Author's Notes:

Done reading this and Morning Glow's fight? Decide who wins right here!

Grey whistled a half-formed tune as he waited for something, anything, to happen. After Discord’s instructions, he had found himself in a small room, seemingly with no exit. And quickly no entrance either, it having magically disappeared behind him.

He found he wasn’t impressed with the Chaos Lord so far. Yes, it was a good trick, Discord pulling ponies and whatnot from time, but still—this was all rather cliche. Mysterious rooms, darkness and a lack of information. Threats and promises.

Promises… Grudgingly, he admitted that part was impressive. Anything my heart desires… Could it be true? He shook his head, dislodging his hat. Of course it was. He had read the histories, about what Discord could do. About what he did not a decade and a half ago.

Idly, he wondered where the draconequus was in his time, but discarded it as unimportant information. Instead, he wracked his brain, trying to squeeze whatever details he could get about the other competitors. He hadn’t had much time to observe, but then, one hardly ever did.

He remembered a mix of ponies, griffons, changelings, and even a dragon. That last was especially locked into his mind; he had never seen a dragon before. Nor changelings. Manehattan had a lot of problems, but no changelings. At least to his knowledge. I guess part of the point is we’re not supposed to know about it.

Most had seemed young, athletic and likely skilled. A few were clearly warriors. Grey worried some on that. He had lived through more scraps in his thirty-some-odd years than many would in their entire life, but he was hardly battle trained. This would test him, he knew. To his limits.

Idly, he scratched at his nose, boredom setting in. He had hoped his eyes would adjust to the darkness, but the lack of change told him what he had suspected to begin with—there was literally no light to adjust to. Grey was in a tiny, stone box. And would be until Discord was ready.

He could light his horn, he realized, but what would be the point? And while it didn’t take much, even his light spell would be a drain on his reserves. If this was to be a fight to the death, he would need every last drop. Soldier or warrior he might not have been but that, at least, was all too familiar. He was ready. He didn’t like it, but for what he might win, he would try his damndest.

As if on cue, a thin outline appeared before him. It was bright and formed an arch. Another line of light split it down the middle, forming two sizeable doors. They opened, spilling in bright sunshine which nearly blinded Grey before he smartened up and closed his eyes. He couldn’t tell what was out there, but stepped forward slowly, his mind focused to generate a shield as fast as thought if needed.

The flat, stale air of his confinement was replaced with a fresh, earthy-scented breeze, and the sunlight warmed his body, almost to a point of regret for his long coat. Carefully, he opened one eye, letting it adjust, then the other.

A loud whistle escaped his lips. He was impressed now. Damn impressed.

The door behind him closed, but went unnoticed as Grey’s attention was taken by the sight before him. For a moment, his brain refused to believe what his eyes were seeing. Slowly, the reality of the place took hold, while at the same time seeming so impossible.

At first glance, it looked like one of the nicest parks Grey had ever seen. And Manehattan’s Central Park was a very nice park. The investigator had never seen so much green. A simple, well-kept cobblestone path twisted this way and that. Next to it sat the occasional bench and, at regular intervals, old-style lantern posts stood, their flames bright despite the sunlight. Grey suspected they were magically designed to never burn out.

Plant life was scattered, healthy and thick. From blooming flowers to towering trees, single bushes to thick groves of fruit trees and even a field of carrots. It bordered in places on turning into a forest. Where it passed that border, it shattered it and didn’t look back. Some places the trees grew so thick that they looked impenetrable.

This was helped by the fact that, in most places, other trees and plants were growing into them. Sideways. Or even from the sky. Or, rather, not from the sky, as the ground seemed to have curved upwards and over and…

Grey closed his eyes and shook his head. He was getting vertigo thinking about it. More slowly, he looked again. It was baffling. In places he could see where the land sloped up—or sometimes just bent at a straight right angle. But he could see plenty of sky. It was mostly clear, with just a few clouds.

Beyond the strange geography, it was all very pleasant.

“Welcome, friends, to round one,” boomed a loud voice from the sky suddenly.

Snapping to attention, Grey looked up quickly before realizing that it was simply Discord’s disembodied voice. That’s quite a trick, he thought, gritting his teeth. What do you want now?

“By now you’re probably wondering where your opponents are. Well, look around! Somewhere within the Arena your obstacle to victory is thinking the same thing. So keep on your guard! You never know where they might be or what they might be capable of.”

