Miri didn't stumble.
She didn't protest.
She merely stood on the blood-slick sand, naked beneath the silk-light, spine bowed only slightly beneath exhaustion. Her breath steamed in the chill night air. Her tail flicked behind her, long and lean in her visage form—a whip of sinew and strength, its tufted end twitching like a fuse about to ignite.
She did not look to the crowd.
She looked at them.
The siblings.
The monsters.
"Come on, then," she rasped, blood dribbling from her lip. "Let's dance."
⸻
They charged in tandem.
Veela moved like a wraith—flickering steel and shifting hips—while Gorran bellowed and swung his blade with the force of a falling building. Miri ducked beneath the first swing, her tail snapping up to block Veela's blade. The dagger rang off bone and flesh, and Miri twisted, slamming her heel into the woman's stomach.
Veela grunted but didn't fall.
Gorran was already there.
He grabbed Miri's tail mid-whip.
Her eyes widened.
"No—!"
With a grunt, he swung her like a doll—up, around, through the air—and slammed her into the sand. Her bones screamed. She tasted blood. The wind ripped from her lungs, and her tail throbbed from the sudden, brutal tension.
She rolled instinctively, barely dodging Veela's blade as it carved a gouge into the ground beside her head.
"Stop playing with her!" Veela snapped at her brother.
But Gorran only laughed.
"She's still breathing. That's her mistake."
From the stands, Nyxia gripped the rail.
"She's not ready," she whispered. "They'll kill her."
"Then we get her out," Boo growled, already looking for a path down.
But Perseus shook his head. "She's not done yet."
His eyes never left the sand.
Because Miri, impossibly, was rising again.
⸻
Her muscles screamed. Her chest rose and fell in spasms. Her tail curled low, wounded but ready.
"You want a show?" she hissed.
And then she vanished.
She didn't literally disappear—but her movement was a blur. She twisted between Veela's twin blades, her tail snapping upward and wrapping around the woman's neck. With a sudden yank, she slammed Veela into her brother's gut.
The two stumbled.
Miri pounced.
She clawed at Gorran's face—raking skin from bone, blood bursting like fruit crushed under foot.
Veela retaliated—her dagger carving a line down Miri's spine. She screamed.
Not in fear.
In fury.
She spun, elbowed Veela's jaw, and used her tail like a lasso—looping it behind the woman's leg and pulling hard. Veela dropped. Gorran roared, swinging wildly, but Miri used his sister's falling form as a springboard—leaping up and landing both feet into his face.
He went down.
And the crowd lost its mind.
Blood soaked the sand. Miri's hands were slick with it. Her tail twitched in time with her breath.
The collar around her neck sparked once, twice—then glowed. Like something within had snapped.
Or awakened.
Her eyes flicked up.
Straight to Arioch.
She didn't smile this time.
She bared her teeth.
And below, in the arena now painted in crimson, the goddess in chains prepared to kill again.
The crowd howled like wolves.
Gold coins clinked in frantic fists, drunken lords screamed down bets, and somewhere in the stands, a noblewoman fainted as Miri, slicked in crimson and madness, crouched like a beast atop Gorran's chest. Her lips pulled back into something not quite a grin, and not quite human. The blood on her thighs, chest, face—none of it hers.
For a moment, the pit went still.
A hush before the slaughter.
Veela was up again.
Fast.
Too fast.
Blood dripping from her nose, one of her daggers gone—she moved like a whipcrack, a shadow darting behind Miri. Her heel caught Miri's ribs hard, the crack audible even over the roar of the coliseum. Miri's body twisted, instinct screaming, and she hit the ground shoulder-first, tumbling through the bloodied sand.
But she did not break.
She rolled, spat blood, then rose in one feral motion.
The tail was her balance now.
It dragged behind her like the length of a whip soaked in oil and rage, curling and uncurling in anticipation.
Gorran staggered to one knee, face a ruined pulp. "I'll gut you," he gurgled.
"You can try," Miri said—and surged forward.
She moved faster than before, even as her body screamed for mercy. The collar pulsed, violet runes flickering like dying stars. For a second, it looked as though the bindings weakened… and for a moment, she felt it—
A taste of her own magic.
Unfiltered. Raw.
Burning through her spine like divine wrath.
She howled, and the sand around her shivered.
Her claws sank into Gorran's chest—straight through the muscle. He bellowed, but she used the leverage to flip herself onto his back, tail lashing across his face. She slammed his head into the ground once, twice, until something gave. The air left his lungs in a wet wheeze.
But Veela didn't let her finish.
The sister was there again, blades reappearing in her hands like conjured shadows. She slashed—one slicing Miri's bicep open, the other narrowly missing her throat.
Miri twisted, tail catching Veela's wrist mid-swing.
The blade fell.
Veela's eyes widened.
Miri grinned.
"You don't get to touch me."
With one hand, Miri caught Veela by the hair and yanked her forward. Her knee rose up with unflinching force—into the woman's mouth.
Bone cracked. Teeth scattered like pearls across the sand.
Veela went down screaming, hands clutched to her jaw, blood gushing from between her fingers.
The arena erupted.
But Miri wasn't done.
The collar's light brightened—pulsing now like a heartbeat. Something inside her was shifting, and the crowd felt it. She stood taller. Her body didn't just bleed—it glowed. That wasn't fire. That wasn't Void.
That was hers.
The power that had always been buried.
Sealed.
Stolen.
Now, it was clawing to the surface.
In the private box above, Arioch leaned forward, chin resting lazily on his hand. His grin was stretched wide, too wide, the corners of his lips nearly splitting his face.
"She's almost ready," he murmured, only loud enough for the shadows to hear.
Beside him, Eurydice remained utterly still.
Her gaze locked on the girl in the pit—battered, radiant, dying and divine.
A breath passed. Then she spoke, calm and ice-edged.
"She's going to kill them both."
And she did.
First Gorran.
He tried to rise again—his face half-pulped, eyes barely open. He crawled, one trembling arm pushing through the sand toward his sword.
Miri was behind him in a blink.
She slammed her heel into the back of his head.
Once. Twice.
On the third hit, his skull burst like overripe fruit.
The crowd screamed in ecstasy.
Veela tried to run.
She made it five steps before Miri's tail snapped forward like a whip and caught her around the ankle.
Down she went—face first, broken teeth scattering anew.
Miri walked slowly this time. Not in a rush. Each step carved her into the earth.
She straddled Veela's back, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her head back until their eyes met.
"You should've stayed down."
She brought her claws across Veela's throat in a brutal arc.
A wet sound. A gurgle.
Then silence.
Veela twitched once. Then went limp.
Miri rose.
Alone.
Victorious.
Her tail swayed behind her like a banner.
And the collar?
Still glowing.
But dimmer now.
She lifted her head and stared directly into the stands—into the faces of Boo, Darj, Perseus… and Nyxia.
Then up—past the banners and torches.
To Arioch.
Her lips curled.
Not a smile.
A warning.
She was done surviving.
Now she would tear it all down.