Olive stepped out onto the stage alongside Elias and Maeve. She held her sword in a loose grip at her side as the crowd roared overhead. Sweat slicked the palm of her left hand. Fortunately, her right one was immune to that particular issue. Wood didn’t really sweat much. Part of her could barely believe they’d even made it this far. The ringing in her ears could have been from either the excited yells filling the arena or the blood thumping in her skull. She couldn’t quite tell yet. Olive never thought she’d get to the point where she’d reach any level of finals in a tournament as prestigious as the Proving Grounds, much less actually have a chance of winning it. And now she had no choice. Elias and Maeve were counting on her. They needed to win. If they didn’t, Elias would probably die… or stop being dead. She wasn’t exactly sure what the semantics of an undead being dying were. Olive flinched as Maeve put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing it again,” Elias said. “Sorry,” Olive said, shaking her head and letting her back relax. She let the tension slip from her muscles as she let out a slow breath. “I’ll be fine. I’m ready.” “Remember. We’re a team,” Elias said. “Even if Maeve and I aren’t part of the Menagerie. You can rely on us. You aren’t the only one fighting. This isn’t all on your shoulders. There are three of us. Take too much and all you do is unbalance the group.” The man’s eyes ignited like the smoldering embers of a forge. Olive’s senses screamed a warning. Then the ground beneath the man’s feet shattered. He blurred into motion, moving faster than he’d ever demonstrated himself capable of. The distance between him and Olive evaporated within an instant. She twisted, bringing her sword up as his came down for her side. Power surged through her wooden arm as it reinforced her strike. Their weapons collided with a thunderous crash. A wave of wind rolled out from them with enough force to kick up the rubble at their feet. Olive nearly found herself on her backside from the sheer force of the strike, but she managed to remain standing. “That’s new.” Olive shifted her grip on the hilt of her sword and sent her opponent’s blade sliding to the side. She twisted her hips to put weight behind a kick as she drove the heel of her foot into the center of his chest with all the force she could muster. Pain arced up her leg. The man didn’t budge. Olive skipped back, suppressing a curse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other two members of Blackguard advancing. Elias had gotten one of their attention, but the other was heading right for Maeve. Shit. I need to keep both of their attention, but they never showed anything speed before. “The throbbing dick cosplay is new,” Olive said, immidately reverting to the basest form of insult she had on hand. “Scared?” “Respectful,” the other man replied, raising his sword to a ready position. “Your team has skill. Necrohammer has requested that we demonstrate the full extent of his creation against you. Nobody else has been worthy thus far.” Great. Now I just feel like an asshole. Why is he being decent instead of shit-talking me back? “You’re making this annoying,” Olive said. “Stay here for a moment, would you?” A crack echoed through the air. He stood in her path once again, power rolling off his armor in waves. Olive threw herself to the side right before she bowled right into him, skipping a step back and suppressing a curse. “I am your opponent,” the man said. “You haven’t even introduced yourself. You don’t get to claim shit.” “I can claim anything I want. Power begets right. Your allies will have their fights. You will have yours.” “Cute idea, but that’s not happening,” Olive said. She tossed her sword to her left hand and extended the wooden one toward the man advancing on Maeve. This might have been overplaying her abilities, but she had no choice. These guys have held back too much. They’re way stronger than I thought, and we haven’t even seen what they’re fully capable of yet. Only one of them has activated his armor. I can’t let anyone get near Maeve. She can’t go all out in a fight without revealing the fact she’s a monster. “And how do you plan to stop it? I welcome you to try,” the man said. “Please, reveal any power you have. Necrohammer has requested an extensive demonstration. And my name is Vale—” Loud cracks cut Vale off as the wood that made up Olive’s right hand let out a wailing scream. Bark rumbled as it exploded outward from her shoulder, extending to slice the air and slamming into the other Blackguard’s shoulder before he could react. Olive’s hand tightened on his shoulder and she ripped him off his feet, yanking him across the arena — and swinging him right into Vale. The Blackguard only had an instant to brace before his ally struck him with a brilliant crash. He took a staggering step back and Olive yanked her hand back. The throbbing pulse of the cursed arm pounded in her skull as it demanded payment for the usage of its services — but it wasn’t about to forcibly take over yet. The arm knew it was going to get its price soon enough. Vale’s companion staggered to his feet. He didn’t seem to have been injured, but his attention was definitely on Olive, now. “You want to get to her?” Olive asked, cracking her neck. “Go through me.” “Admirable,” Vale said. “But unnecessary. You have an interesting ability, but that is not sufficient to fight both of us. Rime, deal with the caster. Don’t get grabbed again. That was embarrassing.” “Try that, and you won’t get to see shit. I won’t need to use the full extent of my power unless you’re both on my ass,” Olive said. She hesitated for a moment, then grimaced. “That sounded wrong.” “It was fine until you made it weird,” Vale said curtly. He looked from Rime to her, then let out a short laugh. “But no matter what you claim, you do not have…” Vale trailed off as his gaze lifted to the stands. Olive couldn’t help but let her gaze shift to follow his. An impressively short man stood at the edge of the fighter’s quarters that the Blackguard had come from. He wore a stained black apron and thick metal armbands. Bushy white hair complete with a beard completely covered his face. Dozens of metal beads had been woven into his beard to hang like wind chimes. Despite the ongoing fight, Olive couldn’t help but be impressed. The man’s beard was certainly a statement piece. It ran nearly halfway down his body. The short man lifted a hand, turning a single stubby thumb up to the sky.