There was a pause before the draconequus added, “Oh, and by the way. Once one of you has proven to be a clear victor, the exit will appear at the center of the battlefield. Good luck finding it! Ta!”

Silence boomed after the last word, slowly being replaced by the gentle sound of rustling plantlife and the gentle breeze. Beyond that, nothing else seemed different.

The investigator was beginning to relax despite the strange surroundings when suddenly he found himself face down in the grass. Quickly he scrambled to his hooves, launching him away from...something. A terrible wailing sound filled his ears, sending chills down his spine. The surprise attack and the unnatural noise sent his nerves into overtime and he readied a Slug spell—his standard kinetic energy blast designed to knock out even the hardiest brutes—and took aim. Grey lowered his head, pointing his glowing horn at his attacker.

Whoever you are, prepare to…what?

Grey’s focus interrupted, the deep blue light dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. There, cowering on the ground, was what appeared to be a pony—but unlike any pony Grey had ever seen before. Its coat was a flat, ashen black. The...thing, for Grey could not keep calling it a pony, was curled in on itself, allowing him to see that it had no cutie mark. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw two distinctive nubs just behind the shoulder blades. Had it had wings?

One step at a time, Grey retreated, always keeping his focus. The thing seemed to be terrified, with no interest in anything except its own safety, let alone attacking him. Certainly Grey didn’t feel it to be his opponent. But still, one couldn’t be too careful.

Quickly, he looked behind him. He was coming up to a thick stand of trees. That would do.

“So, whatever-you-are,” he said evenly, “you just stay right there, and we won’t have any trouble, alright?”

The pony-thing looked at Grey with dull, white eyes. At first he thought they were pupilless, but he saw them as faint outlines against the eye itself. They disturbed Grey somewhat as, despite the thing’s seeming animal intelligence, he could have sworn he saw a deeper cunning in them. When those eyes caught Grey’s own, the thing yelped and ducked again.

Alright, he thought to himself. I guess that’s good enough.

Grey felt the rough scratch of tree bark against his flank, signaling he had reached the corner. Letting out a slow breath, he turned and began rounding it. With one last glance back to make sure the pony-thing was still where it should be, he shook the disturbing thoughts away and went to a trot.

He needed to get this over with. And fast.

At least my opponent has to deal with all this craziness, too, he consoled himself. Small comfort, knowing we’re both probably uneasy in this place. Whoever gets the jump first…

Grey let that thought trail off as he turned off the cobblestoned path. He’d deal with the backlash of his actions later. The goal was what mattered. If that goal cost him a few more nightmares, a few more drunken nights, then that was well worth it.

The investigator shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. They itched, making him feel like he was being watched. And that made him feel like he was being silently weighed and measured.

He kicked up a few torn blades of grass as he picked up speed, trying to shake off the invisible watchers as his own inner voices berated him.

Morning Glow watched the unicorn curiously as he began running through the thicker vegetation off the path. Quietly, she fluttered above and below branches, dodging the protruding plantlife that grew from the ground to her sides in places. In all her life, she had never heard of such a place as this. Still, it was little challenge to her observant eyes.

Silently, she cursed the heavy vegetation and tree cover. It wasn’t allowing her to get a good look at her opponent, and that made the prospect of fighting him less than savory. While she had learned some about him already, she still wanted more information. That was key. With the right information, she knew she could be victorious.

Without it… Well, that hardly bore thinking about.

After a few minutes, she alighted on a particularly thick branch—Or is it a trunk?—and watched as the unicorn had stopped, hiding himself amongst what seemed to be a shrub of some sort. She turned her attention to where he was looking and saw why he had hesitated.

More of those...shells, she thought, shivering despite herself. They gave her the willies. Something about them was just wrong, and she had avoided them since arriving, though not without observing and learning what she could about them. That information had already come in handy, even if it disturbed her.

She absentmindedly brought a wing to her muzzle and preened. It helped her focus. The unicorn was waiting for a large group of the shells to pass by. They walked slowly, taking a meandering, halting path. Though they were together, still they seemed nervous of one another, all but fleeing in terror. Every now and then, one would stop, nibble a little grass, or chomp a flower, or even bite at a low hanging fruit. So they were mortal creatures, or at least thought they were, despite their somewhat unnatural attributes.

