Bright and early, Crimson and Dahlia return promptly to Cosma’s lab. When they enter, they are surprised to see a new face waiting for them alongside Kleid and Cosma. Another unicorn mare wearing a lab coat with saddlebags around her waist who looks very determined. A mare of a light rose-pink coat, along with a cherry mane and tail. Once the duo make their presence known, she faces them directly. She trots right up to Crimson, giving him a death-glare up and down. He stands there with seldom a reaction. Both Cosma and Kleid seem content with letting their peer do her thing.

Dahlia, however, does not take as lightly to her intrusive staring. “Hey,” she calls to this impudent mare, “careful your eyes don’t pop out.”

She directs the vicious glare to her now. “He looks strong,” she says, completely ignoring the comment. “Is he?”

Dahlia pulls away her confusion at the seemingly random question. “Uh, yeah. He’s strong. Who are you?”

“Ruby Morning. Wisp?”

“That’s me.”

“I’ve heard great things about you. Your judgement best not let in this endeavor.”

“And what would ‘this endeavor’ be?”

“Retrieval of our next relic. Your human is a requirement, as he is our only way of attaining it.”

The diction used by this mare instills an unpleasant taste in Dahlia's mouth. “A requirement, huh. Listen, I’d rather get a move on sooner rather than later, so just tell me what’s going on and what we need to do.”

Ruby’s furrowed brows crinkle even further, giving Dahlia a grimace. “We are going to prepare the transponder to send you to Hoofer Dam, by the city of Salt Lick. You will cross the Highland Reservoir and approach the base of the Applewood mountain. On the north west face, you will find an old mining site with a warehouse that lays base to Rhye’s stronghold.”

“Wait,” Dahlia interrupts, “old mining site? The silver deposit?”

“The very one,” Ruby verifies, sounding mildly impressed with Dahlia’s foreknowledge. “I will save you the pathfinding as you are already familiar with the location. Arrive there, speak to the guards at the entrance. Tell them you want to register. They will take your human, you will enter Rhye’s stronghold. They will put your human in the fighting pit, and you hope he emerges victorious.”

Dahlia reels at her instruction. “A human ring? Damn, they still do those?”

“Rhye does. The relic you must acquire, the Orb of Tramana, fell into his hooves after an ex-merchant of the Family attempted to flee with it and his payment for delivering it.”

It clicks in Dahlia’s mind. The orb – the one she and Crimson found at that temple in the Everfree. She is astounded. She assumed the merchant she sold it to knew better than to try and raw the Horseshoes, but… “… Right. Let me guess, he’s using it as a prize?”

“Not just A prize… the grand prize. If it was so simple, we would have it already.”

“And what makes this guy such a big deal?”

“Considering Rhye is a grandchild to a Doyen and is a spoiled brat, perhaps you can make your own assumption. If you dare upset that stallion-child or fail to play by his rules, he’ll ensure his grandfather hears of it. If you're not somepony his grandfather likes..." she dissociates momentarily, eyes dilating slowly as if fighting against a horrid memory. She snaps back, frowning at Dahlia again. "Trust me when I say, you do NOT want that happening to you. Not if you value your life or your dignity.” Dahlia churns her thoughts before speaking up again, but is quickly cut off by Ruby, “and before you ask, we have already tried sending our own humans into his pit. As you can deduce the obvious, they did not survive.”

"Don't the Doyens want the thing for their 'immortality?' That doesn't make sense. Why are they letting him keep it if it gets in the way of that?"

"Several reasons. The first is that whatever power or muscle he has in his stronghold, it has defeated everything that has tried to obtain it, legitimately and otherwise. Some of the Doyens even sent their own humans and henchmen in secret. None could attain it, and despite the objections of these Doyens, Rhye's grandfather, Borro, is the oldest Doyen and thus holds the final say. Borro is the only force preventing a total Horseshoe deployment against Rhye, essentially allowing him to use it as a toy to make his grandson happy, at least until the other lost relics are amassed and ready. If Rhye grows bored of it, perhaps it will fall in the right hooves. That is what we have been hoping for... but it is not likely. Knowing Rhye and the sense of power the relic gives him, he will never relinquish it. That is why it needs to be taken in the only way that could possibly work. We assume whatever it is that keeps his stronghold so powerful lies in the pit."

"He loves his grandson that much, huh?"

"It is very quaint."

Dahlia’s mouth puckers as if she sucked a lemon. Not only does it address her unspoken concern, it piles on worry about the situation as a whole. She looks to Crimson, who is still somehow able to keep a calm and collected front. She cannot understand him; she is internally kicking up a panic, and he remains idle. She looks back to Ruby, “If the other Doyens couldn't take it from Rhye, what makes you think we can?"

"My expectations are not high."

Dahlia squints at her, doing everything in her power to stifle a smart remark. Instead, she sighs and shifts her eyes away from her cold glare. "... And there’s… no other way to try and get that relic?”

“Again,” Ruby miffs with mild exasperation, “if there were, we would not be discussing this.”

“It seems like you’re worried,” Kleid comments. “Do you not trust in your human’s abilities?”

“It’s not that I don’t, I just…” Dahlia clenches her teeth, “… what are the stakes? I at least wanna know what we're getting into.”

“Unfortunately," Ruby starts, "whatever entertainment Rhye has employed is beyond our knowledge. We cannot tell you the specifics of what the fighters in the pit are capable of, but our findings return a simple generalization: the fighters partaking in the bloodshed are all physically and magically enhanced, so much so that no contestant we put in the ring could match them. We all but gave up on obtaining the orb when we realized the means to acquire it were out of our reach, and no other hired help sought to take the job.”

Dahlia lets her contemplative eyes fall to the ground.

“Remember,” Kleid proclaims, “our resources are at your disposal. If you needed to enhance your human further, test his abilities, etcetera, we have a somatic regiment we can put him through. It was never enough for our humans, but I am confident that it may serve your particular human quite well.”

Dahlia looks up at Crimson to see what he thinks. She is shocked to see his eyes, dilated to marbles under his hair, staring back at her in a way that cries everything except ‘yes.’ She looks back to Kleid, shaking her head. “Thanks, but… we’ll take what we’ve got. I guess, eh... is there anything else we should know before we go?”

“Yes,” Ruby asserts, “one last thing, if it’s any consolation. If your human is able to win a round, you will win a very generous prize in bits. Even if your human here dies, you will walk away rich if he can best but one opponent.” Dahlia looks surprised at this information, suddenly appearing just a tad less stressed than she was a few seconds ago. Crimson silently glares at her from the corner of his eye. "But again, optimally, we would like to win the orb. The city of Salt Lick is a good place to rest before the fight. You will be renting one of the rooms in the Rooted Greens saloon. We will provide you with bits to acquire said room, and extra for food, if you so desire. Something else you should know are the rules of the pit. There are three: the human must be collared or able to be leashed, there are no weapons, and there is no armor. The clothing your human currently dons is considered armor. You will have to undress him before you present him to the pit. Any collar you wish to put on him must not contain spikes or any jutted metal. Leave your belongings in your room at Rooted Greens, they will be safe there."

Crimson's resolve finally cracks slightly. Dahlia feels this discomforted energy leap off of him, not by catching it physically, but by remembering their first interaction. "... Is underwear allowed?"

"Yes. Undergarments are allowed except for lingerie. Strings, clips, buckles, and other small tactical advantages are not allowed. The human may only use what their body is capable of. Did you have any further concerns before you are deployed?”

Dahlia takes a moment to recollect everything that was explained to her and mentally forms a course of action. Once she is organized, she shakes her head.

Ruby looks back to Cosma and Kleid, nodding her head at them. Cosma reaches to the transponder and flips down the heavy switch. The machine roars to life, lighting up the lab with blue magic. Kleid provides Dahlia with a coin purse from his lab coat before she and Crimson proceed to be translocated to central Equestria.

‎

‎

The transponder spits the duo out inside of another cement square built exactly like the one before. The first thing they both notice is the weighty sound of rushing water, though it is heavily suppressed by the thick walls of this bunker. They have not much to say to one another, only exchanging a silent glance of uncertainty. They then spot the metal ladder and make their ascent, opening the hatch and coming out into the world above. The hatch practically disappears into the brick floor they stand upon.

A quick inspection around tells that they are standing on top of the Hoofer Dam's bridge, with a hundred-foot drop on the east side, and a river only a couple of feet down on the west side. They take the bridge north to a nearby town - one apparently named Salt Lick. Once the bricked stone bridge of the dam ends, they step on cool soil and soon approach the town.

