Waking te and thoroughly satiated after a te night of all-out debauchery, Sara and Evie began their day ckadaisically. For once they didn't fool around as they got dressed, even bathing together without much in the way of wandering hands. With their chosen goal for the day only avaible after sunset, they had time to dress, eat, and even read, monopolizing the energies of Lady Vesta's attending librarian. Sara and Evie gathered a pile of every book on Champions throughout history on a corner table of the main and far rger Vesta library, earning more than a few pointed librarian gres as they read them from the same chair.

  The privileges of power that Sara actually enjoyed were few and far between, but first among the short list was definitely "Unrestricted PDA". Evie y curled across her body as they studied, tail tickling up and down Sara's legs, and not a damn person there could say a thing about it. The librarian, a spectacled old woman identical to every librarian Sara had ever seen, was certainly skilled at making her disapproval subtly known. She tutted as she set down their books, sniffed when they snuggled closer, and made constant comments that may have been about their books, but clearly were about their proximity. If Sara hadn't spent the st two months undressed as often as she was dressed, it probably would have worked.

  Unfortunately for you, dy, Sara thought to herself as the old woman dropped another book on their table, The power level of my sluttery is far beyond your snobbishness. This battle was decided before it even began.

  Judgmental crones aside, hers and Evie's studies bore fruit. Evie was particurly dedicated, writing notes and leaving bookmarks to cross-reference different texts as she went, showing Sara anything she thought may have been doubtful.

  What fascinated Sara the most was the timelines involved with the actions of Champions. They'd inarguably appeared for at least the st two thousand years of recorded history, and even the more ancient and fractured records suggested Champions were known for thousands of years further. They appeared every few hundred years, always rocketing to great prominence among societies within a handful of years after their arrival, then either disappeared without a trace or retired to a life of passive influence. Sara assumed that those that vanished probably returned to Earth, the others choosing to remain. The st Champion on the same continent as Sporatos had been a man under the patronage of Shilia, the Goddess of Spellcraft. He'd pyed significant roles in a dozen pces, stabilizing a nation here, overthrowing a ruler there, starting and stopping a series of wars in quick succession, before finally retiring to a life of study. The spells that he'd developed and taught to others had revolutionized magical thought across the world, and the university he founded to facilitate his work still existed.

  The man's name had been Hunter Sue, and schors in the years since his advent had argued endlessly over Shilia's reasons for bringing him to their world. What they all agreed on, though, was that his longest-sting effect had been establishing a culture of mutual magical study. Before Hunter had founded the University of Chris's Angels, (a name that had Sara failing to hide her cackling), archmages the world over had jealously guarded their secrets, not even teaching their apprentices the greatest of their techniques. Magic had stagnated in such a world, as each generation struggled to reach the heights of their predecessors before crumbling away. Today most mages credited Archmage Hunter Sue for half their success, recognizing that they never would have been taught what they knew without the precedent he established.

  Throughout history, further and further back, Sara noticed simir trends. A Champion would appear, valiantly perform astounding feats, and then retire or vanish. Though the hypothetical consequences of the wars and disasters they resolved were unknowable, it often seemed their eventual cims to fame were the cultural revolutions they kickstarted. Few schors made much of the trend, figuring it only appropriate that culture would warp around such strange and influential individuals, but Sara saw something else. Nearly every Champion that didn't disappear specifically left a modernizing mark on the world, bringing elements of Earthly culture to the forefront.

  It was also interesting that even Champions from a millennia ago or greater made references to things Sara knew. The recently published World of the Champions, despite its dramatic title, proved to be one of the finest resources on hand. The bulk of it was rampant specution about the shared pnet that Champions hailed from, the author's suppositions exaggerated at best and hiriously false at worst. Overexcited specution aside, what captivated Sara was the basis for their hypotheses: an exhaustive list of direct quotes from dozens of Champions regarding their home, neatly cultivated and collected for Sara to peruse. Plenty struck her as mistransted or warped by intervening centuries, most amusingly a reference to the "Queen of All the World, even the Engnd", but others were hauntingly familiar. Champions from a thousand years ago made references to the Internet just as readily as some of the most recent Champions, and one of the oldest recorded Champion quotes mentioned the singer Bjork, of all things.

  "Why is that so fascinating to you, Master?" Evie asked as Sara pored over the chapters, transcribing quotes on a piece of scrap paper.

  "Because it means that every Champion is from roughly the same time," Sara answered, marking her third reference to Bjork. Some Champion 2,700 years ago had really liked the singer, she guessed. "Why not take them from different time periods? I get not going into Earth's past, because Chmapions from the 1500s wouldn't have much to distinguish themselves from your world, but why not our future? People from fifty or a hundred years after when I was born would know stuff that makes me look like a caveman. If you're going to steal people away because of their knowledge, why stop at the early 21st century?"

  "What makes you so certain these Champions are from so close in time to you, Master?" Evie inquired, folding her own book. "There are few references to historical events that would adequately date a Champion. Viewed from a distant enough perspective, much of history appears simir."

  "That may be true here," Sara said, "But not on Earth. The technologies and devices that are being repeatedly referenced were invented soon before or even after I was born, yet there's nothing referenced that I don't understand. If someone had been pulled from even twenty years in the future after me, they could have been talking about things that completely baffled me."

  Evie purred thoughtfully as she shimmied her way up Sara's torso, scanning over the list of quotes Sara had collected.

  "Smart-fones, enter net, jumbo jet, moon nding, vee are. Those were all constructed or occurred within your lifetime?"

  "Not all of them. The oldest on that list is the moon nding, I think, and the most recent is VR. Fifty years of my history at best, spread across millennia of yours."

  "And? Why does it bother you so?"

  Sara sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Because, Evie, there must be a reason they're only pulling people from my time. What if that's the furthest my world ever got?"

  Evie's brow creased. "The farthest it ever got? How would an entire world cease to be?"

  "Remember what I said about nukes?" Sara reminded, after checking to make sure the judgmental librarian was nowhere near. "The pnet may still exist, but humanity could be gone. What if I got yanked out of time right before the nukes finally went flying, killing everyone, everywhere?"

  With concerned eyes Evie put a hand on Sara's forearm, pushing the quote list away. Sara looked at her, not bothering to hide the itching anxiety that pressed at the back of her mind.