It suddenly occurred to her what a good opportunity this was. The unicorn’s attention was completely on the shells. She wasn’t sure why—they were harmless. Still, she would use it to her own advantage.

She fell from the branch, carefully catching herself just before she hit the ground. Landing silently, she approached him from behind. Mentally she laughed. He had no idea, and that was the point. That was the power of her kind.

The strength of a changeling, to strike when least expected.

She let her disguise fall as she buzzed forward, tackling him from behind. As quickly as she could, she pounded her hooves into him. Changelings were not the strongest, but neither were unicorns the toughest. She backed this up with her fangs, biting and scratching. They tumbled forward, scattering the shells, and wrestling as they rolled on the ground. Finally, Morning Glow, or rather, changeling 421, was able to get a good grip on the struggling unicorn.

Her legs tight around his chest, she sank her fangs in deep, the tang of metal telling her she had struck a bloody wound. She bit down harder and then with all her might pulled and ripped back. The unicorn let out a cry, half pain and half frustration. Finally, he recovered from the surprise attack and grabbed her in his magic and threw her off.

She hit the ground hard, losing her wind, and then buzzed forward just in time to miss the unicorn’s magical strike. He launched another which did hit her back leg. Thankfully, he seemed to be firing kinetic energy blasts, rather than pure magic. The force of the blast pushed her to the right, sending her flight pattern wild. She believed it might’ve cracked her carapace some, but beyond that she kept flying, desperate to put distance between the two of them.

As fast as he could, Grey got back to his hooves and scrambled after the creature. Thankfully, he seemed mostly OK. It had done plenty of damage, but... No, it had done worse—it had got the drop on him. It fluttered ahead, and he cursed. It was too fast for him to waste another shot, not to mention it was gaining ground. They were headed uphill, which slowed the ground-bound unicorn. It hovered up and over the rise, vanishing from sight. Charging, Grey pushed his hooves harder, faster. His legs burned some, the unicorn more used to the flat streets of the city than uneven natural ground.

Finally, he made it to the top. Grey stopped and glared angrily, the bruises and bites stinging smartly. Damn! Lost it!

Before him was another strange scene, something that troubled his subconscious mind, though he was too angry to take much note of it. Before him was a clearing, clearly manufactured as it was defined within a square box of cobblestone path. The few trees and plants here were arranged. It was what covered the rest of the grounds that surprised Grey.

They appeared to be statues, but they were some of the most life-like ones Grey had ever seen. Then again, he had never seen wooden statues before. Perhaps that’s what helped their lifelike quality. Various species—not all pony—were represented and in a plethora of poses. Some were in noble, standard-statuesque stances, while others stood more actively, mouths agape in eternal cries, some of victory, some of anguish.

Of the changeling, there was no sign.

Can it… Could it possibly look like one of those? he mused, his temper beginning to cool. Grey had never dealt with changelings before. One heard stories of changelings in Manehattan, but there had never been any proof. Most officials agreed the city, despite its high pony population, was a poor place for the species.

Grey had read up on them, mostly out of curiosity, while doing research on magic. Their copy spell was often talked about, but mostly in theory. Certainly nopony had ever been able to reproduce it for themselves. So all he had was conjecture, with little fact.

Still—better safe than sorry, right?

His horn glowed bright as he shouted, “Come out, you bastard!” Tilting his head down, he launched a Slug at the nearest statue. It collided and the wooden head, along with a fair bit of its torso, exploded into splinters. All in all, it was a satisfying effect, though Grey knew it was a risky waste of his energy. He began walking, slowly going in amongst the statues, wondering which, if any, were his opponent in disguise.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of lowlifes in my time, but who would have guessed my first changeling would take the cake!” He concentrated again and another statue was torn in half, its two pieces flying several feet from the blast. “But, credit where credit is due, I let my guard down.” More concentration, more splinters. “I won’t do that again.”

Grey fired off two more Slugs, then stopped his approach. He had stopped roughly in the middle of the clearing. Circling, Grey breathed in heavily. He had to slow down. The Slug spell was simple, but energy hefty, and he was already feeling the fatigue of magic usage. If he took a moment to rest, he figured he would be alright. Still, that would set a poor image to his opponent, who he wanted kept intimidated.

