Chapter 11 - The night takes a body

Jarek stepped into the center of the ruined courtyard, rolling his shoulders. He scanned the fractured walls and crumbling pillars.

“Come on out, little dog. I know you’re there.”

No answer.

Then a stone flew from the dark.

Jarek saw it coming. He dipped his head and turned slightly, letting the stone whip past and strike the ground behind him with a sharp crack.

By the time he turned his head, Alden was already moving, cloak whipping behind him, eyes fixed ahead. He charged low, knife drawn, the blade angled for the ribs.

He aimed for one swift strike to end it.

But Jarek unexpectedly reacted.

He pivoted, caught Alden’s wrist mid-thrust, and twisted. Pain shot through Alden’s arm. The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered against the stone. Jarek’s followed up with a punch.

Alden ducked under it and rammed his shoulder into Jarek’s chest, forcing space between them.

Jarek flexed his fingers as he observed Alden. “You have indeed improved,” he said. “But you’re still sloppy.”

Alden didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected Jarek to be a fighter. He always thought that the man was just an asshole who only knew how to run his mouth. Turns out, to survive for as long as he did, Jarek had his own tricks.

Still… at this point, it changed nothing. Alden just went back into the offensive again.

Jarek welcomed him, throwing a jab at his approaching opponent. Alden parried, then slipped past the following hook from the side. But Jarek didn’t stop. He dropped low and crashed into Alden, driving him back into a leaning pillar. He followed with a rising knee, but Alden twisted and swept Jarek’s leg, catching his shin and unbalancing him.

Both fighters stepped back and took a moment to gather their bearings.

Jarek steadied first, looking ready for another bout.

Alden’s chest burned, the ache from his previous injuries flaring back up. But he refused to cede the initiative. He reached back, fingers closing around the hidden hilt beneath his cloak. Then he sprung forward, slashing.

The blade tore through cloak and skin, carving a line across Jarek’s side. The older man cursed and staggered back, blood soaking into the fabric.

“So that’s the game…” Jarek muttered.

Alden didn’t give him time to recover. He continued his advance, machete in hand, each swing sharp and heavy. Jarek parried the first, deflected the second, but the third bit into his forearm.

He grunted and retaliated, slamming an elbow into Alden’s jaw, pushing him away.

Despite his injuries, Jarek pushed through and followed with a jab. Alden angled out the way, and slammed down his foot on Jarek’s lead ankle. As the man shifted, the machete swept across his thigh.

The cut opened wide, and the bald man let out a cry of pain. Seizing the initiative, Alden continued to press. Swinging wildly with his machete, each strike forcing Jarek back. The ruined shrine loomed behind him. And soon, the man ran out of room to maneuver.

Growing desperate, Jarek lashed out. An elbow. A knee. But Alden saw it all coming. He slipped beneath the elbow and slammed his shoulder into Jarek’s chest, pinning the man against the wall. The impact cracked the stone.

Jarek wheezed.

Then Alden drove the machete forward. The blade punched right into Jarek’s gut. He froze. His mouth opened in a silent, chocked scream.

Alden yanked the blade free. Then struck again, higher. Into the ribs.

Jarek finally let out a scream, dropping to his knees. Blood spilled across the stone. His fingers clutched at Alden’s cloak. Shaking.

“Wait,” He rasped. “Think about what you’re doing… if you kill me… the Vein won’t let you go. They’ll come for you. You’re just another fighter. Another tool for them. They’ll make an example out of you.”

“I know.”

“It’s better for us to work together.” Jarek coughed. “You’ve proven your worth kid. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for… Just think about it, you, me, Varo. We will be controlling the arena.”

Alden crouched, staring into Jarek’s desperate eyes, and he wavered. A small part of him wanted to let the man live. A compassionate part, one that strived under a society devoid of violence, or at least, tried to limit it.

But that part… it had no place in this world.

With one decisive move, Alden drove the blade through Jarek’s chest. The man shuddered once. His eyes staring into Alden’s, his expression shifting from fear, to sadness, then he stilled.

A moment later, the blade slid free with a quiet rasp.

Alden’s grip tightened on the handle as he suppressed a shudder. He had done what he needed to do. He took one deep breath, then stood up.

His steps were steady as he left the ruined courtyard behind, cloak fluttering faintly with each breath of night wind.

Alden had killed a man.

Not in the pit. Not under the roar of a crowd. This time, there was no referee, no countdown, no rules. Just stone, steel, and the final stillness of a body that wouldn’t rise again.

He tried not to think about it.

He pushed the thoughts down, shoved them into some dark place inside. There would be time for reflection later.

Just keep moving.

He rounded a corner, intent on rapidly leaving the premises, but a shadow stopped him.

Varo.

The tall man stood just a few paces away. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Alden. A small gust of wind fluttered Alden’s cloak, and it revealed the red-stained blade at his side.

“…I take it Jarek’s dead,” Varo said.

Alden didn’t respond. And a moment of silence followed before the tall man talked again.

“I figured something might go wrong.” Varo continued. “But I didn’t think you’d have enough strength left to take him down.”

Alden shifted his weight slightly, but he hesitated to raise his blade. He knew he didn’t have enough strength to take down Varo anymore.