Crimson glances around as they walk through the dirt-paved streets. He sees ponies, as per usual, but he also sees humans. Quite a bit of them too. They are mostly naked or in undergarments, just as he will be soon, and every single one of them is in a collar, with or without a leash. They follow closely behind their pony owners as they go about their business. Eyes shoot at the lumbering man, still finding himself taller than the other humans around, but no one seems too irked by him or his clothing.

Dahlia leads him to a two-story building that has a sign hung out front, painting a mug of cider and a pillow. They rise up a small set of steps to reach the front swinging doors. Once inside, Dahlia makes pace to the stallion sitting behind a counter next to a fireplace. There are very few ponies inside. Two stallions sit at a table and play chess, another stallion sits on a rocking chair, drunk and asleep. The town of Salt Lick is small, but gives off a cozy, familiar feeling.

The rough-looking stallion behind the counter gives Dahlia a hard glare. “We got rooms and food. Drink, too. I cook. Ain’t much else to tell."

“I’ll take a room,” Dahlia replies simply, looking up at the board of wood behind the stallion which paints the menu. “And two soup and cracker meals.” She reaches for the provided coin purse and takes out twenty-six bits, placing them on the counter top and sliding them his way. He takes them and nods. He then reaches under his counter and gives Dahlia a room key before turning around to the cooking pot behind him and getting to work.

Dahlia turns and heads to the right side of this saloon. There is a staircase that leads to the second floor, Crimson follows her up. The second floor has all of the rooms lined up next to each other, but fairly spaced apart. She finds the room with the same number as her key, sliding it into the knob and unlocking it. She walks in, quick to drop her saddlebags onto the wooden floor. Crimson closes the door behind him. The room is simple yet homey. A big orange bed, a sofa, a radio, cabinets, and drawers. All of the furnishings of this place are colors of greys, whites, and oranges.

Crimson steps further in, standing in between Dahlia and the bed.

"Get undressed," the mare commands, keeping her eyes away from Crimson.

“Very forward of you, mistress,” he speaks softly in the case of overhearers.

Her eyes widen and her ears perk up. “Shut up! You know what Ruby said!”

“Shush! Hey!" he whisper-shouts. "I was only jokin’. Lower yer voice.”

Dahlia’s cheeks redden as she huffs. “You keep saying shit like that, I'm gonna kick your ass for real." Despite her words, she takes his advice and keeps her voice down, just as he does.

“You may have to one of these days. Pickin' on you is a delight.”

“Then don't start crying when I do.”

With a smirk, he looks down and undoes his belt buckle. Dahlia keeps looking away, focusing on a particular groove in the wooden floor. He methodically unhooks the buckle. Once he does, he pulls his belt out from the loops of his pants and duster. He tosses his belt over to the bed, then shrugs his duster off his shoulders and catches it with one hand. He tosses his duster the same way, landing it on the middle of the bed.

Dahlia eventually looks back to him without really thinking about it. She spots him lifting his shirt, his eyes covered by the cloth. Her eyes plaster his exposed chest.

Once Crimson takes off his shirt, he is met by two big magenta orbs glaring at him. Once their eyes meet, she instantly shifts her eyes and turns her face away. "Gh-ch!" she stutters out accidentally from her embarrassment.

"Girl," Crimson calls to her, startling her with his voice, "you realize I'm gonna be walkin' in my drawers the whole time we do this thing, right?"

"Yeah, I know. And it sucks."

"Suck as it might, you lookin' away is just pushin' off the inevitable. Just remember where my eyes are, alright?"

"Oh my stars, just stop..."

With much amusement, he continues to undress until he has nothing on but his underwear and his collar. He takes his shirt, pants, and socks, bundling them before tossing them to the bed.

She knows she has seen him naked before, she knows what he looks like already, but for a reason unknown to her, she is finding it hard to accept the fact that he is taking off his clothes. She tries to absorb the idea that he should be treated like any other human - they are all naked or mostly naked. Hell, even ponies are all mostly naked. Clothes really are not that big of a deal, yet for some reason, she cannot seem to get over this.

“Y'know," the man begins, "I really don’t care if you look. Not like I'm completely naked.”

“Well I care if I look,” she states firmly. "It's just... weird."

"I don't see how. Just think of me like you did when we first met. That got you over much, didn't it?"

"But this ISN'T like how we first met. You're smart, I didn't know that before."

"You've already seen me naked. There ain't much surprise left for you to be torn over."

"Why are you being so calm about this? It's freaking me out." Although her tone sharpens, her voice doesn't actually raise in volume.

Crimson tilts his head in stupor. "And I can't understand why this is stumpin' you so much. Just look at me like any other human."

"Uugh, don't you get it? I can't. You're not like the other humans. You think, you talk, you do stuff others don't. Can I really look at you like the other humans when you can do all that?"

"It shouldn't even be a big deal, especially since we ain't the same species. You don't fancy me, it should be that simple."

Her face blossoms with pink blush. "Mmrh, it's not even that. It's you. As in: you. You specifically are the problem. If I looked at you naked, it would be like staring at a stallion who's hard all the time. It's just weird."

"Like I said, I'm in underwear. You're the one makin' this weird."

"So now you're judging me," she states rather sternly. Something about the way she says this feels a bit too involved for Crimson to jokingly bounce off of.

"How'm I judging you?" She does not respond immediately, still focusing on the ground. Something inside her advocates staying quiet. "Listen, I'm not forcin' you to look, I'm just sayin' it's best to get over it. I won't magically get dressed if you look away long enough."

"I can hope, right?"

"Guess you can." Crimson sighs and sits down on the bed, letting himself take a moment to relax. The bed is soft, feeling as comfortable as it looks. Even though it is blissful, he cannot actually find it in him to unwind as Dahlia still stands contemplative in the middle of the room. "... I don't reckon we'll have many opportunities to talk to each other. If you've got somethin' on yer mind, best tell me now."

Her orbs look up to him, brows lined just above them. "You're really pushy, you know that?" Crimson lifts his hands to her, as if fainting pushing her away. "Yeah, really funny," she states, looking away again.

The energy in the room feels odd, they know it is all in due to Dahlia. Their united silence only works to drive what Crimson had said.

Dahlia purses her lips, finally working herself up to ask, "Why don't you care if I look?"

Crimson's left brow arches in amusement. "Do I really gotta repeat myself?"

"Yeah, but you told me to look away back at that Moonlight chick's house."

Crimson finds himself stopped. Both of his brows raise, realizing he is now forced into a truth or lie corner. At his lack of response, Dahlia looks over to him again wonderingly. Her gaze makes it that much harder to lie to her. "... Just..." he takes his hand to the back of his head, "fer no reason."

"Oh, bullshit!"

"Dahlia!" He snaps at her heightened tone.

Her ears fall to her head and she lowers to the ground slightly, but her frown stays on her face as she gawks at him. "Bullshit!" she repeats much quieter. "Stop lying to me before you really piss me off! Why'd you say it if it hardly mattered!?"

He could shut her down and push her away, metaphorically this time, but... he knows it will only cause her to lock up. It is the last thing he wants, and he knows it. "... I..." he begins, shifting his eyes away from her, "It's cuz, I... wanted to get back at'cha fer..." He stops himself, feeling too embarrassed to want to finish the idea.

Dahlia latched onto the words he said, trying to piece everything together. It is not long before she does. "For kicking you out of the restroom when I showered?" Crimson does not say anything, keeping his gaze averted. "Hah, are you serious? Did you actually get upset at that?"

"I didn't get upset," he frowns at her. "What upset me is you leavin' yer hair all over the damn drain."

"Yeah? Well if you weren't upset, why did you try to get back at me?"

"How 'bout you, huh? Why you keep tryin'a call Moonlight my lover?" Dahlia least expected him to bring this up, it causes her ears to perk and her eyes to shrink. "Petty jealousy ain't a good look on you."

Dahlia quakes, becoming red at his last statement. She actively tries to keep herself from shouting at him. "I-I'm not jealous. Why would I even be jealous of her? She's just an egghead I've never met and I'll never meet. It's you that keeps putting her up on this pedestal, it's hard to think anything else."

"In yer own words: Bullshit."

"Pff, oh yeah? How's that, wise guy?"