  "Master." Evie said firmly. "No one knows how the power of the gods works, nor how their Champions are manifested. For all you know, there is but a small pinprick through which they access your world, forever locked in time. To assume that every thinking being was sughtered is..."

  "Ridiculous?"

  "A complete leap in logic. Devoid of evidence, fueled by paranoia. Pointless to wonder about, because there is nothing to be done."

  Sara sighed, slumping. "Alright, fine. I'll try to stop assuming the worst."

  "Thank you."

  Evie reclined once more, ear against Sara's colrbone and chin resting on her left breast. Sara set aside World of the Champions, returning to a more topical summary of Champions and the various powers they dispyed that were beyond mortal capabilities.

  Eventually, when they both got tired of the library's stuffiness, they left for a te lunch. Sara had learned a lot of interesting things, most of them unhelpful. The Champions of Amarat seemed to be the least common, making reports of their abilities appropriately sparse. There were some mentions of Amarat's Champions quelling riots with a word, or securing treaties between nations that had warred for centuries, but nothing like the eborate descriptions the other Champion's powers got. Unlike other Champions, it seemed Sara would never stir up a hurricane with her spear or turn day to night with muttered prayers. She'd just have to discover for herself what she was capable of.

  They ate lunch with Vesta, who seemed positively giddy as she rattled off a prolonged list of her husband's present woes. With his political capital colpsing around his ears and his wife proving cooly unsympathetic, it was seeming less and less likely that Sara and Evie's assistance would be required to oust the poorly liked lord.

  With a few hours to spare before the main event of their day, they headed over to Hurlish's shop. The massive orc hurried to the front as soon as Sara called out her name, hands still caked with ash as she'd stomped up to the counter.

  "How's it going, Sara?" Hurlish asked, breathing hard.

  "Tough day back there?"

  "Hammering some more bck steel," Hurlish expined, shaking out her hands. "That damn stuff takes a pounding, I tell you."

  "Takes after its owner, does it?" Evie smirked.

  Hurlish, who'd used innuendos like punctuation just a few days before, blushed deeply.

  "Oh-- I, well about the other day, I still haven't--"

  "Woah there, Hurlish," Sara said, patting the air calmingly. "It's cool. Shit gets heated, sometimes. I get it. It's no big deal."

  "Good," the orc puffed, out of breath for a new reason, now. "Because I'd definitely like that to not be a one-off. Too much damn fun, you two. And I ain't even got to use the small one properly, yet."

  "You literally had my tongue between your legs," Evie frowned, crossing her arms.

  "You and half the gals in the city, kitty," Hurlish chuckled. "I'm talking proper used."

  "Oh?" Evie raised an eyebrow. "You've seen how rough Sara treats her pythings, Hurlish. If you want to call me 'used' when you're done, you'll need to work hard."

  "I pn on it." The orc cpped her hands, rubbing them together. "Now, were we just gonna flirt or have you got a job for me?"

  "I was looking to get some armor made," Sara said. "Proper custom fit, stylized, the works."

  Hurlish's face fell. "Ah, damn. Sorry to say, gals, but I don't do armor. More interested in openin' people up than keeping 'em together, y'see."

  Sara pouted. "Aw, c'mon. I wanted to be covered in Hurlish by the time we were done."

  "Only one way I can do that, and it's not armor," Hurlish chuckled. "But I do know who you should go to, though."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Old Sammy across the way, 'bout a block down. She's a damn fine armorsmith, best in the city. She'll do you right, I swear it."

  "Do me right? Is she--"

  "Married, happily, and halfway into her seventies. Ain't gonna have any luck there, nymphos. I hear she was a riot back in the day, though."

  "Man," Sara compined, "That's no fun. Isn't there another smoking hot bcksmith in the city that does armor?"

  "Don't think you should be skimpin' on the goods that protect your goods, Sara. Bad investment."

  "I'm more worried about getting a discount. You know I got all dressed up for you, right?" Sara cocked a hip, posing in the hip-hugging leather pants and airy silk blouse that she'd had Vesta's tailor hurriedly stitch together.

  "You think I was givin' you a deal?" Hurlish shook her head bemusedly. "There ain't no way I'm gonna give a gal bumping uglies with Lady Vesta a discount."

  "How do you know that?" Sara frowned. "I never told you about me and Vesta."

  "I ain't dumb. The Champion of Amarat stays at the Vesta estate one night, then starts throwing coin around like it's nothing the next? You got magic hands, girl, and we both know it. Nothing'd convince a tightwad noble like Vesta to pay out like that 'cept you blowing her back out."

  Sara sighed, turning to Evie. "She put that together awfully quick, didn't she? How many others do you think have noticed?"

  "A few of the nobility, maybe," Evie guessed. "While it's obvious you have House Vesta's favor, the more intimate details are difficult to infer without appropriate first hand experience."

  "Let me transte, girlie: unless you've been bangin' other lordly types, you're fine. Not many'd guess you're snging dick so divine it changes lives."

  "Life-changing, eh?" Sara quickly hopped into a different pose, elbows on the counter and chin in her hands. As always, Hurlish's attention went straight down her shirt. "What about your life got changed?" Sara asked.

  "Depends. You staying in Hagos for a while?"

  "Nope," Sara shook her head. "Few more weeks at most, most likely just a few days. Heading further south when we're done here."

  "Then I am too, if you'll let me tag along," Hurlish said.

  "Woah, what?" Sara started, straightening. "You're gonna up and abandon your shop?"

  "If you'll have me."

  "Well you probably guessed that my gut reaction's to say 'that sounds great', but why?"

  "Besides the grade-A fuckin?" Hurlish rolled her shoulders. "I've been in Hagos for near ten years now. Gettin' tired of it, just sitting around, plinking away at the same old crap. There's only so many times a gal can make a pretty stick for a noble that'll never get it wet before she gets discouraged. I figure that if a Champion's going somewhere, it's somewhere interesting. Where my goods'll get more use, if you take both my drifts."

  "You're probably not wrong," Sara said, "But I'd like you to think about it."

  "I have," Hurlish grunted, tone brooking no disagreement.

  "Well. Good, then." Sara turned to Evie. "Are you alright with her coming along?"

  "Will her presence please you, Master?"

  "I mean, yeah. Probably in more ways than one."

  "Then she comes." Evie turned to Hurlish. "I expect you to make good on your promise, though."