“If there’s a way to walk away from this,” Alden said, “I’d prefer it.”

“I’m sure you would.”

Varo took a deliberate step forward. “I respected Jarek,” he said. “Didn’t always agree with him. Didn’t even like him most days. But we were partners.”

Alden’s grip tightened around his machete.

“You’re hurt,” Varo continued. “Wounded. Running on fumes. You think I’d leave knowing that the man who killed my partner is out there getting stronger?”

Alden gritted his teeth. He was trying to think of ways to avert the incoming conflict, but the advancing Varo didn’t leave him with much time.

“You could bet on me. You know I’ve got poten-”

Alden barely had time to react. Varo closed the distance in two steps. One hand snapped out, grabbing for the wrist holding the machete.

Alden twisted away, slashing instinctively. The blade caught fabric, but Varo didn’t flinch.

Then a heavy fist drove into Alden’s ribs, making agony bloom through his side. He stumbled back, breath knocked out, and vision flashing white.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

Varo took another step, and struck again.

“I’ve seen how Jarek had ended.”

Alden lashed out desperately with the machete, trying to buy some space. But Varo saw it coming, he dodged, then stepped in and grabbed Alden by the collar.

“Do you think I would dare to nurture you?”

Alden’s body was slammed into the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He rolled, gasping, swinging blindly in an effort to keep Varo back.

The larger man retreated a half-step, then came in again. A kick cracked against Alden’s side, and it gave it, broken once more.

He cried out, barely catching himself before he vomited from the pain. He crawled backward, dragging himself across broken stone, vision swimming.

Varo approached slowly, breathing steady.

“I’ll make it quick,” he said. “You earned that much.”

Alden’s back hit a wall of broken stone. He had nowhere to retreat to.

His heart pounded. This time, he really had nothing left to give. The pain was excruciating, and it was probably the only think keeping him awake. The events of the past two days had taken too much out of him.

It seemed like death was truly looming at his door.

Then, a cold breath swept through the courtyard.

It came without warning, sharp and unnaturally cold. One moment, Alden’s lungs burned from heat and pain, the next, his breath misted in the air, frost blooming faintly on the shattered stones around him.

Varo paused mid-step.

He didn’t speak, but his brow furrowed. His bare arms tensed, and his eyes scanned the walls.

Above them, half-cloaked in shadows, half-wrapped in curling mist, floated a shape. No eyes, no mouth. Just the suggestion of a form. A warped silhouette, twisted and weightless, as if stitched together from smoke.

The chill penetrated deep into Alden’s heart. His breath hitched. He couldn’t move. The pain in his side was nothing now, drowned beneath the spike of unnatural cold terror that settled in his chest.

Varo didn’t see it. But he felt something. His stance shifted subtly.

“What is this?” he muttered, turning his eyes back to Alden. “What the hell did you do?”

Alden didn’t answer. His eyes were locked into the ghostly figure, unable to respond.

Varo narrowed his eyes. He drew his fist drew back, ready to strike, intent on stopping whatever Alden was preparing.

But it was too late. The wraith had dived down, and right into him.

Varo’s body snapped backward. Fingers clawed at the air, his spine arched violently, and a raw, strangled sound tore from his throat.

That was enough.

Alden didn’t wait to see what came next.

The moment the thing hit Varo, the trance shattered. His body moved before his mind could catch up. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

Pain screamed through his side with every step. The cracked rib ground against itself, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Behind him, the sound of Varo’s screams abruptly stopped.

The silence had returned, but Alden dared not stop.

He shoved past crumbling stone, leapt over the shattered edge of a low wall, and hit the alley hard on one knee. Gravel bit into his palms as he pushed off the ground and pushed himself through the narrow backstreets.

He ran towards the light, hoping to run into guards, or even just random people.

Alden burst out from a narrow side passage, half-tripping over a loose stone. The road ahead curved gently along the city’s edge, lanterns flickering from rusted posts, oil-burning fires guttering in the wind.

Two dockworkers crossed the street nearby, heads down, voices low as they spoke.

Alden limped into their path.

“Hey! please!” he shouted, waving one hand, his other clutched tight to the side of his ribs. “Someone’s after me! He’s not human! he’s not-!”

They saw him. Both men looked. Their eyes caught the blood. The hunched stance. The blade.

And they turned away.

One muttered something under his breath. The other crossed to the far side of the road without a word.

A woman stepped out from a shuttered storefront across the way, took one look at Alden, and immediately pulled her door shut again.

Alden stumbled forward.

“Help me!” he shouted.

But no one answered.

He looked around. Lights flickered in windows, and he could hear footsteps from within. Yet, no one came.

His heart plummeted. The small bit of strength that carried him towards the light seemed to fizzle out at that instant. His shaky legs threatened to give up.

And then.

“This is quite the unexpected surprise.”

Alden turned sharply, heart racing once more.

Varo. No, the thing that had been Varo stood at the alley’s edge. The body looked intact, aside from the way it carried itself.

“They never last long,” the voice mused, flexing fingers like a man testing a new glove. “But this one’s strong. Stubborn.”

It took a slow step forward, then locked eyes with Alden. A bizarre, eerie smile tugging at it lips.