Following his outburst, Adakontus threw himself into the duels. The Instructor always cheated. No matter how much Adakontus improved, The Instructor stayed ahead. Skill, strength, speed, whatever, he couldn’t eke out a single advantage in any category. Adakontus felt like he was running on a treadmill suspended over a crocodile tank, as if he were the star in a shitty spy movie. Every time he caught his breath, The Instructor increased the speed. Adakontus decided each increase in difficulty was a small victory, and the reward was more punishment. Good, Adakontus’ goal was to endure. Endure now so he may endure geater.

  After countless losses, The Instructor’s hellish tutelage ended as it began: without warning. Adakontus met The Instructor’s unspoken goal, and that was it. The students resumed their duels, and the lengthy interruption went unnoticed.

  Now, Adakontus stood at the edge of the clearing, watching and waiting for his turn to die. Old, dried blood made the arena look like a dumping ground for reddish-brown paint, and every duel gave a fresh coat of crimson. The pink-haired man added the newest splash of color. Blood leaked from the cuts in his abdomen, dribbling down his legs. Still, he held his sword-lance in a firm grip.

  His opponent was the woman with the blue-black skin. She stalked her prey on the balls of her feet. Her weapon’s point slowly drifted through the air, probing pink-hair’s defences. Her silver eyes searched for the deathblow.

  Pink-hair already lost, yet he refused to die. Similarly, the woman with the blue-black skin refused to give up her advantage and trade a wound for a kill. The duel stalled. The exhausted man put his back to the obelisk to steady himself. His breathing was shallow, and his skin paled from blood loss. Forcing through her opponent’s guard, the woman with the blue-black skin thrust her sword-lance into pink-hair’s chest. He slid down the obelisk, leaving a smear on the iron.

  ‘Fight.’

  Adakontus casually approached the obelisk, as the woman returned to the sidelines. Pink-hair’s corpse slumped against it. The Instructor stopped reviving people after each fight. Consecutive duels sometimes left the students fighting atop a pile of corpses. Something caught Adakontus’ eye. He pulled the corpse’s mouth open. Pink hair sported two rows of nubby, serrated teeth. That wasn’t human.

  Adakontus’ newest opponent slunk into the arena. The man had brown hair, brown skin, and a classically handsome mug. Now that Adakontus thought about it, all the students were far from ugly. Maybe that was part of whatever fucked up selection process landed him here. In a roundabout way, it was also a compliment. But Adakontus would rather be ugly and far, far away.

  Mister Handsome softly muttered nonsense, and flipped his sword-lance over and over. It appeared a nervous tick, like a knifeman idly playing with his blade. Quirks of that nature appeared in most trainees. Individuality broke through the trance in strange ways. Adakontus smiled. The nutjobs of today replaced the automatons of yesterday. Perhaps soon, he wouldn’t be the only sane person here.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Adakontus led off with a thrust to set the pace. Handsome dodged back. The blade tip quivered in the air a moment, before Adakontus pushed into a second thrust. His breath heaved, and his muscles strained. More than anything, dueling with a heavy sword-lance demanded strength and control. An errant movement left the fighter dangerously off balance. Easier to act than react.

  Adakontus forced Handsome back with rhythmic strikes, a dance that gave his opponent no chance to cut in. Handsome parried and weaved with speed beyond Adakontus, but that’s all he managed. All Adakontus required was a small mistake. He found it. Handsome overcorrected, so Adakontus stabbed his thigh. A perfect outcome.

  Adakontus retreated to other end of the arena, and caught his breath. His wounded opponent couldn’t follow. Handsome’s clock ticked. Even if Adakontus missed the main artery, which he hoped he hadn’t, that leg would eventually give out. In Adakontus’ situation, The Instructor would shove its advantage down Handsome’s throat then rip it out. Adakontus, however, was dead beat. The aggressive style had his heart beating like a double bass drum. Adakontus prayed for a lighter weapon, or bigger muscles. Preferably both.

  Handsome approached, so Adakontus walked away. Handsome came faster, so Adakontus hustled away. Handsome charged. Adakontus turned on a dime, and launched a lunging strike. Handsome’s sword-lance whipped like a snake, deflecting the thrust and poised for a counter.

  Adakontus’ face contorted in surprise. “How did he do-”

  Momentum crashed the two together. Adakontus luckily avoided his opponent’s blade, but his own weapon clattered to the floor. He grabbed onto Handsome’s sword-lance. In the ensuing struggle, Handsome’ bad leg gave out and dragged both fighters to the ground. The duel devolved into a brawl. Adakontus caught a punch with his face, and felt his nose stop up with blood. Handsome was not only faster, but stronger too. Not fair. Adakontus got the worst of the asswhooping. Handsome broke his nose, and kept slamming knees into his ribs as they grappled on the arena. Crusty, old blood covered them both as they rolled around. Adakontus was certain he’d be beaten to death barehanded. Up until he grabbed a handful of Handsome’s other weapon and squeezed. Hard.

  Handsome howled horribly, and Adakontus slammed the man’s head into the stone floor. The first time didn’t quite cut it, so Adakontus did it again, and again. Handsome wasn’t handsome anymore. Adakontus stopped when the ex-handsome stopped twitching.

  He stood up and spat blood. A little bit of skin came out too, which probably wasn’t his own. Adakontus was shocked. He’d bit that guy in the middle of a fight, and hadn’t noticed. He spat and spat until his mouth dried out. The duel shouldn’t have been so close. Adakontus dueled The Instructor hundreds of times. He should be head and shoulders above the others, killing with ease. Instead, he ended up biting and clawing like a rat.

  Adakontus felt a pat on the back. He jumped, adrenaline rushing. He’d finished his opponent, he was sure of it. Wasn’t he? Handsome should have died to a clean thrust, but he slipped out of it. Maybe he could slip out of a broken skull, too.

  Adakontus turned to look, then let out a breath of relief. Handsome hadn’t returned from the dead. It was only The Instructor, who shoved Adakontus’ sword-lance into his shaking hands.

  “Do you have anything to wash out my mouth?” he asked.

  The Instructor only pointed to the edge of the arena, and shoved.

  “Guess not.”