  Hurlish saluted zily. "Yes ma'am." To Sara, she said, "You better not leave without me, by the way. I'll find your ass, and it won't be fun when I do."

  Sara batted her eyes. "Oh, mighty Hurlish, whatever would you do to me?"

  "Beat the fuck out of you," the orc grunted. "I don't py with fky types."

  "Oh. Fair enough. This Old Sammy, you said she's down the street?"

  "Yeah. A block down, on the right. I gotta get back to work anyway, so I'll see you two ter."

  "Count on it!" Sara called, watching the orc duck back out of the small box that served as her reception area.

  They found the shop Hurlish had recommended in short order. Old Sammy was almost exactly as described, both old and named Sammy. While the words she used were polite, she wore an expression so stern Sara was certain her libido had died with the dinosaurs. After taking measurements and asking for design specifications, they'd been sent on their way. Describing what she had in mind to someone who could have made a decent bid for the role of Granny Rags was certainly an experience, but it was one Sara forged through. She even made Evie wait outside after the catgirl had her own measurements taken, so Sara's surprise wouldn't be ruined. Their business concluded, she and Evie had just enough time to snag food from Vesta's kitchens before heading out.

  ----------------------------------------------

  Sara had a bounce in her step and an eager grin on her face as she listened to the sound of cshing steel and furious screams. As she stepped down the celr entrance to an underground complex the sounds grew crisper, closer, and when she shoved the door open they burst to vivid life.

  A man at a front desk shouted something over the din, but Sara was far too captivated by the sights beyond him to pay him any mind.

  Nine pits were dug seven feet into the floor of massive celr, each containing two sweat-soaked combatants. The stone roof was low, less than ten feet, and the entire floor sloped gradually downward. It was clear that this had originally been the basement for some business or another, then dug out and expanded. Wooden pilrs littered with carved graffiti supported the roof in random spots. Shabby bleachers surrounded the nearest fight pit, the crowd there roaring in excitement.

  Standing on her toes to see, Sara watched as a fleetfooted elven woman twirled her thin bde around the heavy two-handed axe wielded by a half-orc man. Every time the half orc's weapon impacted the pit's wall or floor there was a spray of shrapnel, scattering stones among a cheering crowd. Both weapons were enchanted to keep the match technically bloodless, but the spell didn't consider inanimate objects. The elven woman hadn't yet allowed a single blow on herself as she maneuvered away or beneath each brutal swing, silvery slippers gliding across broken cobblestones. Both were shirtless, and the woman hadn't bothered to bind her small breasts, which certainly earned her a few extra fans among the watching men and women. Her weapon seemed to Sara's eyes to carve eborate trails as it flew, white afterimage painting glyphs in the air as she peppered her opponent with small blows.

  That all ended when the elf woman overextended ever so slightly, caught just beyond her reach. The half-orc's axe connected with her chin in a brutal uppercut, pale protective magic fring. The elf's neck snapped back as a gnarly bruise blossomed, the definitive sign of an ended fight. The crowd immediately grew riotous, jumping up from the wooden bleachers to boo and cheer.

  "Ma'am!" The man at the desk shouted for the whatever-th time, finally garnering Sara's attention. "There's no watching for free!"

  Sara stepped up to the desk, getting close so she didn't have to shout so loud.

  "I'm here to fight, not watch."

  And that was the full truth, for once. Sara had learned about about the illegal fighting ring from the Quartermaster's quest list, but Sara sure as hell wasn't interested in putting a stop to it like she was supposed to. Sure, she could have sparred with Vesta's hired men, but where was the fun in that? If she wanted to find opponents that'd surprise her, this was the pce.

  "A fighter, eh? Should have a pit opening up in a bit. What's your weapon, and what're you looking to fight?"

  "Shortsword or greatsword I've got with me, but I can fight with anything, and I'll fight anything. Tryna get some fightin' experience against the weird shit, y'feel me?"

  "Aye," the man said, making a note on a fresh sheet of paper. He whistled loud, summoning someone else, who took the sheet away. "Fighter's go to the room over on the back right 'till you get sorted out." He leaned to the side, eyeing Evie. "Your sve gonna fight, too?"

  "Maybe ter," Evie replied, "For now I'll just watch."

  "Aye. Entry fee is-- oh, yeah, that's enough," he said as Evie dropped a smattering of coins on the desk. "Back right now, off you go."

  Sara made her way around the room's edge, soaking in the sights. There was a furred hyena beastkin repeatedly bashing a poleaxe into a human's shield, the man steadily shoved back as he failed to counter a flurry flung from every direction. Sara moved on before she saw the match's conclusion, but she knew where it was heading. In the next pit two weaponless human women were duking it out, both of their bodies decorated in bruises. Sara wondered how that was safe, considering weapons could be safely ensorcelled in ways bodies couldn't, but as the two women broke apart she got her answer. Wraps on their knuckles, elbows, knees, and feet were glowing with enchantment light, protecting both themselves and their opponent from potentially lethal blows. By the smack of impact, though, any blow that wouldn't be debilitating wasn't dulled, so most of their strikes were real as could be.

  "This is fucking awesome!" Sara hollered to Evie.

  "It does look rather entertaining, Master," the catgirl called back. "I think I'll fight as well. It's been too long since I had a proper training bout."

  Sara found the door fighters were supposed to go in as a beastly full blooded orc stepped out of it, having to bow their head in the low-ceiling room. Sara gave them a friendly wave as she skirted past, entering the fighter's den.

  Sara felt a brief burst of vertigo as she stepped into what looked for all the world like a normal gym locker room. White tile covered the floors and walls, thin metal lockers rounding their way around the room's edge. A half-circle wooden bench was poputed by two other fighters, one undressing for a fight, one getting ready to leave. The room was far quieter than the pits outside, soundproofed impressively well.

  "You ever been to a pce like this?" Sara asked Evie as she sat before an unused locker.

  "You know the answer to that perfectly well, Master."

  "Hey, y'never know. For all I know your crazy ass mercenary trainer sent you to somewhere like this to train."

  "He was paid well enough to bring the fights to me, not the other way around. And this pce hardly has enough room for the menagerie he pit me against."

  "Oh yeah?" Sara shucked her shirt off. "What's the biggest thing he had you fight?"

  "A hippopotamus," Evie immediately answered. "And I never got the chance to finally beat it before my mother discovered my training." Evie's lip curled. "May the damnable hag rot in the depths."