Grey blinked. Or did he? He charged up another Slug, adding a little extra oomph to it. Giving a great, frustrated yell, he launched it into another statue, which exploded in its entirety. Then he sank to his knees, breathing heavy.

421 watched the unicorn, trying to calm her beating heart. Stupid! she chided. You knew it was too soon…

Still, it had been a good opportunity. And she had manage to do some damage. Plus, now she saw more of what he was capable of. As an infiltrator, she was no expert on particularly aggressive spells, but between the anger she could sense from him and the effect his blasts were having on the statues, she knew his blasts far out-powered anything a changeling could do.

She wondered what else he was capable of? If he kept blowing up statues, she was going to find out sooner than she wanted. While he hadn’t been close yet, it was only a matter of time. She would have to do something. Distract him somehow so she could escape again, find a better place for an ambush.

She waited and watched him—he seemed to have tired himself out, but she could see the signs. While his magic had drained him some, he was faking. It was clear as day to her. She saw how his eyes stayed sharp, moving every which way, just waiting for her to strike.

Well, she thought, two can play at this game!

421 carefully readied her magic, without activating it. It would take just a thought, and her blast would fire. She kept her body completely still, as the statue she was copying, her eyes beginning to water from being open for so long. But still she watched his own. Until… He looked away.

She launched a blast to his far right, hitting a statute, which caught his attention. Right away, he blasted it with his own spell. But she was already going again. She moved, taking a new position opposite of her distraction, and then fired several blasts at him.

She was rewarded by his yelp as her blasts hit his side and rear flank, singing the fur and knocking him down. She fired again, but this time he was ready—a convex shield of glowing blue force popped up and absorbed her blast. She launched a couple more, but they too were easily blocked as the unicorn rose to his hooves.

Seeing she was more than outmatched magically, she ran. She knew exactly where she needed to get to—and with her wings and his increasing fatigue, she knew she’d have no problems getting there.

The clearing was open, with only a few trees and bushes. But on the far side of it was a thick stand of very thin trees growing into one another from all directions, thick enough to form a wall. She reached the obstacle then, with her quick eyes, she found a path through, squeezing between trunks and going up and down, until she reached the other side. She shot some branches out of the next tree, making it look like something had passed through, then she morphed into a facsimile of one of the shells.

Throwing herself down on the ground, she waited and readied herself. This would be the performance of a lifetime.

After a moment, she heard the sound of more wood being blasted apart as the unicorn followed her through the trees the only way he could: by blasting his way through, being too big to squeeze through like she could. Finally, a shower of splinters rained around her as he made it all the way through.

The unicorn stopped, facing her. She curled into herself as she did earlier, getting the shakes of fear just right, whining just so. It annoyed her that she could not catch the ethereal moan the shells produced, but she felt she got close. 421 then threw on the cherry—quickly she glanced at him. She could feel the expert emotion in her eyes, the sense of helplessness and patheticness that would tug at his heartstrings and make him ignore her. Just another victim, nothing to see here.

He stopped, his eyes looking at her. Looking at her. No...he...he couldn’t! she thought, then dismissed. It was just her imagination. Of course he couldn’t. She was a master.

“My name is Grey Tiercel,” he announced quietly. Quiet enough that only she could hear. “You’re very good. In the city, I’d have a real problem with it. But you’ve missed a detail that I just noticed—without a mirror I can see why you would. But.”

Suddenly her world flashed into pain as he shot a blast of magic at her. It clipped her side—he had aimed off on purpose, she was certain—and pushed her a good ten feet. She blinked, her senses overloaded. When her vision cleared, she saw him standing over her, a grim darkness in his eyes that made her legs go soft, just for a moment.

“Their eyes,” he declared, “don’t have pupils.”

Grey saw his announcement sink in and his heart sank with it; its eyes burned anger and disbelief. It was a pitiful sight. Suddenly, with a flash of green light, the pony-thing became a changeling. Black armored carapace, blue eyes, green, soft flesh, silky wings and a horn. He had never seen one in his life before, but this matched their description to a T.

He let out a roar and launched a Slug spell, but was too slow. Already, the changeling, with the buzz of its wings, had shot off and was flying as fast as it could away.

“No you don’t!” Grey cried, shooting his Shackle spell, missing by a wide margin. “Damn it, get back here!” Throwing himself into a gallop, he raced after his opponent who was flying for all it was worth. Grey suspected that, had it really been a pegasus, it would have escaped. But changelings seemed to be more limited in their flight speed.

