# Episode 6: Blood Sport

  The roar of the Steel Heart arena crowd had changed lately. Jez noticed it most in the quiet moments between matches, when she could hear individual voices through the stone corridors leading to the fighting pit. They weren't just cheering for violence anymore. They were whispering about her.

  She adjusted the wrappings on her hands, focusing on the familiar ritual while ignoring the way her heightened senses picked up every conversation. Twenty feet away, through solid stone: "They say she threw Grath the Mountain clear across the pit." Thirty feet, different direction: "No one's that fast naturally." Directly outside her preparation room: "The Restrained Rage fights tonight. Odds are four-to-one she takes the championship."

  Jez ran her tongue across her canines – a new nervous habit she was trying to break – and found them sharper than they should be. Again. Had they become larger, as well? She'd have to be careful in the upcoming fight. The last thing she needed was someone noticing that the "Restrained" part of her nickname was becoming dangerously literal.

  A familiar face appeared in her doorway: today's opponent, Helena, looking distinctly uncomfortable underneath her less-than-pristine appearance. "They say you don't even use armor anymore."

  "Don't need it." Jez kept wrapping her hands, not looking up. "Though I appreciate you checking. Very sporting."

  "They also say—" Helena hesitated. "They say you're not natural no more. That you took a sword to the ribs last week and just walked it off as if it was a bruise.?

  Now Jez did look up, fixing Helena with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Her teeth behaved themselves, staying mostly normal. "People say a lot of things in Steel Heart. Most of them aren't true. You know that.?

  That was technically accurate. The sword hadn't hit her ribs. It had gone clean through her lung, and she'd had to pretend to stagger for several minutes while the wound closed. She was getting better at hiding the healing, but it was becoming harder to fake normal injuries for the crowd's benefit. And for her own mind’s sake.

  ?They also say that Harrod the Tall is half-Giant, and that Trythe sold his soul to a devil to win fights and woo girls with his songs. It’s all part of the game.?

  Helena didn't look reassured.

  "Right.? She tapped her fingers on her thigh as if she was about to say something, before straightening her stance. ?Well. Good luck out there."

  "You too." Jez waited until Helena's footsteps faded before muttering, "You'll need it."

  The thing was, she hadn't meant to become the arena's rising star. She'd only started fighting here to track rumors of disappearances, hoping they'd lead to whatever she was hunting. But then the changes had become more prevalent: improved reflexes, enhanced strength, wounds healing impossibly fast. Every victory made her stronger, every fight easier than the last.

  She should have been terrified. Instead, she felt *hungry*. She had always enjoyed a good arena fight, that was a given. It was different than hunting monsters. Simpler. Cleaner. Yet now Jez felt that she thrived in the setting. She wasn’t only focused as before, she was exhilarated.

  A gong sounded, calling her to the arena. Jez stood, rolled her shoulders, and tried to ignore how the crowd's collective heartbeat sang in her ears. She had a championship to win. She could worry about everything else later. Like the taste of iron in her mouth.

  The arena was packed, torchlight reflecting off steel and silver as nobles and merchants waved their betting tokens and screamed for carnage. Jez's entrance drew a roar that shook dust from the rafters. She acknowledged it with a practiced wave, scanning the crowd out of habit.

  That's when she saw him again: the man who called himself Fain. He sat in the cheap seats, looking exactly as he had three days ago when she'd watched him die in an alley. Same easy smile, same well-worn traveling clothes, same complete lack of recognition when their eyes met. Still, something changed in his face as he saw her. It was for a brief second, just long enough for Jez to notice.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Jez's new instincts screamed *predator*, even as her hunter's training insisted *prey*. She forced herself to look away. Focus on the fight first. The mystery man could wait. By the looks of it, he had all the time in the world.

  Helena entered from the opposite gate, wearing full arena armor. Smart, but it wouldn't help. Jez could already hear the gaps in the platemail's coverage, could smell leather straps ready to snap. She could feel the racing heartbeat of the woman, this time out of fear instead of the excitement the last time they met in Lubor. Her enhanced senses mapped every weakness before the starting gong sounded.