  Sara went into a coughing fit, choking on her own spit. While that was a tame curse by anyone's standards, it was still the most direct insult she'd ever heard out of Evie's mouth.

  "You're mad about it?" Sara asked rhetorically.

  "I was this close to finally defeating it, Master," Evie fumed. "The damned beast and I fought eight, nine times, I believe? Always to a draw, the most infuriating of conclusions possible for a fight. It crushed my leg on our first exchange, while I'd managed to put one of its eyes out by the sixth fight. I feel certain I would have killed it the next time we fought, but no, Mother just had to have her perfect little courtesan of a daughter, not meant for skills such as that."

  "That's pretty--"

  "Never mind the fact that I'd perfectly executed every courtly task she put before me to that point, which clearly demonstrated that my practice with the rapier didn't hinder my other studies in the slightest. I think she just thought it was improper, or perhaps that I was drawing too close to independence, which would rankle her sensibilities to no end, of course."

  Sara and the other fighters in the room shared a look as Evie barreled on, growing louder.

  "To think that she wasn't even aware of how many eyes I could draw with a bde on my hip, not just one of her favored tight dresses. Honestly, Master, if you hadn't gotten rid of her first, her own illogical prejudices would have done the job soon enough, as she was clearly too blind to take note of-- of..."

  Evie's rant trailed off as she realized there were three sets of eyes on her, not just one. One of the other fighters, a scaled woman with yellow eyes, raised a fist in solidarity.

  "Ay, fuck your mom."

  "Yeah, fuck that bitch!" The other fighter decred, a barrel chested man with graying hair.

  Ears flipping back and tail pressed ft, Evie actually blushed.

  "She was rather contemptible, yes," she whispered, shoulders raised to hide her face.

  "Oh my god," Sara breathed. "You've literally offered to be fucked in the middle of the street, Evie, and this is what gets you shy?"

  "I should have better control of my impulses, Master," she insisted, sitting down with her back to the other fighters.

  "I don't know if you should," Sara said. "Your mom sucked so much ass that I had her beheaded. That's not a person you need to keep your emotions about bottled up."

  The other two fighters stared at one another now, eyes bugged out.

  "Yes, well, still. My frustrations got the better of me."

  Sara didn't think so, but she didn't push the point. She just asked the other fighters where she could find some wraps to bind her chest. The burly man tossed her some from his bag, then pointed her to the undry hamper where she could grab a pair of shorts. The rules apparently necessitated showing as much skin as was reasonable, to ensure that any hits or bruises couldn't be hidden.

  In only a few short minutes a young man ducked his head in the room, asking for the 'human shortsword fighter'. Sara raised her hand, pulling her sword from its sheath. At the sight of the shining bck steel, the man's nose wrinkled.

  "Magical weapons aren't allowed in the pits, just like spells," he said. "We don't want rich folk getting unfair advantages. Makes for bad fights. You'll have to use a loaner bde."

  "It doesn't give me an advantage," Sara said, flipping the bde out to its full length. "It only opens and closes. I'll keep it in one mode or the other for the fight."

  He sniffed, stepping into the room to inspect the bde. Sara had no idea what he was looking for, but his eyes fshed yellow as she held it up to him, so she guessed he knew more than her.

  "Alright. Activating its enchantments during the fight will disqualify you, understand?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Then come with me. I'm the fight coordinator. You'll be in Pit Three, fighting Savannah Shakash. Your name?"

  "Sara."

  "Not a particurly exciting moniker. Crowd likes a story with their fight, gets the bets going when they pick favorites."

  "Evie?" Sara asked as they weaved through the crowds. "Got a suggestion?"

  "Sara the Switch?" Evie suggested. "It works well. Your bde changes, it calls to mind the image of a whip, and Hurlish definitely made you her-"

  "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Sara said. "Sara the Switch it is."

  The man chuckled as he made a note on a clipboard, then pointed at the nearest fighting pit.

  "That's your opponent. Hop down when you're ready."

  "Evie, if you don't mind?"

  The catgirl nodded, holding her hands up to Sara's bde. A white light began to accent its edges as she muttered an incantation, the same kind that she had when Sara had dueled the catgirl several weeks back. It took her a solid minute of muttering to complete it, far from the split-second casting one might expect from a proper mage.

  Sara gave the weapon a few twirls once the spell was finished, making sure its bance wasn't effected. It felt identical in her hand, perfect as always. The spell itself lent the weapon a glowing after image.

  Rolling her shoulders, Sara began walking towards the fighting pit. Her heart started to pound, electric adrenaline beginning its tentative trickle through her veins.

  Sara had chosen to be Amarat's Champion because she believed in diplomatic solutions. She pced a deep and abiding ideological emphasis on peaceful conclusions for wars and conflicts, and the goddess had promised to be her best path to achieving those worthy goals.

  But on a personal level?

  Sara fuckin' loved fighting.

  There was something about it, something's she'd never been able to define. The pop of fists cracking into chins had always got her blood boiling, even when she'd just been a ratchet little kid from the bad side of town. She'd loved the smack of an elbow to the ribs, and had even felt heady satisfaction when her own cheek got turned around by thrown knuckles. Now that she'd found herself in a world of swords and arrows instead of cops and guns, she'd found a new addiction.

  The bleachers of Sara's fighting pit weren't too full, but that didn't matter. She could hear their jostling shouts, the shoves and barked profanities as drunken idiots spilled beer all over themselves. She breathed deep of the molded air, beginning a slow shift of her weight from foot to foot. Left to the right, right to the left, swaying, eyes closed.

  Beyond her little bubble, there was the music. The cng and csh of metal, steel tested against steel. Wooden thumps impacting unyielding flesh, and the roar of approval the blows summoned. She heard the hiss of serrations sliding against serrations, bdes twisting as they tried to find a way to slip into bloody flesh.

  Left to right, right to left, Sara picked up the pace, until she was bouncing from foot to foot, rolling her neck, working out the little cricks in her joints that didn't matter at any other time. Her heart roared with the crowd, thudding, pounding.

  With a goosebump-raising shiver her eyes snapped open, the world now inked by a fine tip pen. She stomped through the crowd, ignorant of the feral grin splitting her lips.

  The fight coordinator, having watched this dispy, turned to Evie.