"Because I've already seen you wet without yer stupid little shirt on. Damn near singin', cleanin' up, my ass standin' right smack behind you. Before you say 'privacy,' it's sure convenient that you kicked me out after somethin' struck yer mind. That face you made? Way you looked away from me? Thought I wouldn't notice? There wouldn't be no sound reason fer you to kick me outta the restroom except bein' petty."

As he continues to speak, the red upon her face deepens. She clenches her teeth before snarling, "My shirt is cool, fuck you."

"Exactly, ain't got nothin' to say. It's like you forgot we bathed together already."

"We never did! The hell are you talking about!?"

"Yeah? In front of yer lodge in the forest? That river at the front?" Dahlia clenches her teeth, she did indeed forget. It was such a brief moment, and she only spent a handful of minutes there before retiring for the night. "Like I said, jealousy ain't a good look on you."

Her eyes glitter in utter resentment, just about ready to abandon all reservation and openly attack him.

KNOCK KNOCK

The two of them jump quickly at the abrupt rapping on their door. Crimson shuts himself up while Dahlia stumbles to answer it. Both try to act natural. She cracks the door open slightly, seeing that it is the stallion who was downstairs at the counter. She opens the door completely for him, noting that he is standing with a tray of food in hoof and a stand on his back. He shifts his eyes from Dahlia to the human who took all his clothes off sitting on the bed, then back to Dahlia.

Dahlia’s realizes where his eyes went, her face slowly heats up as the stallion keeps staring at this very peculiar scene.

“Sorry to interrupt," he states with a sly smirk. "Here’s your food." Dahlia’s stomach digests itself. The stallion walks in, past the frozen mare, and sets down the table-stand which was on his back in the very center of the room. He sets the tray of food on it and walks back outside. “Enjoy the appetizer,” he says suggestively as he closes the door, his hooves becoming farther away until they disappear.

…

“What does look good on you is all that rosie on your cheeks,” Crimson comments tactlessly.

Like her spirit exited her body, Dahlia turns around lifelessly and walks to the tray in the middle of the room, keeping her eyes away from the man. “... Crimson… shut the fuck up...”

‎

‎

After the two had finished, and Dahlia recollected enough pieces of her ego, they set out towards the west. They cross the length of the Hoofer Dam bridge and trail along the entire Highland Reservoir. Crimson looks up at the sky as they walk. The cool, humid air of the mid-day blows against his skin as heavy grey clouds have begun to form in the sky above. Rain is imminent.

After walking for roughly half an hour, bespoken landmarks make their appearance. Crimson now directs his attention to the base of the Applewood mountains, which they are approaching. He sees an enormous abandoned industrial warehouse at the foot of the Applewoods. There is also a huge cave entrance next to the warehouse on the mountains. There are immense pieces of broken, rusted machinery and tools littered around the area. As they get closer, the grass under them turns to moist dirt.

The warehouse itself is very large, rivaling military hangars. The massive front gate to the warehouse appears to be shut and welded together. There is a regular sized double-door entrance next to the large gate that allows access inside, but this door is guarded by two bodies.

The duo spot more of these ponies walking around the warehouse, they appear to be all stallions wearing miner’s drabs. Each one of them is big and menacing. Dahlia already knows that these ponies are not miners, there has not been anything to mine inside the cave for years.

Once the duo makes it to the guards at the door, Dahlia speaks up. "I wanna register,” she says firmly to the stallions.

They scrutinize her, then the human behind, scanning his form up and down. They appear impressed with what they see. One of the stallions return his punchy gaze to Dahlia. “You a freelancer?”

“Yeah.”

"Ever fought before?"

She shakes her head at him.

He looks around with critical eyes. He reaches behind him and takes out a clipboard with a charcoal stick that was sat on his back, offering it to Dahlia. It looks like a sign-in sheet with multiple names already on it or crossed off. "Put'cher name here. 'N your human's name next to it." The mare does as he asks, taking the clipboard and charcoal to write. Once the last blank spot is filled with her information, she offers it back to the stallion. The stallion takes it and hides it behind him again. "Lucky you we had major drop-outs in the starter's bracket today. New round just started, your dude'll be up next. He don't need a leash, right?" he asks, tilting his head to Crimson.

"He's well trained," she replies simply.

The stallion nods. The other next to him, who has kept quiet the whole time, glares at Crimson and grunts, "C'mere, boy." He walks off and Crimson takes the instruction to walk behind him. He leads the man to the left side of the warehouse out the farthest end, the side that faces the foot of the mountains. There is a sizable cellar door attached to the outside wall, one that leads to an underground level of the warehouse. The stallion reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick key, moving to unlock the door and open it up.

The stallion turns to gawk at the man, and he returns a lazy stare behind his hair. The stallion takes a few steps to the left, and Crimson's eyes follow. A few more steps, and he follows again. The stallion smirks and shakes his head. “Your gal's gonna be real sad when she sees you die out there. Least provide some entertainment before you do. Alright, bud?”

He chuckles devilishly, walking down the cellar doors. The man follows. They proceed down a long ramp that descends into the darkness. The ramp down is made of solid, rather grippy concrete, probably to prevent humans from slipping and falling down this bottomless slope. It becomes darker and darker as they descend, the natural light the clouded sky provided is now replaced by dim, amber light bulbs that do a poor job at their one purpose.

Once they reach the bottom of the ramp, they step onto dirt ground. There is a heavy steel prison door that confines the next room. The stallion reaches into his pocket and takes out another thick key. He slides it into the lock of the door, and it clicks loudly. He pushes the heavy door open.

“HRGH?” “HRAAGH!”

The sound of angry humans is the response to the door opening.

“Shut up, ya' fuckin’ simians,” the stallion shouts, riling up the humans more. As they walk in, the scent of blood and disgorge overwhelms the air.

Crimson glances around the room. Steel cages of different sizes are all placed along the walls of this confinement. The floor is dirt, but the ceiling and walls are wood and cement. The whole room has one sad lightbulb that is flickering on its last legs, hanging in the very middle. It does not do a good job at providing light and making things clear, but it is good enough for one to make things out and not bump into anything.

Humans are kept inside these cages. The cages themselves are all draped over with cloth, which do not allow the humans to see outside of their cage, and the bars are too close together to allow for any reaching. The cages also appear to gently glow with magical runes that randomly pop up on different parts of the cage, like tattoos which appear and vanish around the metal.

The stallion leads Crimson to an opened, empty cage near the far-right corner of the room. He steps behind the man and shoves him into the cage, and is quick to slam the cage door shut. The lock of the cage appears to engage itself as it lights with softly-glowing blue magic. It remains glowing with the enchantment, and the runes he noticed from the other cages now appear on his.

He stares back at the stallion who grins wickedly and utters, “Await destiny, bud. Make your gal proud.” He reaches up to drop the drapes over Crimson’s cage, leaving him in the dark. The man can hear the stallion cackling maniacally as he leaves the room, shutting the steel door and locking it.

Crimson sighs, sitting down inside his cage. He debates what is worse, the cage or the collar. The fact that it is both right now leaves him without words... he will be sure to make someone pay for this. For everything that has happened to him.

Now, he awaits for his apparent showtime. He contemplates simply breaking out. He starts to think it is more worth it, physically and mentally, to just fight against Horseshoes against all they have head-on instead of playing their games, but then he thinks on how insurmountable it would be without his Arch. He played the waiting game with his former gang, he deems the same patience must be had with these otherworldly creatures.

Plus, pulling the wrong move will not merit the Horseshoes after just him, they will target Dahlia too. Relentlessly.

“WOOOOOOWE! LOOK AT’CHA! BLEEDIN’ LIKE A DOG!”

-“Oooh, where’s your daddy now, son? Is he gonna save you? Huh!? HE’S FUCKIN’ DEAD, BOY! 'N YER NEXT!”

--“WE WERE LIKE FAMILY, SKY!"

"Crimson, please... they're coming..."

‎

‎

Dahlia watches the guard take Crimson away, off around the corner of the warehouse. The stallion still in of her steps aside, granting her access. She walks forward and pushes the heavy doors open.

As if the doors were the soundproof piece that kept everything quiet, Dahlia’s ears are flooded with the muffled sounds of rallying cries from the attendants. She meanders through a dark, dimly lit maze-like passageway made of thick steel and sheet-metal. The sheer weight and build of the entire warehouse is very apparently overdone and powerful.

