Flynn was twisted and turned, was pushed and pulled as he experienced first-hand what food must have felt like going down the throat. Or maybe a remedial course on what it must have felt like being born. Ugh. That was not the comparison he needed in mind to make the experience any more tolerable.

  Thanks, mind.

  Fortunately for him, the journey proved mercifully shorter than it’d been the last time, and for the second time within a single twenty-four-hour period, Flynn was spat out of a fleshy chute like a turd down the bowl.

  This time though, Flynn was both better prepared and better equipped for the violent ejection and managed to land mostly on his feet. He stumbled on the landing a bit, but all-in-all he’d have scored himself an eight out of ten for grace.

  It took him a second to find his bearings again, and another to register the blare of his Monster Sense against the frame of his mind. Not that he needed the warning. The monsters made no attempt to hide themselves from him.

  A dozen paper-white humanoid creatures surrounded him within a small but well-lit underground cavern. White surrounded him in every direction, the red of the fleshy earth having given way to walls of bound roots that he guessed stemmed from the mushrooms above.

  The creatures themselves blended well into their pale surroundings. They were diminutive, the creatures, and maybe only five feet tall at the most, with disproportionately larger hands, heads and feet than their torsos. Their hair ranged from black to shades of grey, but their eyes were dark one and all. A pitch black, lightless black that glared at him with undisguised hostility. They almost looked like an otherworld version of Gollum, but less ugly and less balding.

  At least they had a better fashion sense. The group all wore rough-spun cloth robes of – surprise, surprise - grey and black which made for a very eclectic look. It made him feel like he’d fallen into a black-and-white flick from the twenties, given how much white and grey he was surrounded by.

  A medieval fantasy flick, probably, given how they were all armed with crude and exceptionally pointy spears that they kept pointed uncomfortably close to his neck.

  Was this the point where the hero shot off a witty one-liner? He considered it, but abandoned that thought when one of them inched their spear closer as he shifted, and he winced from the proximity. No one liners here. No escape either, possibly.

  Fighting his way through them would be tricky, if he was forced to do so. The fact that they had actual weapons and clothes meant that they were intelligent, which was both good and bad.

  Bad because it made them that much more dangerous, and good because the hope of a diplomatic resolution remained in the air. Flynn uneasily eyed the monsters, his bow held low. He didn’t think that he’d be able to muster an arrow faster than one of them could stick a spear in his neck. Not that it mattered. There was nowhere to run.

  Thick bars of a white wood trapped him into a small circle just barely large enough to give him a few feet of breathing space before spiralling upwards towards the spout that’d ejected him.

  The monsters hadn’t moved yet, but he was sure they would if he gave them even the slightest reason to. The silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating, until finally one of the monsters stepped forth. It was the largest of the lot, and the most intricately dressed. Markings decorated the bits of its bare skin that he could see in a variety of designs.

  It met his gaze evenly, its large, dark eyes calm where the others were angry.

  “You are captured.” it declared evenly in a sibilant, flowing tongue. Just like with the boss, he’d never heard its language before, but he understood it perfectly, nonetheless. “You will come with us, coloured. Cause no trouble, or you shall kiss death.”

  Their spears inched a twinge closer at the threat.

  Flynn blinked. Coloured? He glanced at himself. Well, he supposed that he was colourful compared to them. His pasty-white skin was all but radiant and full of life compared to their stark whiteness, and his blue eyes might as have been diamonds inset into his skull.

  A strange thing for a fantasy creature to fixate on though. Racism wasn’t on the list of things he’d expected to deal with during the exam.

  “I want no trouble.” he said after a moment. The lead monster flinched, eyes wide as it stared at him. Many of the spear-wielders stirred as well, equally as taken aback. Was it because of the auto-translate hitting them unawares, or something else?

  The leader said nothing for a second, though to its credit it managed to school its features back towards something resembling calm with practiced ease. It barked something guttural and soft at the warriors and they retreated by a step. It raised its hands and his own tensed around his bow. It did a few sporadic gestures, and he felt his cage rise into the air in response, its movement supported underneath it by stubby little legs that’d sprouted from the cage itself. Above him, the bars disconnected from the spout and connected with each other, fully confining him within the cage before the whole thing lurched into motion.