  "Oh, goody. She's one of those. Shakash is about to get fucked, isn't he?"

  "Royally."

  "I'll get the healers."

  The tip of Sara's boots hooked on the pit edge, both knees bending before straightening in a fsh, throwing her out into the air.

  Her nding threw a spray of sand into the air as the sparse crowd rippled, discussions beginning.

  The coordinator stepped up on the wall behind her, a cone pressed to his lips.

  "The next fight is soon to begin!" He cried, a booming voice rolling forth that hardly seemed to fit the methodical man Sara had been introduced to. "Betting counters are behind the bleachers, with two minutes given to bet as sooooon as I introduce our fighters!"

  With a dramatic flourish he flung a hand at the fighter across from Sara.

  "He fought yesterday and he'll fight tomorrow, but most importantly of all, he's fighting today! With more time in the pits than any other, it's none other than your favorite gnoll, Savannah Shakash!"

  The crowd cheered as the gnollish man raised his arms, snarling out a wide grin. His body, obviously meant to be covered by thick fur, wasn't. So many scars littered his flesh that his pelt looked like someone had knifed a dozen games of tic-tac-toe across his skin, pale bumps overid and interwoven. Several of his teeth had been repced with silvery caps, sharpened to a razor tip. Both of his eyes were surrounded by the tender pink flesh that Sara had come to associate with the afterproduct of healing magic, implying that he'd had them gouged out in the recent past.

  "Facing him is a newcomer to the Nine Pits, a woman of beauty and stature whose skill we've yet to see..." Sara raised her sword into the air as the coordinated called her name, "Sara the Switch! She fights with shortsword, she fights with greatsword, she'll fight with anything you hand her! Switch that she is, I'm excited to see who comes on top tonight!"

  The crowd's reaction was a satisfying smatter of ughter and specution, anyone with money still left to bet studying Sara like an exhibit in the zoo.

  Sara wasn't the Champion of Amarat for nothing. In a heartbeat she breathed in the scent of stale beer, eyes scanning the faces of men and women around her, evaluating their demeanor, dress, reason for being here, and compiling the information to determine an exacting image of what they wanted to see.

  Before the announcer could direct the crowd to the betting booths she snapped her sword open, turning the 30 inch bde into a five foot greatsword. She unched into an eborate flourish, spinning the bde about her head before tucking it down, white afterimages surrounding her in a haze. With a series of sshes the tip of the bde sshed through stone and sand alike, scoring curved lines into the mortarwork until the wall behind her looked like modern art. The crowd quieted as they watched, captivated. Sara finished her dispy by bringing the sword down in an overhead blow as the bde colpsed, tip leveled at the throat of the gnoll across from her.

  "...and with that, the betting's on!" The announcer eventually shouted. "Down to your left and down to your right, folks, no minimum and no maximum! Pce 'em now and pce 'em quick, 'cause it's two minutes to fight time!"

  The crowd immediately began to hurry down the bleachers, scribbling on provided papers their bet. They spped them down with their coin on the betting table counters, hurrying back to find a good seat. As Sara stared at the gnoll she'd be fighting, the crowd began to grow, word spreading of the new fighter and her strange cims.

  "Mighty long shortsword you got there," the gnoll called to her, striding across the sands. Sara closed the gap, still grinning.

  "I hear that a lot, big boy," Sara said, "Don't worry. If it's too big for you I can start slow."

  Shakash hacked out a ragged ugh. "I like you, Switch. You gonna fight fair?"

  "Hell no," Sara spat to the side, "And I'll be pissed if you do. I don't want to win cause you was being gentlemanly."

  "Oh, we gonna get along, human," he ughed again. "Just make sure you keep up, yeah?"

  "Right back at you."

  They went back to their own sides, waiting for the fight to begin. Each pit was a twenty by twenty foot square, giving a fight plenty of room to maneuver, but maintained an everpresent threat of ending up with your back to the wall. Sara, despite her pumping adrenaline, tried to do her best to study her opponent.

  His weapon was a messer, though how Sara knew that name she had no idea. It looked like an oversized knife, long and thin, made for sshing and stabbing. Its crossguard was a ft and simple iron beam, and its handle was undecorated. If Sara had to guess, it was one of the loaner weapons she'd been offered. Decently made, but without fre.

  Her own custom piece, which she usually called a shortsword, gave her a small advantage. Its palm and a half handle lent her greater reach, amplified by the few extra inches of bde. Unfortunately, because of the split-V back, it wouldn't be as adept at stabbing, encouraging her to stick to sshes alone.

  "Aaaaand... bets are done!" The announcer cried, prompting a few curses from te comers. "The fight begins in ten, nine..."

  Sara cracked her knuckles, taking up a saber's stance. Judging by the strange look Shakash gave her, it wasn't one he was familiar with. She stood with right foot ahead of her left, offhand tucked to her waist. The sword floated before her in an upright position, ready to be swung from the wrist as much as the shoulder.

  "Three, two... One! FIGHT!"

  Sara flew forward across the sands, barely still in her stance as she eagerly closed the gap.

  Shakash met her with just as much fervor, bde forward and offhand tucked to his chest.

  The gnoll unched the first attack, immediately stabbing for the throat. Sara flicked her wrist and twisted her hips, knocking the messer off course, and then swung for his armpit.

  Shakash's offhand shoved her arm away, trying to grab it. If they'd been wearing clothes his cws likely would have snagged her, but instead they only scored bloody lines across her skin.

  The crowd roared. Sara's blood soared.

  They flew into one another, snarling and snapping with grunts of effort as their bdes cshed. A swing from below scored a neat line across her ribs, answered by a backhanded bash to his offhand's elbow. Boots tossed sand as they circled around one another, cries of delight urging her on from a still-burgeoning crowd.

  It was clear from the opening exchange that Sara was the better fighter, at least technically, but there was more to the contest than technique. Sara had been imbued with a fwless understanding of every weapon's fundamentals, but only the fundamentals. Her stance was perfect, her swings textbook, but she had nothing beyond that.

  Savannah Shakash, in contrast, swung with wild abandon, more at home in the pits than he was on the streets above. He punched and kicked as often as he swung, constantly testing at her in a dozen ways that Sara's memorized skills had no answer to.