Then it took a nosedive straight down—and vanished. Grey almost stopped, but caught himself and kept going. He knew what had happened.

If the ground can angle straight up in some places, then—aha!

He came to the edge where the ground turned on a right angle straight down. Carefully, Grey looked over. The changeling had shifted with the gravity and was still flying. It seemed the sudden shift had thrown it for a moment, but it was quickly getting used to it. It raced, its wings a blur, for the next turn which would allow it to continue on away from Grey.

An idea occurred to Grey then, although he wasn’t sure if it would work. Carefully, he took aim—it was the longest distance he had ever attempted the spell, and he wasn’t sure it would work. Just in case, he supercharged it, throwing in way more energy than he normally would. Timing it just right, he launched the spell.

His shackle attached to the changeling by its right wing. The other end attached to a nearby branch as it flew by. Immediately the changeling was no longer flying, but falling, as its right wing sheared off, connected to the branch by Grey’s magical chain.

Despite the change in gravity, the changeling had enough momentum to continue—to Grey’s eyes—forward, right until the ground shifted at a right angle again. The direction of the gravity then became, in comparison to Grey, down. His opponent landed with a thump, but seemed mostly alright, aside from the missing wing. Soon, after two failed attempts at flight, it started running instead.

Now for the part I’m not sure of… Grey thought to himself as he took a few steps back. He readied his magic again, this time preparing his Shield spell. Then, with a deep breath, he ran as fast as he could and jumped over the edge.

He had no idea if his plan would work, but Grey had hoped that, to a degree, the gravity might hold on his original orientation. For the first couple seconds he felt himself turning, going down, reorienting to the ninety degree shift in the land. He cursed, thinking his plan had failed. Then it stopped and he continued to sail forward.

Then he began to fall.

This was where it got tricky. He looked down, seeing the changeling running parallel to him several feet down. He took aim as best he could, hoping he had judged right. And he activated his shield, aiming it below him.

He fell and fell and hoped. And, at last, he landed—

—right on the changeling’s rear legs which crunched under Grey’s shield and the force of the fall. Grey then felt the shield hit ground as he bounced off it and away from his opponent. His heart beating quickly and the adrenaline in his system flowing, he stood and readied a quick Slug, preparing for the counterattack.

He let the spell go when he saw there was no need.

“I’m sorry,” was all Grey could say. He felt foolish saying even that. But what else could he offer? What words were there for what he had done?

The changeling was crawling, letting out a low, whimpering hiss with every slide forward. Its left wing buzzed frantically, the right stump of the other trying to match and failing to provide any lift without its delicate membrane. It left a sickly green ichor trail, its back legs cracked and leaking, useless and no doubt paining the creature greatly.

Grey picked up his hat and tucked it snugly on his head. His features were dark, his face low. He knew of what changelings were capable of. What this one likely would wish for had it won. But even still, he hated it. Every time he had killed somepony, even though it had been his life or theirs. Even when they deserved it.

When Grey had ‘retired’ from the Manehattan Police Department, he had left with him a lot of his youthful idealisms. The unicorn had grown up with and worked within what he now recognized was a corrupt system. Not absolute, but close enough. With that loss had gone much of his traditional ideas of Right and Wrong, of the Law.

Despite his reservations, Grey knew that Right often did not correlate with Law. While he didn’t go out of his way to break it, the investigator had walked a fine line on more than one occasion. To do what was needed oftentimes required him to work not just outside the establishment as he did but to even work against it. And he had accepted that.

But it had, on times, been a very dark path. Ponies had died at his hooves. But only when there had been no other choice. Despite his anger towards them, Grey much preferred to turn criminals over to the MPD. With an independent like him—who, ironically enough, was still legally sanctioned by the city via his investigator’s license—working in the cracks that the MPD never touched, crimes were solved and criminals stopped. And that’s all that mattered. That the job was done.