After a final left turn, Dahlia puts her hoof over her eyes as floodlights somewhat blind her. She exits the wide halls and steps into the stands of the warehouse. Ponies, zebras, and griffons, hundreds of bodies are sitting on bleachers as two humans assault each other in a pit.

The warehouse was completely remodeled from the inside, now taking on the service of a roman-esque fighting coliseum. The pit, dug three stories into the ground, is in the very center with compacted dirt as the flooring. Bleachers are all around the circular pit, arranged in a square shape, sitting all of the shouting and mobbing attendants. There are some exclusive box seats high above the bleachers on each side of the walls for the richer and fancier kinds. The most notable box seats are located at the farthest end from the entrance, all surrounded by thick glass and decorated in a manner that yells, 'the boss sits here.'

She sees them up there, the minds behind the operation, recalling who they are. The organization named the Ring Runners are a vanquishing kind in Equestria due to modernization, but outside of Equestrian borders, this particular practice is still common and always held by the rich. Equestria is simply unique in the fact that they use humans for theirs.

Seeing as there are no assigned seats among the chaos, Dahlia keeps her composure and walks herself over to the bleachers closest to her and the exit. She sits on the bottom-most row at the edge. The view is not too great, and she is next to a zebra stallion who is shouting his head off, but she thinks it is good enough. The zebra looks over to Dahlia when she takes her seat.

“HohehehEeey, sweet thang. Wanna catch a carriage with me after the show?~” he raises his eyebrows suggestively and leans in.

Dahlia leans away from him, able to smell the alcohol in his breath. “Not interested.”

The zebra squints, “Pssh, bitch... WOOOOOO!” he continues to shout as he returns to the show.

Dahlia directs her gaze to the two fighters now as well. One of them is a standard human of light blue skin, the other is a larger, more bulky human of orange skin. They are both bloody, bruised, hair-torn, and terribly exhausted, but they still keep fighting each other. At this rate, they will end up running out of blood before a killing blow is issued.

The orange one pins the blue one onto the ground. He starts to punch the lights out of the blue human under him. More blood is somehow spewing from the blue. In an act of desperation, blue reaches out to clasp orange's face, scratch at it with his jagged nails, and manages to drive his right thumb into their right eye.

The orange one shrieks in pain, screams in panic, then returns the favor by jamming his left thumb into blue’s left eye. They dig into each other’s brains, screeching in agony as they do. Blood leaks furiously from their eye sockets. The crowd is going insane. Dahlia watches this with little amusement.

Finally, after adequate anguish, the two humans stop. The arm of the blue human falls limply to his side, the orange human collapses on top of him. They both lie in the middle of ring, convulse together, then remain completely still.

Dahlia’s ears rest on her head from the obnoxiously loud crowd ringing her eardrums. She returns her attention to the box seats above, eyeing the Ring Runners who sit on their comfortable asses. She furrows her brows at them, scoping their numbers… six guards up there, two Ring Runners, and one show-mare. She can probably tell which Runner is Rhye, a fat spoiled unicorn, just by how the show-mare is hugging and coupling up to him as his personal pet.

Dahlia fixates her attention on this show-mare in question. The orange glow is undeniable; the relic of Tramana finds itself fixed into a pendant, and it is being worn as a necklace around her neck.

Five stallions fly into the ring after the humans are dead. Four of them begin routine on cleaning up the blood and bodies, the fifth stallion, wearing a very nice suit and having applied too much hair gel, holds a megaphone in his wing.

“ADMIRE THE BLOODSHED! LOVE THE GORE! A TWO FOR ONE SPECIAL! WE END THIS ROUND WITH A DRAW! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! VISITOR LOSES, AND HOME KEEPS THE STAKE!”

One stallion in the crowd of hundreds, the owner of the now dead blue human, rises from the bleachers besotted. He leaves the coliseum with zero earnings and without his human.

Dahlia directs her attention to the pit now. She watches the pegasus clean-up crew drag the bodies and throw them into a depository hatch found on the wall of the ring. Dahlia assumes it leads down to a pit, deep in the ground where all dead fighters are piled and burned.

“AND WHOOOOOOOO’S READY FOR ANOTHER ROOOUUUUND!” The crowd fans the flame. “AHAA, I KNEW YOU WERE! REMEMBER, FOLKS! THE PRIZE POOL STANDS AT TWO. MILLION. BITS! EACH WIN RACKS FIIIIIIVE-HUNDRED THOUSAAAAND! CLIMB THE LATTER, GRAB THE GOLD, MAKE IT TO THE TOP! WIN THE FINAL ROUND AND YOU GO HOME WITH AN ANCIENT. PRICELESS. REEEELIIIIIIC!”

The announcer points towards the box seats, and spotlights aim that way.

The stallion assumed to be Rhye slaps the mare’s flank. She rises from her cuddling position and spreads her wings. She jumps up over the glass and begins to fly around, displaying not only her curvaceous body, but also the relic worn around her neck. Constant cheering resounds like thunder.

Dahlia’s brows twitch, resisting the urge to simply fly up and snatch it.

“SELL IT TO A WIZARD! SELL IT TO A MUSEUM! KEEP THE DAMN THING IF YOU WANT! THIS RELIC GIVES THE WEARER A PERFECT SENSE OF BALANCE AND REFLEXES! CATCH A KNIFE! DO A SOMMERSAULT! NEVER LOSE IN YOUR GAME OF CATCH EVER AGAIN! YOU WANT IT? IT’S YOURS, MY FRIEND! JUST THROW YOUR HUMAN INTO THE RING AND PRAY TO YOUR BAG OF BITS THEY’RE BADASS ENOUGH TO MAKE IT FOUR. ROOOUUUUUNDS! ARE WE READYYYYY!?"

The crowd responds with an overwhelming "YEEEEEEAAAAH!"

"NEXT. ROUND. STAAAAAAAART!”

Dahlia's attention is snapped down to the large, heavy steel doors on each end of the ring that hide the next opponents.

‎

‎

Crimson’s eyes remain closed as he blocks out the sound of constant screeching and rattling of the humans around him. Even if he wanted to try to talk to them, to see if there is any semblance of intelligence found in those blank-slate minds, he cannot. They keep screaming, they keep shaking their cages, and they are all terribly agitated, likely because of his entry. He sighs, squinting his eyes at the floor of his cage.

Idle, silent contemplation for what feels like too long.

His eyes shoot open when his cage suddenly begins to quake and rattle. He sees that his cage is being lifted off the ground, a heavy pulley system raises it into the ceiling. It becomes pitch black, he cannot see anything, he only feels his rattling cage as the sound of working metal continues.

He rises an unknown height before the cage stops. The magic on the cage’s lock disperses, and the cage door opens in by itself. Crimson rises and pushes the cloth that covers his cage out of the way. He sees a small light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He walks along the dirt path towards the light, seeing that it is a large steel gate with a small window at the very top. It lets a little bit of light from outside peek in. He can hear shouting and cheering from the other side.

He tries peeking through the window, but it is too high up for him really get a good look at anything. He then looks around the hall he finds himself in. There is definitely no way out from in here, unless he wants to punch through an unknown quantity of cement and dirt.

“NEXT. ROUND. STAAAAAAAART!”

This key phrase tips him off, his attention directs to the now-rising steel gate. Light floods in and stuns his dilated eyes. He shuts them, letting them adjust, then reopens them and looks forward.

The announcer flies up from the middle of the pit and shouts into the megaphone: “LET’S GET READY TO RRUUUUMBLEEEEEE!”

Crimson hesitantly steps out into the ring, the overbearing volume of the crowd surrounds him. Hundreds of animals sit on bleachers at every angle, they all stare down at him from high up. His eyes scan through the masses, looking for a specific mare. It takes him a few turns of his head, but he spots Dahlia. She sits on the bleachers to the right of his gate, off to the very corner, very missable. It appears she took a seat closest to the exit, he thinks it is just like her to want to be seated near the closest escape point.

He now directs his attention to the other gate across the ring.

“OOON THIS CORNER, WE HAVE-- … OH? WHAT IS THIS? A SURRRRPRIIIISE CONTENDERRRR! TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT HIM, FOLKS! MY SOURCES TELL ME THAT THIS CONTENDER IS NAMED SKY . HE STANDS TALL, HE STANDS LARGE! NO MEASUREMENTS, BUT I WOULD BET MY NEXT CHECK THAT HE BELONGS TO WEIGHT CLASS B! HAH, JUST JOKING! I WOULD NEVER BET MY CHECK! BUT HIS SIZE AND WEIGHT FITS THE BILL! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! HIS OPPONENT WILL ALSO COME FROM THE SAME CLASS! FAIR FIGHTS, AM I RIGHT?”