  A foot tried to hook around her ankle, something that she just avoided, only to find a fist nding in her gut, followed up by a swing blurring for her ribs. She parried the sword, but stumbled back, saved from sprawling ft only by the wall she nded against.

  The crowd roared, smelling blood in the water.

  Shakash began stabbing feverishly, treating the messer like the knife it resembled. Sara rolled down and to the side, just barely escaping being pinned to the wall. As she went she flung a blind swipe, nothing close to a proper tactic, but something her body threw out instinctually.

  The crowd roared even louder as Sara popped back up, waiting for the counterattack. She blinked, confused, until she realized Shakash had dropped his weapon, howling as he clutched his knee.

  I hit him? Sara thought, confused. She held her bde up to look for blood, then remembered that there wouldn't be any.

  "Coming on top after all, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat in her very first match... Sara the Switch!"

  Disappointed cries rippled through the crowd, nearly drowned out by much fewer but utterly ecstatic screams. She hadn't been the favorite to win, it seemed, but she'd done it all the same. Sara could tell that her upset made a certain group of betters a hell of a lot richer, by the way they trampled their fellows in the rush to go grab their rewards.

  Sara betedly threw her fists in the air, roaring her victory. She sauntered over to the loudest group of detractors, shaking her fists as they jeered and insulted her goodnaturedly, wild gestures throwing beer over her. She turned to the group of excited people heading to snag their rewards, showing off with a bouncing chest shimmy as her bindings got soaked. Sara ughed in delight.

  As the high receded, she realized the announcer was trying to get her attention at the edge of the pit. He was waving her over, Evie standing beside him with a towel. She tore her bindings off as she went, baring her chest with a mad grin.

  "Good fight," the man said simply, dropping a bag of coin down to her. "Your share of the bets."

  Sara barely felt the bag's heft before she tossed it back up to Evie, who quickly tucked it away. Her sve tossed the towel down, which she'd thoughtfully wetted with cold water. Sara began wiping away the beer before it started sticking.

  "Anyone else lined up for me to fight?" Sara called up, breathing heavily.

  "Not yet. I normally wait to see if the fighter wishes to continue after a match."

  "Hell yeah I wanna keep going! Keep 'em coming, that was fuckin' great!" Sara shouted, not caring how wild her eyes looked. Fighting, for real, without any restrictions and no threat of consequences? The Nine Pits Celr was starting to feel like the rankest hall of Valhal, like Sara'd somehow stumbled into a magical nd where she could drink and fight for as long as she wanted.

  "And were you serious about fighting with 'whatever' weapon your opponent chooses?"

  "I've only got the greatsword and shortsword for myself, but if you give me something to swing, I'll swing it."

  "Hm." The man's quill skirted down his clipboard, mental gears spinning. "Alright. I'll see what we can do, if you really think you can keep fighting. I'll line up two extra fights for now."

  -----------------------------------

  Six Hours Later

  -----------------------------------

  Sara was having the time of her life. She was brought opponent after opponent, men and women of every size from every walk of life. With the enchantments on her weapons she could swing with wild abandon, not concerning herself with accidentally maiming someone in a friendly match. Sara'd taken up MMA for a few weeks back on Earth, which she'd loved, but after accidentally breaking her opponent's nose because of an accidental illegal swing she'd called it quits.

  There was no such concern in the Nine Pits. All her opponents went all out, and she went all out too, collecting bruises like trophies. Evie constantly had to remind her that she'd come here to learn, because Sara kept getting distracted, adding flourishes to her swings for the hell of it and riling up the crowd. It was the most fun she'd had out of bed in months.

  The crowd roared as Sara's test opponent dropped their massive zweihander, wrist already blossoming with a massive bruise. Sara spread her arms wide as she walked up to a particur section of the bleachers, poputed by a crowd of smiling jeerers who immediately flung an ocean of beer at her. She held her tongue out, catching some of it in her mouth, then jogged back over to the betting booths, where a much rger group had started up an eager chant.

  "Rip it! Rip it! Rip it!"

  Sara held up a hand, as if contempting whether or not she should, then tore her bindings off in a fsh. The people that had just won money off her victory seemed less excited by the coin than the sight of her tits, which she showed off with a dancing shake.

  A chair thumped to the sands behind her, Evie hopping down behind. Sara'd begun to have the Nine Pits staff give her a pce to rest between bouts, not bothering to leave the pit itself. She stepped over to a particurly happy-looking woman holding a pail of cold water by the sidelines, who dumped it on her as soon as she arrived. That done, Sara dropped into the chair, Evie sidling up behind her.

  "Your response to the uppercut was abysmal, Master," Evie immediately chided, reaching down to massage Sara's naked shoulders. They both ignored the crowd's wolf-whistles. "Your opponent failed to capitalize, but they could have easily ended the match there."

  "I know, I know, I thought I was done for sure," Sara said, melting into the catgirl's touch.

  Bruises littered Sara's body in discolored splotches, big and small, thin and wide. She'd won probably sixty percent of her matches thus far, an impressive record for a beginner, but not one that left her unmarred from the night. She could only fathom how sore she'd be in the morning, but for right now, the heady high of success was keeping her going.

  She'd come to the Nine Pits to learn how to fight dirty, and fight dirty she absolutely had. Her eyes were red from sand being thrown in them near constantly, and half her bruises were from headbutts and elbows, rather than weapons. The st few matches had been getting harder and harder, word spreading around to the fighters that she was vulnerable to dirty tricks and surprise changeups.

  She was far from the best fighter in the joint, as proven when she'd been utterly trounced after a long winning streak had attracted the attention of some of the Pit's real talent. Her just-better-than-even victory record was less a testament to her talents than it was the Fight Coordinator's skill at finding equally matched opponents. Despite her regur losses, with the way Sara worked the crowd she was quickly becoming the most popur fighter of the night.

  "What should I have done instead?" Sara asked.

  "Step back as soon as the attack had passed you. Just because your opponent misses their initial swing doesn't mean it's your chance to strike. The most talented of swordsmen will always have a plethora of follow-ups pnned for a missed swing, and not all of them are defensive."

  "Got it. Gotta fight more defensively, especially when they're good."

  "No," Evie chastised, fingers digging in at a shoulder knot. "You should always fight cautiously. Never assume your opponent is anything less than your better, so you will always be prepared for the unexpected."

  Sara nodded, groaning as she melted into Evie's touch. The fights were growing more borious, and it probably wouldn't be long before she called it quits.