Grey walked in front of the wounded changeling, knowing it would likely die from its wounds within a few minutes. It crawled closer and, with a pained cry, lit its horn and fired a magical burst at him. Grey’s shield activated easily, dispelling the pitifully weak blast. Its eyes burned like blue fire, the creature’s anger radiating off it. Or so Grey thought he could sense. Behind those blue eyes, Grey knew was not only the anger of the defeated, but the sorrow of something lost. The investigator wondered, truly, what the changeling would have wished for.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “But whatever you were fighting for? I’m fighting for something just as important. I’d say it isn’t personal…” He paused, his eyes burning, cursing Discord for the whole damned tournament. Then he added, “But unfortunately, it’s very personal.”

Grey’s horn burned brightly as he changed his focus from defense to attack, building up a large amount of magic which he channeled into a Slug, fired point blank at his opponent’s hissing face. Just before he fired the spell, he felt several impacts against his chest as the changeling rapid fired to try and stop him. But, in its death throes, it had no energy to put behind them. Grey would have more bruises, but little else.

While Grey’s spell, focused and overpowered and aimed at so close, had more than enough.

There was a sickening crunch, and Grey was splashed with ichor, as the changeling’s body was sent flying, its limbs sprawling, unresisting and dead. The strange geography took hold, turning its horizontal movement to vertical as the land sharply rose up. The new gravity pulled, and the body landed in a thankfully unrecognizable heap amongst flowers and hedgerows.

Without warning, rain began to fall in thick drops from the sky. However, in an area around Grey, it was clear and dry. Turning from his defeated foe, the unicorn thanked Celestia for small favors as he wondered what new terror might be coming. His reserves were low, and it was showing. His breathing was somewhat labored, and the various cuts and scrapes and bruises the changeling had given him made him even more weary. The deeper bites on his neck especially hurt, and now that he had a moment he could feel the matted fur where he had been bleeding. Close to too much.

Grey had had worse, but he knew his own body—he was in no shape to fight again.

Still, as the rain fell, nothing appeared to be coming. Grey wondered—hadn’t he been victorious? Where, then, was the exit?

I swear, Discord, if you’ve doublecrossed me… Wait, what’s…?

Grey approached the wall of rain, enjoying the mist that began spraying him. It was curious, but it almost seemed as if there… There was. A path, within the rain. Carefully, Grey approached the dry corridor. He looked up and found he had no idea where the rain was coming from.

Discord, his thoughts answered his wonderings.

Grey removed his hat and coat and, trying to stay as dry as he could, washed the dirt and life-giving fluids off his coat. His red blood and the changeling’s green ichor mixed to form a murky, dark colour that reflected his mood. Once he was reasonably clean, he redressed and began walking the dry path.

It ran for quite a while, eventually rejoining the cobblestoned path that seemed to be leading Grey away from the chaos and into a more ordered land. Less and less was the plantlife a maddening, insane growth and more like the image of a park that was Grey’s first impression. The land remained flat and even, no longer turning this way and that.

Most oddly, the unicorn noted, was the fact that the sky was darkening as he walked further. The sky went from bright blue with scattered clouds, to overcast, then darkened red and the fluffy pinks of near-sunset. Finally, the somber tones of night—speckled with brilliant stars—appeared overhead and Grey was walking to a rainbowed horizon line. Even that was soon overcome by the violet night. All the while, the rain kept on.

Finally, the corridor led to an archway which, in the flickering magical torchlight of the lamps, looked both cryptic and inviting. It was a simple whitewashed wooden frame covered in twisting roses of several colours. But the sputtering light that passed through it turned the soft white of the wood to the hard white of clean bone, the roses becoming splotches of blood and pustules of decay.

Through the arch was nothing. Empty space. Looking at it from this side, Grey could see the park stretching on and on until it became a twisted mess yet again.

He stopped, just before the entrance. His mind raced, thinking on the events of the past few hours. Being summoned by Discord, thrown into a life or death tournament for his heart’s desire. Forced to endure this maddening landscape; forced to kill a soul he had never met before. He thought of the draconequus now and his disembodied voice from earlier—the Chaos lord must have been watching the whole thing. Even Grey at that very moment, so as to direct him to the exit.

Cocking his hat, Grey looked up, his face split in a weary grin that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“I just want you to know, Discord,” he said quietly, “that I’ll play your game better than you could ever dream. So get your kicks in now, while you can.” His aura enveloped his hat and tugged it back down as he stepped through the arch, disappearing as he passed its threshold until nothing was left.

Nothing but his voice, tired, pained, but determined. “‘Cause when I win, you’re next in line.”