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Their movements were rapid and well-practiced, displaying years of training to hone their martial arts. They did their best to avoid touching each other’s hands, but contact was inevitable, each having to negate the other’s attack. Every time their hands met, jets of steam and smoke would hiss from the contact, with Falco’s water coming to a boil, and Viktor’s flesh threatening to crack from the quenching.

Should he do it? Just forfeit the match? To admit before the crowd that their prince was too weak to fight back? After everything that had happened to him, he had no pride left, nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to accept his failure and resign himself to his shame. Lying on the ground, he raised his arm, about to surrender, but stopped, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tarnas. It was during the year of training, the two of them sitting around the campfire on an autumn night. Seraph was staring deep into the flames, into the light and warmth, but all he felt inside was cold darkness.

Abner was silenced as Noah, in his invisible state, covered his mouth with a rag dosed with Duska’s succubus powder. He tried to resist, but in his wounded and weakened state, the dust did its work quickly, and he couldn’t even raise his arms. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” Noah silently hissed as Abner passed out. Thanks to the dust cloud providing extra cover, it looked like Abner had simply fainted from his injuries. He’d wake up, barely remembering the fight.“And the winner is Reiss!” the referee announced to the adoring crowd.