  "You think I've got one more in me?" Sara asked.

  "I believe so, Master. And it seems your next match is rather eagerly anticipated."

  "Alright. What are the weapons?"

  "Greatsword."

  Sara straightened slightly. Pretty much every fighter she'd squared off against had chosen dueling weapons, the kind useful in the semi-cramped quarters of the Pits. She'd fought with shortened spears, maces, daggers, and shortswords most of all, but a greatsword?

  "Finally. I've been wanting to have a proper all-out fight like that."

  "Excellent. Here she is now." Evie pointed over Sara's shoulder, indicating a human woman taller than Sara. Willowy and very dark-skinned, she carried an unsheathed greatsword in both hands, holding it out like a waitress delivering a meal. Her chest was wrapped by a purpose-built leather binder, squeezing her to the point of seeming discomfort. Tight twin dreads ran all the way from her forehead to fall against her shoulderbdes, swaying as she walked.

  And, Sara noted, she had a colr on. Just like Evie's, it glowed faintly with runes. Sara took a closer eye to the man walking beside her, dressed in finely tailored but simply styled clothing, just a touch overweight. His wrist had a band that matched Sara's, clinging tightly to his skin, as if it had been welded in pce.

  "Ah," Evie intoned, noting the same thing Sara had. "Will this next bout be complicated, Master?"

  "Probably."

  "I'll prepare accordingly."

  Sara shrugged off Evie's hands, standing up. The catgirl quickly bound her breasts with a fresh set of cloth wraps before darting away. A pair of Pit employees hopped down to lift the wooden lounge chair out of the arena, which Sara helped them with. In moments the dueling sands were cleared, leaving her awaiting her opponent.

  Whispers began to spread among the crowd as soon as Sara casually flipped out her sword, not bothering with the usual pomp and circumstance she had the rest of the night. Sara's deadeyed stare at her approaching opponent had more and more people rushing to the betting booths, an excited buzz rippling through the room. Some probably thought this was going to be the fight where she finally got serious, while others may have thought she was afraid.

  In reality, Sara was only trying to keep her eyes off the woman's owner. He sat on the bottom row of the bleachers to Sara's left. He handed a bag of coin to an attendant, a young boy who scurried off to pce a bet for him. A space quickly cleared as a pair of guards sat down beside him, both wearing bck-painted metal cuirasses and openfaced helmets.

  Sara dragged her eyes back to her opponent, who dropped to the sands. Even as the announcer began his usual spiel, describing the two fighters, Sara moved forward.

  The sve met her in the middle, staring down at Sara. She'd guess the woman was an inch or two above six feet tall, giving her a not inconsiderable reach advantage over Sara.

  "We will fight," the woman said, words lilting to a strange, vaguely mediterranean accent. "I don't wish to hurt you, so I hope you are skilled."

  "Your owner over there," Sara replied, stepping closer so there was no chance of being overheard, "Does he treat you well?"

  Vile hate filled the woman's face as she said, "My Master is a kind and giving lord. I would wish him no ill."

  "Alright. I think I can read between the lines there." Sara pnted her sword in the sand between them, as if issuing some dramatic challenge, while her voice stayed kind and quiet. "I don't know if you've got any pre-built orders rattling around, so I'm not going to say any specifics, but when things start getting crazy? Do your best to follow the letter of his orders, not the spirit."

  The woman's eyes fshed, her mouth starting to open. But she said nothing. Sara could tell she wanted to, but another order kept the words choked off. Pressing her lips into a thin seal, the woman nodded and stepped away.

  Sara took her pce back on the sands, watching Evie through the corner of her eye. The catgirl had begun inching around the arena edge, moving closer and closer to the sve owner and his two guards.

  A part of Sara lived for drama, she knew that, an aspect of her personality Amarat's blessings had turbo-charged. And right now that part of her wanted to start the duel, cshing furiously for the crowd, only to valiantly break away, decring in a holier-than-thou tone that svery should never be tolerated. Then she'd charge the sve owner and his guard, cutting them all down in a flurry of blows.

  But a woman's life was on the line. Sara was worn out, nearing exhaustion, and while fury-born adrenaline may hide that for a time, it would do nothing for her wounds. So she waited, watching, as Evie casually crept closer.

  The announcer had just begun his countdown when Evie judged her distance near enough, silvery rapier appearing in her hand.

  Sara broke into a sprint.

  The closest guard turned to Evie in arm, starting to draw his own weapon, but he was too slow. Evie's rapier unched for the gap in his lightweight breastpte, impaling him in the left armpit. Her bde briefly shone up from the right side of his neck, then slipped out, arterial blood spraying nearby spectators. The guard dropped, dead.

  Sara hit the wall in a running leap just as the other guard hauled his charge back, answering Evie's lunge with a swipe of his arming sword.

  Sara began hauling herself up the wall as a new kind of scream broke out among the crowd, shrill and terrified.

  "Get over here and help me!" The man yelled to his sve, who was still standing passively in the middle of the dueling sands.

  Sara hauled herself up, brandishing her sword as she began shoving through the crowd. She'd expected Evie to cut down the man and his guards in a fsh, Sara only required for backup as the chaos evolved, but that wasn't how things were pying out. The bck-garbed guard was proving exceptional with his bde, the first time Sara had seen Evie being forced onto the defensive. As Sara broke through the crowd, nearing the overweight man, she was confronted by her second surprise.

  The sve owner had produced a glowing weapon of his own, a gem-encrusted longsword with a twisting hilt. This weapon was clearly enchanted, and not for training. He held it with familiarity and confidence, watching with cold eyes as Sara charged him.

  Sara's first thought was to begin with an overhead jab, feinting into a downward swing, her impnted instincts telling her that it was the exact right way to leverage her advantage in momentum and reach considering the circumstances.

  But Sara had just spent hours fighting in the pits, and she knew that her opponent was expecting exactly that sequence of swings. Sara was tired, and what's more, she was angry. So she didn't bother with that eborate crap.

  Taking her greatsword in both hands, sprinting even faster, Sara spun around in a sweeping swing aimed to cleave the man from side to side.

  A fsh of surprise showed before he moved his longsword to block, the paunch of his beergut too great to allow him to duck the horribly telegraphed attack. He braced a forearm against the ft of the bde, teeth gritted for the impact.

