the purple-robed figures, his chest heaving.
'If no one bets anything, then we all fall. The Domain will judge us all insufficient. But if I bet, if I go all in, then at least there is a chance. One winner. One survivor. Maybe me.'
"Shit," Lucid muttered. He stepped to the edge of his platform. His voice rang out across the golden void.
"The winner takes it all, right? Then I will go all in. My sponsored mark. My companions, my potential, my feats, everything!"
He bet everything except for the fate essence. He was trying to delay as much as time as possible.
He could bid his connections as well, because his friends had one thing he did as well.
They were also marked.
Valen looked at him. For the first time, amusement flickered in his golden eyes. The blood on his cheek had dried, flaking away, revealing skin that was younger than Lucid had expected. He yelled, and his voice was no longer calm. It was alive. Burning.
"Yes! Lucid! That is the spirit! I will go all in as well!"
Celeste screamed. Her composure shattered, her mask of noble indifference crumbling.
"Arrogant fools! Very well. I shall put everything on the line. I bid my house. My name. My heritage. My bloodline. Everything that makes me who I am!"
The Congregation's leader brandished the knife again. But this time, they did not cut another throat. They turned the blade toward themselves. Drew it across their own wrist. Then the other wrist. Then their throat. Their body fell, and the remaining cultists followed, one by one, a cascade of purple robes and red blood and golden light that drank it all.
[ All parties have placed final bets. The Domain will now judge. ]
The golden light turned white. The platforms trembled. The relic, the false relic, pulsed in Valen's hand. And Lucid stood at the edge of everything, his sponsored mark burning on his wrist, his chains coiled around his heart, his blood singing with the knowledge that there was no going back.
Everyone was all in. Everyone would either win and claim the relic, or perish in the attempt.
The Domain held its breath.
And the voice spoke one final time.
[ Judgment commencing. ]