Crimson eyes Dahlia, she eyes him right back. Her expression looks terribly worried, regretful even, but he can feel the hope and confidence she is putting in him. It is all he needs.

The show-mare up in the box seats comes down on Rhye's lap, smiling down at the black-haired man. “Oo, he’s quite the looker, isn’t he?~”

Rhye nickers. “Looks don’t win fights, darlin’,” he replies with his grainy voice.

“Sometimes, I wish they would~” she nestles her muzzle under his chin. “He’s gorgeous~”

Amused at her flattery, Rhye chuckles twice, “Tell ya' what, sweet thing, if this fella survives, we’ll nag him up. Sound good?”

“Ooh, daddy, you always know how to make a filly smile!~” She leans in and gives the honcho a deep, sloppy kiss.

“CHAMBERED AND READY TO GO, OOOON THIS CORNER," the announcer points his hoof to the opposite side of the pit, "WE HAAAAAVE… FAELIOOOOO!”

Crimson sees the gate on the other end tremble and begin to rise.

“A WEIGHT CLASS B FAVORITE, FAELIO COMES BACK INTO THE ARENA! HE STANDS AT SEVENTY INCHES, HE'S TWO-HUNDRED AND TWENTY POUNDS, AND HE’S HUNGRY FOR A THROW-DOWN!”

The gate finishes its ascent. A grey human, with dark green hair that is trimmed and spiky, stands at the archway. He begins to walk forward, approaching his opponent. His face is expressionless, the light green eyes in his head are dilated in a bestial fashion.

“GET YOUR BEER, GET YOUR SNACKS! THE FIGHT. STARTS. NOOOOOOW!”

Crimson stands on his side of the ring, his hair and the heavy lighting of the warehouse shades over his face. He does not move. The gates that gave him entrance to the ring close behind him.

Seconds pass, still, he remains in place, unmoving, motionless. Faelio does not appear very happy about his lack of motion.

“WHY ISN’T THAT ONE MOVIN’!?” a random member of the crowd questions.

“HE’S JUST STANDING THERE!” another speaks in agitation.

“HE SCARED!?”

The crowd grows increasingly displeased with Crimson’s stillness. Faelio’s jaw flexes left and right, turning his walking approach into a light jog, then, a full sprint. The distance is closed in a second.

“GRAAH!” Faelio lunges forward and brings in his right fist towards Crimson’s face.

Crimson moves exactly when the punch is thrown, stepping left, feeling the fist fly by as wind grazes his cheek. He flows the side-step into a counter-punch, he pistons his own fist into a right haymaker at the grey human’s face. The combined force of Crimson’s already mountainous punch and the momentum that Faelio had when approaching him with mix into a devastating blow.

BRRKRAAK!

The cartilage of the grey human’s nose is broken into shards and driven up into his brain. If the blunt-force trauma was not enough to instantly kill him, the shards of cartilage piercing his cerebral cortex was. The strength of the punch rocks the grey human’s entire body back, head first. He is propelled backwards in a cart-wheeling spin, skipping along the dirt until his body comes to a rolling end at the middle of the ring. Blood pools from his head as he lies on the dirt, dead.

The death was quick and painless, just as Crimson had hoped. The crowd lets out a loud, collective gasp.

…

Rhye, the show-mare, and his guards lean in and stare at the black-haired man with focused eyes.

…

“YYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The crowd loses it.

“HOLY SHITBALLS ON A STICK, FOLKS! THAT ROUND TOOK SIXTEEN AND A HALF SECONDS! JUST TWO SECONDS SHY OF THE RING RECORD! WHOEVER SKY IS, HE PERSONALLY BROUGHT US TICKETS TO THE GUNSHOW! LOOK AT THOSE ARMS! THOSE BACK MUSCLES! LOOK AT THE DEVASTATION THAT RIGHT STRAIGHT CAUSED! WE DON’T WHERE YOU CAME FROM, SKY, BUT THE BETS ARE DOWN! ONE OF YOU LUCKY RASCALS OUT THERE JUST NETTED YOURSELF FIVE. HUNDRED. THOUUUUSAND BIIIIIIITS!”

“HRYEAH! YEAH!”

“YOU FUCKIN’ ROCK, SKY!”

“DID YOU SEE HOW FAR THAT OTHER GUY FLEW!?”

Crimson’s bitter expression is directed at the lifeless human he did not want to kill. He had no real reason to end his life, other than for the entertainment of the sick, twisted animals watching him. But he knows he needs that relic. This is the price to pay to solve their mystery. For wanting to help save Equestria. For wanting to be the good guy.

“Fer pullin' me away from my sister.”

Dahlia sees the severity under Crimson's stoic indifference. Her worry only increases, not only because she fears for his safety, but because of the unhealthy interest the crowd is taking into him.

Magic suddenly envelops Crimson, and he is dragged back to his gate and practically slammed on it. The mystical aura around him is the same shade of blue that kept the lock secure on his cage.

The announcer-stallion looks over to the box seats, he sees Rhye waving him over. He is quick to fly to him and hover at his side. “What’cha got for me, boss?” asks the announcer with enthusiasm.

“That human. Sky. That name's familiar."

"That's because it is, boss!" the announcer explains merrily. "His name has been circulating within the Family for a few days now!"

"Huh," Rhye licks the bottom row of his teeth with an opened mouth. "Who’s his owner?”

“Oh, I, uh," he presses the earpiece he has equipped in his left ear. "Hey. Sky's owner. Name. ... Name, you fucking shit-licker! ... What? How the fuck do you spell that? ... P. S. I. W? ... Alright." He composes from his anger and smiles to Rhye again. "A pony going by the name Psseew! Tan pegasus mare, compass cutie-mark."

"Psseew, huh? Get one of my guys to find out where she's sittin'."

"On the double, boss!"

"And, uh... she new in town or she been on the roster?"

"Very new! Must have just showed up today or something! We had a lot of contestants drop out today, so Sky was probably pushed up in the queue by the coordinator!”

“Ye… ye, prolly. Look… this Sky guy… he looks… different. Somethin’ about ‘im, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I feel you there, boss! Might be jacked up on something!”

“Ye. To accommodate for this Sky fella… we’re changin’ it up tonight. Tell the crowd that we’re skippin’ right into the advanced bracket.”

“Oho, you betcha, Rhye!” the announcer waves and quickly flies back out into the crowd.

“The advanced bracket, daddy?” the mare on the honcho’s lap questions. “Isn’t that… really dangerous? What if he doesn’t make it? I can’t have a dead human as a pet.”

“Ah, don’t you worry, darlin’. I’m sure he can handle it,” he says with a hint of cynicism.

The mare tilts her head in an uneasy manner.

“LOOKS LIKE WE’RE SWITCHING THINGS UP TONIGHT, FOLKS!" the announcer preaches whilst performing twirls in the air. "IN THE LIGHT OF OUR NEWCOMER, SKY, ORDERS FROM UP ABOVE SAY WE FLIP THE SCENE!”

The audience sounds more than just pleased at the turn of events. Three spotlights in the coliseum aim at Crimson when the announcer calls him out. The man squints his eyes in annoyance and remains with his back against the cold steel gate.

“WE’RE PULLING OUT ALL THE STOPS AND JUMPING RIGHT INTO OUR ADVANCED BRACKET! THAT MEANS MORE BLOOD! MORE DEATH! AND MOOOOOORE FUUUUN! WORD FROM OUR COORDINATORS SAY WE GOT OUR NEXT FIGHTER! KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED... MAKE SURE YOU DON’T BLINK… SHE’S FAST, SHE’S ANGRY, SHE’S REALLY FREAKIN’ SMALL! STANDING AT FORTY EIGHT INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT NINETY-NINE POUNDS, IT’S… SODA-CAAAAAAAN!”

The spotlights begin to wander again. Crimson blinks a few times and focuses his vision on the rising gate at the other end of the ring.

The announcer watches the rising gate in anticipation. It trembles, then slowly lifts off the ground… “… AAAAND… ROUNDSTARTGO!”