  With a screech of steel and awful shock, her bck bde smmed into the glowing longsword.

  The sve owner was thrown back by the force of it, stumbling away, while Sara recoiled to the right, trying to correct her momentum. She skidded to a stop just as the man's sve appeared, eyes wide and unconcerned.

  "What assistance do you require, Master?" She asked.

  Sputtering, eyes bulging with rage, he flung a finger at Sara.

  "Kill--"

  His order was cut off by the thudding impact of a cobble brick against his sternum. Sara was close behind, sword raised high.

  She didn't give him a chance to shout another order, her guillotine swing raining down from on high.

  Just as he raised his sword to deflect the blow, Sara shouted, "Taze!"

  Electricity crackled off her bde as it hit, met by fshes of blinding light from the longsword. Sara watched two spells collide as if in slow motion, arcs of blinding blue meeting white spears. A crackling, popping boil filled the heat-warped air, waves of shimmering power rolling between the two weapons.

  Then, in an instant, it all disappeared.

  Sara recovered quicker than her opponent, immediately smming her sword into his ribs. Unfortunately, still enchanted to protect as it was, the blow was softened.

  So Sara reached a hand forward and tore the man's longsword out of his hand, not caring about the burning cut its edge tore across her palm.

  He tried to shout something else, but Sara punched him in the mouth, taking him to the floor. She rode him down, straddling his chest, knees pinning his arms to the stone. He bit at her palm as she shoved it over his mouth and nose, thrashing wildly.

  Sara smmed her sword's pommel down into his forehead. It struck with a fsh of light, enchantment saving his skull from being crushed. So Sara hit him again, and then again, each time with a fsh of light. Then she threw the weapon in disgust, finding another loose cobblestone and snatching it up.

  "Disgusting!"

  Sara smmed the brick down.

  "Fucking!"

  Swung again. Something crunched under Sara's hand.

  "Sver!"

  Swung again. Blood sprays reached the ceiling. Sara took the brick in both hands, mindless fury tearing from her throat as she brought her hands down.

  A man became a corpse.

  Sara shoved herself off the body, looking for Evie, and her weapon, in that order. She spotted Evie standing before the man's guard, weapon raised while her free hand pointed to Sara. The guard gnced over, saw the scattered remains of his charge's skull, and fled.

  Sara lifted her sword off the ground, shaking it in frustration. It still glowed white, the spell preventing it from being actually useful.

  "Be careful, Master," Evie called as she jogged over, pointing to something at Sara's feet. Sara gnced down to see the man's wristband snapped open, resting on the stones beside the corpse.

  "What now?" She asked Evie as they met up. "Do I just pick it up and we run?"

  Most of the audience had emptied out, but now there was a growing cluster of bouncer types at the entrance, some of the fighters mixed in with them. Sara didn't know what they were waiting for, but she had a feeling it probably wasn't great for her.

  "If you touch it, you own her, Master."

  "Ah, shit," Sara swore, hopping back from the bracelet like it was a snake. "Does that work for anyone?"

  "Yes."

  Sara looked at the guards, then at the sve woman, and hung her head.

  "So we can't run, not without letting some random person own her, and we can't pick it up ourselves. Fuck." Sara ran a hand through her hair, looking at the woman all this had been for. "Well? Why haven't you said anything?"

  "Master did not allow me to speak unless spoken to," she answered.

  "What a bastard," Sara spat. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

  "I know not. There seems no good choice."

  Sara began pacing, keeping an eye on the guards across the empty celr. They were at the far end of the chamber, a hundred yards away, watching her.

  "You could pick up the band without anything going wrong, right?" Sara tried. "So you could pick it up, we head to the ocean and get on a ship, then you toss it overboard. No one will ever find it again."

  Evie shook her head sadly. "Then she would never be free of her old Master's commands. Anything he'd ever told her to do, she'd still be compelled to follow. Trapped in the shadow of a dead man."

  "Fuck." Sara gred at the bracelet, mind racing. The woman stepped forward, looking like she wanted to say something. "Go ahead," Sara said.

  "I must have an owner. It is the curse I bear. There is no way around this."

  "That can't be true," Sara insisted. "You've basically got no owner right now, right? If we can just..."

  "Sara," Evie said kindly, putting a hand on her arm. "The colrs were divine punishments. Handed down for millennia, used all the while, yet unscathed to this day. If there was a way to break them, it would have happened by now."

  "Fuck!" Sara repeated, tearing at her hair. "That's bullshit! There's gotta be a way to not py into this stupid fucking trope, right?" She turned to the woman. "C'mon, you've probably spent forever thinking about a way out, right?"

  The woman shook her head. "All I hoped for was a kind owner, one day." She turned to the assembled fighters and bodyguards, who were beginning to march over. "Take the bracelet, Sara," the woman whispered. "I would rather be owned by someone who kills svers than a gdiator."

  Sputtering, spitting, fuming with profanities, Sara bent down and seized the bracelet. As soon as her finger grazed the surface it fshed, turning to golden smoke. A small tornado sucked into Sara's original wristband, the runes there fshing brightly.

  "You don't have to follow any of your old master's commands," Sara snapped immediately. She was about to say something else when the woman tipped forward, passing out on the spot. Sara dove to catch her, halting her fall before she cracked her head against the ground. Sara gently id her down as the group finally reached her.

  "Well, this has certainly been an interesting evening," a voice said. Bulky half-naked gdiators stepped aside, revealing a richly dressed woman. She wore a fancy gown and some other bullshit Sara didn't care about in the moment.

  "Alright, dy, here's how this is gonna go," Sara growled, interrupting whatever pre-prepared monologue she was about to be subjected to. "I don't give a shit about your business, or your profits, or whatever trouble I brought your way. All I want to do is take this dy, leave, and never come back. The money I made you tonight probably paid twice over for whatever damages you're gonna try and cim, and this pce is too popur to be secret, so I know the city guard isn't gonna investigate shit. So that means I'm either gonna leave now, peacefully, or me and my two sves are gonna see how many people we can kill until we die with you." Sara snapped her sword out, holding it out to Evie, who disenchanted the bde with a waved hand. "So which is it?"

  The woman put a finger to her lips, thinking. "The first one," she decided. "Get out of my sight."

  "Good."

  With Evie taking the woman's legs and Sara her shoulders, they began making their way to the Nine Pit's exit.