  Flynn didn’t know where they were taking him, but he knew that he needed to be prepared for the worst. That would be hard. His class was all about distraction and movement and trapped as he was, a good chunk of his utility was made essentially useless. He didn’t even have Cheek by his side, so it was all he could do to keep a tendril of thought lingering on his Goliath’s Rage, just in case.

  Hulking out and trying to smash through the cage might be his only way out, though if the bars were strong enough to resist him, he’d probably just end up getting stabbed helplessly on all sides.

  It was a risk he was loathe to take unless completely necessary. Time would tell when that would be.

  In the meanwhile, he took the time to study his captors. They were a disciplined lot. They walked in clear formation, with the one that’d spoken at their head. He would occasionally shoot a glance back at Flynn, but nothing more. All their number had some style of marking on their bodies, most commonly on their shoulders which they left bare. The extent of the markings varied, and if he had to guess, considering how the leader had the most, it might’ve been some display of rank or position.

  He wondered if he might earn some goodwill from them if he showed off the tattoo of Shevarash’s holy symbol on his bicep. Probably not.

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  “Hey, so, um, what’s your name?”

  The lead monster looked to him, unease mingling with irritation in its dark eyes before it masked it with calm. “Do not speak, coloured.”

  Flynn frowned. Guess it wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Well, he saw no need to piss off the stabby bastards. Not until he was able to hit them back just as hard.

  The rest of the journey took seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds – he'd kept careful count – before the tunnel opened into a sizable hall filled with more of the creatures. There, the head monster parted from the group and joined the others in hushed conversation. They were a good distance away, but his increased perception helped him overhear a few words. ‘Hill’ and ‘test’ seemed to be repeated often enough before they broke.

  “Carry it to the great arena. Let it be judged under Siestemi’s sight.” commanded the troupe leader.

  Flynn didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all. An arena, the monster had said. The youth asked himself what the odds were that they were taking him to one of those arenas where it was all fun and games and harmless shows of strength?

  Slim, he presumed.

  Very, very slim.

  ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

  At some point, the monsters had done their magic, and the bars of his cage had lengthened sideways until he was fully encased in a white box and cloaked in darkness. Flynn didn't mind. The opposite, in fact. He was extremely grateful, because alone and safe from prying eyes, he had the opportunity to discretely summon a Spectacle Arrow to his bow.

  Flynn waited a few seconds afterwards, readied for any reaction from his captors. He could still feel them with his Monster Sense, several little embers flickering in the dark around him. To his luck, there was no change in their movements. They must’ve not been able to sense him using magic. Daring bloomed in him at the realization, and he quietly summoned Cheek afterward.

  The little bow was fully recovered by then, and it only took a few heartbeats to fully convey the seriousness of his situation through their bond. It sent a pulse of comfort his way even as it pressed closer to his chest. He smiled and told it to hide by his side until needed. It did a bow’s equivalent of a nod and veiled itself within his uniform as best it could.

  With the little guy by his side, he was as fully armed as he could possibly be for whatever came next.

  It wasn’t much longer before the cage started to shift again. Its rumbling movement came to a lurching stop, and then without warning the white walls churned and split apart, segments sliding down piece by piece until he was wholly free again. Flynn stirred, eyes dancing around his surroundings. The troupe was gone, as was the tunnel.

  Instead, he was surrounded by white walls that looked like bound roots nine or ten feet tall that enclosed him into the bottom of some kind of pit.

  Or an arena, he corrected.

  Pillars set into the walls segmented them into four quadrants, with each pillar rising far higher than the walls themselves, and atop each pillar sat one of the monsters upon a high-backed chair. Judging by their extensively decorated clothes and bodies, and if his earlier supposition about the link between extravagance and authority was correct, then he figured that he was in the presence of the monster’s leadership.

  They certainly looked the part, given their high and mighty expressions. But they didn’t feel it. Not like the shitling boss. That thing had exuded power by just standing still. These creatures felt... a little disappointing in comparison.

  The four stared down at him coldly, though at least one seemed more curious than anything else. They were all old compared to the others he’d seen, with wrinkled skin and hair as white as snow.