  The fight was almost embarrassingly brief.

  Helena opened with a textbook sword thrust. Three months ago, it might have worked. Now Jez simply wasn't there when the blade arrived, her dodge so fast it looked like Helena had missed by yards. The crowd roared. Jez let them enjoy it for a moment before closing the distance. Only then did she draw Death’s Kiss from her back, to the roar of the crowd.

  Helena’s eyes sank, but she straightened her shoulders and prepared for another advance.

  Block. Sidestep. Disarm. Helena's sword went flying. The crowd's excitement peaked. Jez could smell their anticipation, hear blood rushing through a thousand veins, feel—

  She bit her lip hard, using the sharp pain to focus. End it now, she thought.

  A sweep took Helena's legs out. A precise strike of the pommel knocked her helmet loose. Jez pulled the final blow just enough to avoid serious damage, letting Helena crumple dramatically. The crowd erupted as healers rushed in.

  Jez barely noticed her arm being raised in victory. Her attention was fixed on the cheap seats, where Fain was already standing to leave. Without thinking, she vaulted the arena wall and pushed through the crowd, ignoring calls for interviews and congratulations.

  She caught up to him in the market district, moving silent as shadow. He turned down an alley and she followed, questions burning in her mind. What are you? Why don't you remember me? How are you still alive?

  The alley opened into a small courtyard. Empty. Jez cursed, casting about with her enhanced senses. Nothing. No heartbeat, no footsteps, no—

  "Looking for someone?"

  She spun. Fain stood behind her, that easy smile still in place. "We've met before," Jez said carefully. "Several times."

  "Have we?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. His eyes seized her from toe to head, resting a little longer on the hilt appearing over her shoulder. "I'm usually good with faces. Especially ones that show up in my obituaries."

  Jez's training screamed “threat” while her instincts purred “finally”. She held herself carefully still. "I saw you die three days ago. Yet her you stand."

  "Ah." His smile widened slightly. "That would explain it. Death does something to ones memory, especially short-term. Makes social calls awkward."

  "You're not surprised that I followed you."

  "People who watch me die usually do." He shrugged. "Though most try to kill me again, not chase me through markets."

  Fain tilted his head and studied her. “You’re a monster hunter. And a damned good fighter from what I saw at the arena.”

  "What are you?"

  "Complicated. Could ask the same about you." He reached into his coat, moving slowly. Produced a small leather-bound book. "I’m not the monster you think you’re hunting, that much’s for sure.”

  Jez crossed her arms across her chest. “What makes you think I’m hunting you?”

  “You’re a hunter.” Fain smiled. “I'm heading to Haven's Rest. There’s this noble lady who collects the old and interesting. You seem like someone who appreciates interesting things, and maybe someone who needs answers like myself.”

  The book landed at her feet. When she looked up, he was gone. Damn, she thought. He’s fast.

  Jez picked up the book, found it was an old journal in tattered leather binding. The first page read: Notes on dying, volume 47. Property of Fain. If found, please return to owner. He'll turn up eventually.

  Her enhanced sight picked out dried blood on the corner. Her new sense of smell confirmed it was Fain's. Three different samples, three different deaths.

  She should report this. Contact the Steel Heart authorities, call in other hunters. Instead, she found herself grinning, running her tongue across too-sharp teeth.

  Haven's Rest, then. She'd been meaning to visit anyway – rumors of strange disappearances up north, worried whispers about something called the Color Plague. The Haven Arena. And now this: a man who couldn't die, who treated death like an inconvenience. Monster or not, she felt an urge to find out what Fain was about. Worst comes to worst, someone’s bound to be willing to pay for the head of a man who can’t die.

  The hunger stirred, stronger than ever. For the first time, Jez didn't try to suppress it.

  The prey was leading her right where she wanted to go. Time to see if she was becoming the predator she suspected.

  She just hoped Haven’s Rest had more capable opponents. It would be a shame to lose her edge while hunting.