Chapter 12

  After the jubilation finally ceased, the air hung heavy, thick with the echo of fading roars and the faint hum of spent energy. Purple flames guttered along the obsidian walls, casting jagged shadows that writhed like living things across the crowd. Severen’s presence lingered, a weight pressing down even as he stirred again at the podium. “The league shall now commence,” he declared, his voice a silken blade slicing through the hush, resonant with dark grandeur. “Place thy wagers, ye lords of shadow and splendor, and may Lord Vacuus weave his favor through your chosen threads.” His purple eyes, glowing like twin voids, fixed on Tyler then—sharp, piercing, a stare that felt like it peeled back skin to prod at his soul.

  With a slow turn, Severen swept off the balcony, tunic rippling like liquid night, the crown atop his purple-silver hair glinting with its black-hole sheen. The cheers surged again, a tidal crash of sound that rattled Tyler’s bones for another minute, wild and relentless, before they dwindled into a low, uneasy murmur. The room seemed to exhale, the air cooling, the shadows settling.

  Tyler glanced up, neck still stiff from craning, and finally spotted Vlad among the caped overlords. His grey eyes caught the flickering light, sharper and brighter than before, cutting through the dim like polished steel. Their gazes locked—Vlad gave a pleasant nod, a flicker of something knowing in his smile, then turned to murmur to another figure beside him, all suave grace and hidden edges.

  Red still stood next to Tyler, her pale green skin taut over a frame that radiated quiet power—stoic, ready, like a coiled spring in that sleek leather armor. Grey-fur loomed close too, snout glistening, axe slung over one meaty shoulder. “I saw how he looked at you, meat,” he rumbled, voice grinding like stone on stone, eyes narrowing under a moose-like brow. “Something’s strange about you.”

  Tyler snorted, shaking off the chill from Severen’s stare. “I’m strange? Have you seen this place? Talking batmen, mooseheads, sexy trolls—all in a fuckin’ horror movie set. And I’m strange?” He flashed a grin, leaning into it. “Look, dude, I’m sorry you had to wait—shit wasn’t in my hands, alright? Let’s start fresh. Name’s t—Henry, human from Earth. This is Red, from Lasirio. You got a name, sir, or should I just call you Mooseknuckle.

  The grey-fur beast snorted, snout twitching. “I’m Tondrick,” he growled, voice like gravel crunching underfoot, “and I hail from Dominor.”

  The name hit Tyler like a stray memory—Dominor, Dom. His mind snagged on the doorman back home, that unnerving stare and too-many stories. How long had it been—days, weeks?—since he’d stumbled out of Sapphire’s, reeking of bourbon and regret? He wondered how Dom was holding up, if the coffee machine was still busted. Gotta get back there, he thought, shaking it off, but first, don’t die.

  Before Tondrick could sling another threat—axe resting comfortably over his shoulder as if he had held that position for centuries, its edge shined like a mirror—one of the bat-faced creeps stepped forward, wings rustling, this one had wings. The room’s purple flames flickered, shadows stretching long across the stone floor as its voice boomed, crisp and sharp like a cracked whip. “Time to form your parties. Teams of four. Those already bound to a group, follow me to the waiting chamber. The rest—you have two hours to choose your fates.”

  Tyler watched the crowd thin, boots scuffing the floor as most shuffled out—green-skins, long-ears, humans—filing toward some unseen exit. The air grew colder, heavier, like the place was holding its breath. Only about twenty lingered, scattered like stray pieces on a board. Lucky break—Red still stood beside him, her pale green skin catching the dim light, stoic as ever in that sleek leather. Unlucky break—Tondrick hadn’t budged either, his moose-like bulk looming close, eyes hard and suspicious.

  Three hours to team up or get screwed, Tyler thought, sizing them up. Red was a no-brainer—sharp, steady, probably knew more than she let on. Tondrick? Dude looked like he’d chop first, talk later, but that axe might come in handy. Twenty bodies, four slots—Time to put in the work.

  Tyler eyed Red, relief washing through him that she was still an option. He tilted his head, widened his eyes into his best puppy-dog look, and flashed a grin to seal it. “I’m never one to beg, Red, but I see you—I feel you. What do you say, team up?”

  She scanned the room, her sharp gaze flicking over the leftovers—twenty-odd stragglers, a mix of wiry humans and hulking green-skins muttering in the flickering purple light. The shadows stretched long, curling around them like smoke, and the air felt tight, buzzing with unspoken stakes. Her lips pressed thin, then she sighed. “Fine, I’ll join you—but don’t slow me down.”

  Tyler turned to Tondrick, still looming close, axe gleaming like it could split stone. “Tondrick, I see you’re missing a party. How good are you with that hefty thing? Could be useful.”

  The moose-faced brute snorted, short fuzz bristling. “There’s something about you that doesn’t feel right, meat—I don’t know what yet. Already got two anyway.” He glanced at Red, eyes narrowing. “You really want this weakling?”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” she said, voice flat and final, arms crossing over her leather armor.

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  Tyler felt a ping of success—Charm or Lucky Charm? he wondered, smirking inside. Tondrick huffed, stomping off, but not before his gaze lingered—first a hard squint at Tyler, then a slower, hungrier look at Red. Ahh, now I see, Tyler thought, clocking the vibe. “Okay, let’s walk around, find our next two.”