“Irh,” Crimson's eyes dilate and he takes on step back as he feels a gash on his chest. The gate had not even finished rising before a green streak came from under, flew nearly thirty feet, and swiped at him. The streak has stopped behind him, he seldom has time to turn around and look at his opponent before the streak flies by and slices at his right cheek. The cuts are horizontal, small, and jagged. Crimson grunts in annoyance as he fails to keep up with the blur, he is not even sure what is attacking him. He tugs at the urge to use his Arch to heighten his senses, but the collar around his neck binds him.

The blurring figure finally stops and presents herself in the middle of the ring, next to the dead human from the round before. Crimson gets a good look at her, her naked form pants slowly from anger and delirium rather than exhaustion. Her nails are not incredibly long, but they look unnaturally sharp. She is indeed a very small human, her body is thin and athletic. Her skin is a light green color while her hair is yellow with streaks of white. Crimson cannot understand why she got the name ‘Soda-Can.’ Her face would be adorable, with her large expressive eyes and tiny nose, if she was not staring at him with the most non compos mentis look he had ever seen.

Crimson raises his guard, deciding that blocking her fairly weak but bleed-inducing attacks would be easier than trying to dodge them. She’s too fast for him to throw a punch successfully without the aid of his Arch. He wonders how a human can be this fast, but the thought does not linger. He is surrounded by talking equines that use magic spells and can talk. A breakneck human is one of the more tame phenomena.

Soda gets on all fours, she becomes a blur again. Crimson shifts his guard to intercept. A fresh, jagged cut appears on his forearm as he blocks his abdomen from the swipe. Soda stops behind him again, her eyes tremble unstably, and she growls angrily. She did not appreciate having her attack blocked.

“UREEEEE!” Soda screeches as she dashes again. Crimson is still facing forward, giving her his back. He reaches his right arm behind his head quickly, he protects his nape from being gashed open by the flying razor-blade. Soda lands and stops in front of him again, definitely not enjoying this man’s ability to safe-guard himself from her attacks. “REEEEEE!” she darts again. Crimson’s right forearm takes the slash instead of his pectoral. She darts again, he protects his left cheek. She darts again, he shields his left-abdomen. She finds a rhythm of death, darting at him at different angles. Crimson remains in place and blocks the swipes, his blood splats and paints the ground around him as his arms take the abuse.

Soda dashes one more time before she lands back at the center of the ring, panting profusely as her little body is running out of energy. She gawks at Crimson with spiteful rage, he should be dead by now. No one has ever lasted this long with her. She finds immense displeasure at his existence, and the sheer amount of blood he seems to have. “EEEE!” she screeches one more time and dashes, lashing out with both hands this time, directing themselves towards his eyes and neck simultaneously. Crimson reaches his guard and protects both targeted locations, but—

“Nrh!?” Crimson’s eyes shoot open, his body freezes. The audience gasps as one unit. … Everything stops. … Silence. … He can hear Soda’s quiet panting just below him. … The man slowly moves his arm away from his eyes and looks down. Their eyes meet, his and Soda’s. Her light-yellow orbs stare back up at his with psychotic wrath. Her tiny hands, trembling and shaky, grip onto Crimson's underwear, holding his testicles. Her hands are cupped around them, her nails punch through the cloth. Her exhausted form is failing to take down her bleeding opponent, so she resorts to the easiest form of taking a man down.

… Crimson tries to slowly move his arms down to her—“Mrk!” he squints, feeling her grip around his balls tightening. She applies more pressure every time he tries to move. It is not enough to cause pain just yet, but any more pressure and it will most definitely hurt. He stares into her dandelion orbs with hesitation. Soda’s lips take on a wide, hysterical smile as her eyes widen so much they almost pop out of her head.

The little human is enjoying herself now, she is loving every second of this. The face of the man, which she holds captive, is giving her goosebumps. That dilated, fearful expression he makes is bliss for the little maniac. She licks her lips deviously, tugging gently at his scrotum.

“Frh!”

The crowd remains silent, watching intently. The males in the crowd reach down and protect their own child-sacks out of pure instinct.

Soda keeps staring into his eyes with that volatile glower. She stares into his eyes… into his eyes…

… a hazel brown coloration which suddenly harks gold.

Crimson throws all precaution out the window as his eyes begin to glow under his hair. He stares back into Soda’s with conviction. Suddenly, the little human’s smile drops, her eyes dilate, and they too begin to glow gold with his Arch.

He performs one of the few things he has ever learned to do, at the cost of the collar asphyxiating him. Something he swore he would never to do to anyone ever again...

... sharing memory into another being.

Ridiculously, his Arch shoots like a bullet into Soda through their point of contact - his nuts. He speaks to her soul, tapping into her very core. The same way he can channel into someone to take pain away, the same process can be used to look into their most profound psyche. Just as he can transfer physical cells into another person's body, he send thoughts into their mind the same way - a physical and metaphysical interaction.

He is able to speak to her and transfer thoughts without physically speaking. He found out this functions on any creature that has a functional brain that can receive and interpret stimuli. He quickly realized that this ‘soul-speaking’ does not cause harm when performed with temperance, but it was arduous to learn how to do it properly, and dangerously easy to give too much information. In this case, he is performing it with the intention to overwhelm. It can cause damage to the brain in the form of electrical impulse overcharges: headaches, blackouts, aneurysms, a coma... even death.

Before the collar saps him from his power, Crimson crams all sorts of memories, ideas, thoughts, and trauma into Soda’s mind at random. The bombardment of her brain instantly overwhelms her senses, and on the same token, his as well. Soda is forced to accept Crimson's suffering, and Crimson is forced to take Soda's torment.

Her glowing eyes become crossed and her chin tucks. She lets go his testicles when her arms spasm inwards. She sputters and spits, saliva drips from her mouth as she twitches.

In the same instant her eyes cross, the collar drains Crimson of his energy.

"Nnrh!" “Uck-eck…”

Crimson staggers back and falls onto one knee as Soda's eyes begin to close and open unevenly. Visions flash, screams of horror and anguish. He swallows it all like a horrid nightmare. Not so prepared and lucky, the neurons of Soda's brain are thoroughly cooked.

Panting lightly, the man lifts his eyes at the little human in pity. He saw into her soul while the brief exchange of information occurred. He saw the life of this little human in a brief flash. She was bred and born for the sole purpose of fighting in this ring. Her insanity cultivated from her lifetime of existence in this hell. Her love of causing pain and torment manifested from having to endure it herself.

Her execution would be her greatest gift.

The crowd riles up again and barks in confusion as the announcer illustrates his shock. “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IN THE FREAKY-FLYING-FUCK IS GOING ON EITHER, FOLKS! JUST WHAT IN EQUESTRIA IS HAPPENING DOWN THERE!?”

Crimson rises and walks to Soda. He reaches down and picks up the convulsing girl from her neck, just above her collar, lifting her up effortlessly. She doesn’t fight back, she is incapable. He closes his eyes, takes in a breath, and breaks her neck with the same hand he holds her with.

He brings her in and holds her like a bride. He listlessly walks to the edge of the ring and rests her down on the ground next to his gate. He stands back up and idles there, looking down at her small, lifeless body.

…

“WELL SHOVE A BROOM IN MY HOLE AND CALL ME SCARECROW! YOU SAW IT HERE, FOLKS! WAS IT MAGIC? WHO KNOWS! WAS IT STUNNING? MOST DEFINITELY! WAS IT A MAJOR UPSET FOR NEXT WEEK'S BETS ON SODA-CAN’S VICTORY!? YOU CAN BET YOUR BROKE ASS IT WAS! ANOTHER WHOPPING FIVE-HUNDRED THOUUUUUSAND BITS TO THE WINNEEEEER! WITNESS ALL OF THIS AND MORE, HERE AT THE APPLEWOOD RRRRIIING RUNNEEEEEEEERS!”

The crowd enjoys the display of senseless violence and mishap as they cheer loudly once again. They praise the black-haired man, and spit volatile words at the deceased girl that made many lose money.

Crimson's soul burns in anger as he continues to watch Soda’s body. He turns his head to see Faelio’s corpse after. The death of those two are on his hands. They were not evil individuals, they were not blinded by greed or lust. They were forced into the nightmare that their life was, with no other alternative. He can only takes solace in the fact that they were finally put to rest.

Dahlia’s ears are flat on her head as she watches the man with utter stupefaction. She can barely see it, but it is there. She wonders if even he realizes it is happening. His eyes are still glowing golden from under his hair. Luckily, the drunk and chaotic crowd seems to be missing it completely, even failing to catch the glow of Soda’s eyes which had faded after her death.