  One of the four rose to a stand, its gaze imperious as he studied Flynn.

  “Under Siestemi’s eye, be judged by our champion, coloured.”

  There was a rumble from the other edge of the arena and a small section of wall split apart to form a door. From the murky darkness inside stepped forth one of the monsters. It was larger than the rest of its kin that he’d seen – probably five foot five or thereabouts – and its body rippled with the kind of lean muscle that naturally developed from years of training and exertion.

  A finely made spear was held loosely in one hand, and in the other a short knife. It wore no armour save for a thin leather vest and pants, though judging by the ease with which it handled the spear and the numerous scars that littered its torso, it clearly didn’t expect to need any. Flynn's eyes narrowed. That kind of arrogance had been understandable from the boss.

  But from these things? It was almost amusing.

  “My soil to Siestemi. My seed to Siestemi. My remains to Siestemi. To Siestemi I gift my all in hopes of a blessed battle.” it declared up to the elders, its spear raised high.

  “May Siestemi look favourably upon you, champion.” answered one of them in turn. The champion bowed low in acquiescence before it turned towards him. Its face was emotionless as it regarded him, black eyes inching up and down his body. Flynn regarded it the same. It was no boss battle, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating what the creature could do. Raising his bow, he nocked the arrow and drew.

  The monster took that as the signal to start. It erupted into a charge, its hand a blur of motion as it whipped the spear around in an elaborate technique. Flynn watched it do so, his brow furrowed. It was clearly skilled but... but it was so fucking slow to his eyes. Its every movement played out as if in slow motion, and he could all but predict what it was going to do next. Like now.

  He knew that it was going to leap at him with the way its legs tensed, and its muscles contracted. Was it his increased perception that let him pick up on all that? Must be. He wasn’t exactly a seasoned warrior to have that kind of battle-instinct.

  He felt Cheek ping him, wondering if it needed to intercede. He sent back a calming touch and the little construct remained place. For now, he wanted it to remain as his little secret weapon because he certainly didn’t need its aid against his opponent.

  Flynn almost lazily let loose his Spectacle Arrow right onto the charging spearman’s path. The creature flinched; eyes wide with surprise. The shot landed inches from its feet, and then the arena filled with blinding light. The fighter screamed; its spear dropped as it clawed at its eyes. Above, he heard similar screams from the elders, though muted.

  It was almost too easy walking over to the helpless champion afterwards and aiming his arrow at its head. He could’ve killed it right then. Killed it easy. It wouldn’t have taken much.

  But he didn’t.

  He held back, staring at the writhing monster’s form. Maybe he was being na?ve, he knew, or maybe it was because the damn things looked so human. Maybe it was because... he frowned. Words echoed amongst the shadow of his mind. No longer a slave...

  Maybe it was a lot of things, but he dared to take a risk. He lowered his bow and waited. It took minutes before the champion stopped screaming, and minutes more until it managed to look at him with wide, reddened eyes.

  Its balance was shaky and sweat trickled down its body in rivulets. It stared at the spear lying between them, and then to the bow in his hand. When it looked at him again, he knew then that it also knew. It understood his mercy, and his intent.

  Above, the elders had recovered as well. They peered at him with a sleeve held over their faces, as if afraid he might blind them again. He met their stares and then slowly took off his mask. The feeling of losing its stats was greatly unpleasant, but he needed the creatures to see his face. Maybe then they’d understand that he wasn’t whatever they thought he was. The elders gaped at him, askance, bewildered and just plain confused until he put it back on.

  The spearsman had done nothing in the meanwhile. Said nothing. Not even the elders dared speak. The air was so quiet that he could’ve heard a pin-drop at the other end of the arena. It felt like ages had passed before it finally took one hesitant step forward, its breath uneven before it found its confidence again. The next came more easily, and then it was walking as it had at the start, measured and calm straight towards the spear. Flynn made no move to stop it, though he stood ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

  It picked up the weapon, paused as if lost in thought, before it raised it up towards the elders.

  “I am defeated.” it declared before it jabbed the spear into the ground and knelt before him.

  Flynn blinked. Well. That was kind of anti-climactic.