  The crowd thinned further, murmurs echoing off the obsidian as stragglers paired off. Tyler’s eyes landed on a human woman across the room—skin like rich desert sand, an Arabic complexion that damn near glowed under the purple flames. She had a movie-star look—sharp jaw, dark eyes that cut through the dim, hair pulled tight like she’d walked off a set. His pulse kicked up a notch, half from her vibe, half from the chance she’d join. He strolled over, casual as he could muster. “Hey, you look like you know how to handle yourself. Got a team yet?

  American,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the low hum of the room. She wore a bow slung across her back, which would fit well with team cohesiveness. I love when I pull words like that out of thin air, Tyler thought, grinning to himself. Her leather armor was patchy, stitched rough but dyed a deep blue that caught the purple flames’ flicker. Shadows danced across her face—Arabic complexion, movie-star sharp, eyes tight like she was guarding something big.

  “Yes, I’m American,” Tyler said, leaning in. “You from Earth too?”

  “Yes,” she replied curtly, her Arabic accent clipping the word short. She squinted at him, sizing him up through narrowed slits. “Henry, correct?”

  “That’s me,” he said, keeping the grin easy.

  “I was told you was white,” she said, head tilting. “You don’t look white to me.”

  Tyler’s gut twisted. How the hell would they know my race? he thought. Who’s feeding these people intel on ‘Henry’? The idea gnawed at him—were there folks in this freakshow who actually knew the real guy? He shoved it down, keeping his face smooth. “Yeah, well, surprises happen. You got a name?”

  “Rima,” she said, voice flat. “My team ditched me when some hotshot showed up—better skills, better Core. I’m willing to join you, but one thing I ask: don’t bring up your past, and don’t ask about mine.”

  Tyler nodded, catching Red’s glance—She didn’t react much—just gave a quick tilt of her head. “Fair deal, Rima. No history lessons. You’re in—bow’s a nice touch, we could use the range.” The room felt tighter now, the air heavy with unspoken deals, the dim light casting long, jagged shadows over the last stragglers milling around.

  Rima shifted her bow, squinting at the leftovers—maybe a dozen now, muttering under the purple flames’ hiss. Tyler caught a whiff of sweat and rust, the air thick with last-minute vibes. Slim pickings, but let’s shop, he thought, scanning. Then he spotted her—a moosekin like Tondrick, same World of Warcraft broad-shoulder build, but damn, she was different. More attractive, in a weird, animalistic way—feminine curves cutting through that bulk, sexy in a don’t-tell-your-buds-what-you-did-last-night kind of way.

  She wore chainmail, links glinting dull under the dim light, and a longsword hung at her hip. Her snout twitched, eyes half-lidded like she didn’t give a shit about the chaos swirling around. Fuck yeah, she’s a tank, Tyler thought, grinning. He strolled over, hands loose. “Hey, Moose Caboose—got a team? That sword says you know how to use it.”

  She turned slow, towering over him, fur short and grey like Tondrick’s but sleeker. “Name’s Venra,” she rumbled, voice low and bored. “No team. You offering?”

  “Hell yeah,” Tyler said. “I’m Henry, that’s Red, Rima’s the bow. Need a fourth who can swing—interested?”

  Venra’s eyes flicked to Red, who was tapping her dagger hilt, sizing her up with a nod. “She’ll do,” Red said, sharp and quick. Rima gave a grunt, adjusting her bow—no fuss there. Vara shrugged, chainmail clinking. “Fine. Don’t die fast.”

  Fourth locked—Lucky Charm strikes again, Tyler thought, smirking. Across the room, Tondrick glared, his trio hulking behind him, his giant shoulder blades catching the dim light.

  An hour passed as Tyler got to know his crew better, the dim light flickering over their faces while murmurs bounced off the obsidian walls. Each had something he could use—attributes clicking into place like a messed-up puzzle. Red, he realized then, still didn’t have her real name yet. Gotta fix that, he thought. She had a Growth affinity, tied to a Nature Core—Raw life and edge, like she’d outlast anything, probably why she moved like she owned the place. Rima rocked Wind and Fire affinities from an Elemental Core—Flame and force, matching her tight-eye’s. Then Venra—big sexy—carried a Savage affinity from a Fury Core, all raw power in that moosekin frame, like she’d rip through anything dumb enough to blink.

  Tyler lied smooth, keeping his grin. “Order Core here—Structure affinity,” he said, ditching Vlad’s “Chaos” script. I think Vlad’s trying to get me killed, he thought, gut twisting. Chaos would’ve painted a target—Order fit a guy like “Henry” better, some stiff rich prick. But then why the ring? The Core Deception scroll hummed in his storage pouch, a quiet reminder of Vlad’s game. Wouldn’t Order make more sense? He chewed on it, suspicion gnawing.

  Before he could spiral deeper, the bat creature strutted back, wings rustling, its shadow stretching long and jagged under the purple flames. “All remaining teams, follow me—now,” it boomed, voice loud and sharp, cracking through the air like a whip snapping Tyler out of his musings. The room tightened, the last stragglers—maybe ten, including Tondrick’s hulking trio—shifting toward the bat. Tyler glanced at his crew: Red’s eyes narrowed, Rima adjusted her bow with a flick, Venra rolled her shoulders, chainmail clinking soft. Four’s locked, time to move, he thought, smirking despite the chill creeping up his spine.