Dahlia can feel the vexation being irradiated from Crimson.

“You’re fuckin’ with me!” Rhye slams his hoof onto the wooden armrest of his chair in seething anger. “That was one of ma’ best fighters!”

"How'd he do that?" the show-mare asks. "Do you think it's magic, daddy?"

"… I’m thinkin’ that too, darlin'. Maybe why this human’s got a real sharp edge.” He shifts his eyes to the mare, grinning, "Darlin', do we know of any other human dats got magic?”

“Mmm,” she thinks for a moment. “… Heidi?”

“Ye… Heidi.”

The mare’s brows furrow in worry, “… Daddy? You won't make Sky fight her, will you?”

Rhye squints his eyes, now directing them to the announcer who entertains the masses. He charges his horn.

The announcer stallion is suddenly enveloped in light blue magic and is blinked over to the box seats, dropped onto the ground at the hooves of Rhye. “Egh-rrh. Uh, uhm, h-how can I help you, boss?” he asks nervously as he rises and fixes the collar of his shirt.

“Listen… I don’t think I appreciate Sky's attendance no more. He ain’t strokin’ me the right way… y’know?”

“Ah, I-I sure do know, boss! Agreed totally!” beads of sweat trickle down the announcer’s face and neck.

“So you know what? Fuck the third round, I don’t wanna see this… black-haired bitch muckin’ up my ring no longer. Tell the lovely crowd I’m switchin’ it around again. We’re bringin’ in my girl to take care of this fuckin’ weasel. Once and for all.”

“Yeah! Will do, Rhye! Y-You’re the boss!” The announcer smiles wryly and forces a chuckle. He flies back out towards the crowd.

“B-But, daddy!” the mare starts with a saddened tone. “He’s going to die! I thought he was going to be mine!”

“Sush, darlin’. That prick down thea’s gonna run me outta business if this keeps up. No way I’m lettin’ some rando-asshole walk into my home with their scum-bag magic human and walk out with my bits.”

“B-But… daddy…”

The stallion suddenly turns his head and gawks at the mare in his hold. His grip around her tightens to an uncomfortable level, making it difficult for her to breath. “Daddy. Is running out of patience. Darlin’. Don’t make daddy get his belt now. Mmkay?” The struggling, fearful mare nods quickly.

“WELL, FOLKS, I HAVE RECEIVED YET ANOTHER TABLE-FLIPPER FROM THE BIG STALLION UPSTAIRS!” The crowd cheers even though they don’t know what he’s talking about. “THANK THE STARS ABOVE THAT YOU PAID REGULAR TICKET PRICE TODAY, BECAUSE WE’RE GETTING A PREMIUM SHOW! READY YOURSELVES, WE HAVE THE GREAT PLEASURE OF MAKING HER IMPECCABLE PRESENCE TONIGHT! IF YOU’RE SOMEBODY WHO’S ANYBODY HERE, YOU KNOW WHO I MEAN! THE CROWD-FAVORITE. THE STONE-FISTED BEAUTY. THE CAREER-ENDER. THE UNDISPUTED CHAMPION OF THE RING: HEIDIIIIIIIII!”

Crimson directs his resentful glare at the gate on the far end once more, waiting for the next human to stand before their executioner.

The gate rises. The body of the opponent is a silhouette until they step out into the ring.

A tall, completely muscular, yet remarkably beautiful, female human steps out into the ring. Her hair is a lovely blonde color, her eyes are a deep, entrancing green, her naked skin is a beautiful porcelain white with no blemish to be found.

She begins to walk. It is already at this point that a stake have driven itself into Crimson's soul. He is becoming confused, his expression completely flips around. Anger is traded for perturbation. His brows lower as his jaw falls.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK FOLKS!? WILL OUR LOVELY HEIDI CONTINUE HER REIGN AS QUEEN OF THE RING? OR WILL SKY COME FROM UNDER AND SNATCH THE TITLE AS OUR NEW CHAMPION!? LEEET’S FIND OOOOOUUUUT! REAADYYY...? BEGIIIN!”

The shock found on Crimson’s face is enough to make Dahlia’s stomach turn. She does not know what he sees in his new opponent, but she cannot think of a reason for him to make an expression like that.

The crowd vibrates in their seats from the anticipation.

Crimson begins to slowly walk towards her, extending his hands forward carefully. His face remains in its disconcerted state. Heidi walks towards him as well. They both take slow and dramatic steps until they meet face-to-face in the center of the ring. They stand but inches apart. They breath onto each other’s faces, the woman angrily and seriously, Crimson breathlessly and desperately.

Heidi is the exact same height as Crimson, standing at almost seven feet. Her squinting green eyes stare into his.

The man slowly reaches out to hold her face in his hand, utterly speechless. He touches her face, and to everyone's surprise, Heidi allows him to. For a moment, Crimson caresses her perfect face, touching her priceless skin.

He cannot believe what he is seeing.

BRAK!

A fist drives into Crimson's face, pummeling him backwards so he spins like a missile. He stops when he collides onto the steel gate that served as his entrance.

The punch was loud, devastating, and filled with violence. A punch that can send a head right off one’s shoulders. He quickly rises and wipes the blood off of his mouth and nose. He has little time to orient himself as Heidi is charging at him like a raging bull.

Just before the collision, Crimson leaps up high into the air and over her. Just then, the crowd ‘Oooo’s in awe, now realizing that Crimson could probably just leap out of the deeply-dug arena if he wanted to. But they do not care, they want to watch the fight.

He lands behind Heidi just as she shoulder-bashes the steel gate, creating a big dent in it shaped exactly like her shoulder. She turns around sharply and gawks at Crimson, walking towards him again. He backpedals in response.

“Heidi? Why’re you doing this?”

Heidi begins to weave left and right as she moves forward. Her large yet agile body forms an infinity symbol as she weaves. Crimson raises his guard just in time to—

THRAK!

--block a punch thrown by the woman. The punch is like a chunk of stone crashing into his already cut-up guard. Crimson grunts in pain but remains with his arms up.

THRAK!

THRAK!

THRAK! THRAK! THRAK! THRAK! THRAK!

She continues throwing these powerful punches from left and right hooks. Every time she weaves into a new direction, she throws a hook along with it.

”Heidi! Why are you fightin’ me!?”

Her attacks are unnaturally strong, the masses that are her fists crash against his guard over and over. The dirt under them is pushed away in a circle from the wind force of each punch. Crimson’s arms start to tremble, they are giving away. She is not listening to him, she continues striking.

The man clenches his teeth. He is going to have to fight back.

Crimson leaps back away from her punching range, but Heidi quickly leaps forward to close the distance again. She does not anticipate him to leap forward again once she does, causing them to collide into each other. Crimson reaches out quickly and grapples Heidi, he grasps her head and brings it down so their ears and cheeks rub against each other.

“Heidi, listen to me, don’t do this, please,” he whispers frantically, hiding his face between both his and her hair.

She tries to drive her knee into his stomach, but Crimson raises his leg in response, causing their knees to collide with each other with a bony thump. They both grunt in pain.

“HEIDI," he whisper shouts into her ear again. "LISTEN TO ME.”

The woman grits her teeth. Crimson’s exasperation accelerates when he feels his face become wet with something less viscous than blood. He turns his eyes to her cheek. A tear traveled from Heidi’s eye, staining the man's face. “Kill… me,” she rasps into his ear in barely comprehensible English.

The whispered words distract Crimson, giving Heidi an opportunity to break free. She rears her head back to headbutt him, Crimson replies by driving his own forehead forward. A resounding slam, they both wince in pain, remaining plastered on each other. Their noses press together, they stare into each other’s eyes again, their hair hides their faces away from the spectators.

Crimson sees it, he is allowed to see it. Heidi… her eyes are flickering from her natural green color to a corrupted grey. She is trying to activate her Arch, she is trying to channel it as a normal Arch Angel would. She is demonstrating its shattered, unfulfilled state to him. He sees it, the fissuring grey color which tells a story grim: an angel that had succumbed to the toils of the world around her.

Fragments piece together, the inner voice in his soul speaks this to him - the same voice that allowed Autumn's true voice speak to him. That voice comes with a feeling, a sensation. It is the same sensation he feels when he is near Viola - the sensation of being in proximity of another Arch Angel.

He cannot read her memories, they are hazy and fragmented. Her mind is a mess. How long she has been in Equestria is unreadable, the people she has met are forgotten. What caused to her end up in this land, what caused her soul to die, it is an indecipherable mess of consciousness. Her Arch does not listen to her. The events of her life lead to this end, stuck in this god-forsaken ring.

Crimson fails to find out anything about her, try as he might. She must have been here far before he was... maybe sent here. He cannot understand why she is doing this. Could she escape? Of course. Why has she not? He could not know. He stares into her beautifully tragic eyes, while his own glow in their proud, golden state. He can tell she jealously admires them, yearning for a release of her prison…

She breaks off of him, backing up a step and getting some distance from him. She throws a strike towards Crimson’s face, where he catches her slow but powerful fist with his left hand. He counters, striking forward with his right. It collides with her face, staggering her and streaking blood from her mouth. Heidi bounces back instantly, throwing another hook, driving it into the man’s jaw as a return. Crimson’s poise remains true, and he swings again, upper-cutting into her abdomen. She keels at the impact and coughs bloodied spit onto his chest. She rises up again, swinging her elbow up and bashing it onto Crimson’s cheek.

The crowd is going insane. The thundering blows, the copious amounts of blood, it is making them riot. Black Horseshoe guards begin to come out of the shadows and perform crowd-control procedures, as the pumped swarm nearly begins to brawl one-another. Dahlia remains on the outskirts of the bleachers and avoids the mess, watching in awe.

The two angels enter a savage slugfest. They do not bother with blocking, they trade blows full force.

THUM! THUM!

THUM! THUM! THUM!

THUM!

THUM! THUM!

Their blows resonate against each other’s flesh like mortar canon shots. Blood scatters around the arena with each punch landed. Tears and blood run down Heidi’s face as she continues to trade earth-shattering blows with the only physically worthy opponent she has ever faced.

The two lean forward, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders, and begin to beat on each other’s abdomen, over and over and over. They hold their breaths, they continue striking until one of them gives in. Their bodies react every time a hit is landed. Heidi lands a bone-crushing strike, Crimson’s eyes pulsate golden in reaction to the killing force. Heidi’s eyes throb their depressive grey color every time Crimson lands a pulverizing strike. The Arch inside their bodies does its best to soften the blows and reduce trauma, but the damage becomes too much to handle eventually.

Heidi gasps, coughing her bodily fluids out, then staggers back and spits again onto the ground. Crimson remains of his feet, hunched and holding his stomach.

She rasps breathlessly. Heidi grits her teeth as more tears run down her cheeks. Her inner emotions can no longer be contained, and she begins to sob. At this point, the crowd has gone so crazy, they are not even watching.

The crying woman inhales quickly multiple times, mustering the rest of her lifeforce together, and releases out as a harrowing warcry the way only a Vanguard could. Crimson’s skin litters with goosebumps. He feels it coming... he drops his stance voluntarily.

Heidi throws a steel-breaking right straight into Crimson’s cheek, plastering her fist onto it and leaving it there.

Crimson poises the attack, his feet dig three inches into the dirt to absorb it and prevent himself from flying back. He takes it, holding still with her fist still at his cheek. … His eyes droop unevenly. He exhales breathily, “Ehrh… eeh...” He staggers back, off of her fist. As he begins to fall backwards, his body throws one more despairing swing before he collapses onto his back. The desperate strike lands right on Heidi’s jaw, and even though the punch was forlorn, it was enough to knock the last spec of life out of her. Her head is rocked to the side from the miserable strike, and she begins to sway back and forward.

She steps forward once to try and keep her balance, but fails to stay on her feet. She falls face down, landing on top of Crimson. They struggle to breath, finally able to rest.

Dahlia holds her hooves over her mouth, her magenta orbs dance with light as they gleam with her despair.

The crowd is so excited, they nearly jump into the pit. “HOLD ONTO YOUR PANTIES, FOLKS! THEY’RE STILL ALIVE! THE ROUND IS NOT OVER UNTIL ONE OF THEM IS DEAAAAAAAD!”

Rhye leans forward in his seat, sweating bullets.

“D-Daddy, are you okay?!” the show-mare asks cautiously.

He does not bother replying to her. He watches, mortified, as his prized fighter is lying on the other human, beaten and ruined.

Heidi begins to reach up and grasp Crimson’s neck, but without force. She simply holds it. She uses it as leverage to pull her dying self upwards, dragging her naked form along Crimson’s, practically frictionless from the blood and sweat. She makes herself at eyelevel with the man under her, trembling violently. They stare into each other’s eyes again, her irises are no longer flickering. They are lightly glowing like a void pool of grey.

“Crimson… Sky…” Crimson’s expressionless face registers Heidi's voice, strong and womanly. She is whispering into his soul. She reads into his soul, taking his name into her mind. “Powerful... and brave... your Arch... is beautiful. ... Please… take my eyes... they will never... see…”

Her eyes flicker one last time, they become a harrowed, afflicted mix of gold and grey. Her moribund consciousness composes itself the best it can, recollecting a few final memories and whispering them into the man under her.

Crimson hears her voice again. Arch Angel Heidi Berceuse from the Vanguard Tower... now he understands why she was so though to take down. Tower, nearly impossible to topple, but do not have the same regenerative abilities of the Martyrdom. Her heavily weakened strength and the prolonged slugfest gave him the edge to emerge victorious.

Heidi attempts to speak one final thing to Crimson, the words she utters into him cause a hollowing pit in his stomach. "Please... deny it... no longer. Cast away... your hate. Your fury. Accept... your gift... and carry us... far...

Her eyes lose glow and color, and her head falls. Her cheek rests against the side of his neck.

Crimson's languidly glowing eyes stare at the ceiling of the coliseum, gaping into the null. The crowd is drowned away to background noise by his stargazing. The last words she spoke tear into his spirit.

…

The only other Arch Angel he has ever met who was not his family. And he had to kill her.

...

The deafening roars of the crowd are drowned out as the ringing in his ears blocks everything out. He gently, with tender care, hugs Heidi and sets her aside. He rests her on her side, her half-lidded eyes gazing into a nothingness only she knows.

He slowly reaches with two fingers and shuts her eyelids. He grunts and puffs, forcing his hurting body to stand up. Once on his feet, he lets out a deep sigh. And with that, the sounds of the world return to him. Just barely.

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!” “YEAHYEAHYEAHYEAHYEAHYEAHYEAH!” “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“UN. FRIGGIN’. BELIEVABLEEEEEE! YOU SAW IT HERE, FOLKS! HEIDI, THE REIGNING DEFENDER FOR ALMOST FOURTY YEARS, HAS BEEN DEEEEFEEATEEEEEEED! A NEW CHAMPION HAS RISEN! WHAT ELSE COULD WE THROW AT SKY!? WHAT ELSE COULD MATCH HIS GREATNESS!? I’LL TELL YOU WHAT! JACK. FUCKING. SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!” He briefly stops, bringing a hoof to his earpiece. “THE VOICES FROM ABOVE TELL ME THE ADVANCED BRACKET IS OVER! TODAY’S PRIZE POOL, INCLUDING THE SUPER RARE BONUS PRIZE, ALL GOES TO ONE AUSPICIOUS PONY OUT THERE! BUT DON'T WORRY, WE'VE GOT PLENTY OF OTHER PRIZES STILL LEFT FOR THE EVENING BRAWLERS! LUCKY US, WE HAD FREELANCE SIGN-UPS LIKE CRAAAZY AFTER SKY'S VICTORY POT! WE’LL RETURN TO OUR STARTER'S BRACKET AFTER A FEW MESSAGES! STICK AROUND FOR MORE ADRENALINE-FULED CHAOS! RIGHT HERE, AT THE RIIIIIIIING RUNNEEEEEEERS! ”

The crowds, somehow able to be controlled by the surrounding guards, chant and throw praise towards the man who stands bloodied and battered in the middle of ring. He can barely keep his footing, his eyes focus on nothing.

Though his victory is not savored for long. Unexpectedly, his body becomes enveloped in light blue magic, it crawls and creeps on him, until the world around him distorts madly. He finds himself teleported elsewhere, a place that is quiet, is warmly lit, contains a pleasant smell of… peaches?

He does not know, and he will not know. Right then, his consciousness escapes him as his world turns to black.

Next Chapter: Throes of Defiance Estimated time remaining: 8 Hours, 6 Minutes