“Three,” I say in soft warning.

  “Aye,” he mutters, plopping the acorn on his head and readying his stick.

  The figure closest to us doesn’t turn, but continues to stare down its opponent. A humanoid insect with dark gray chitin, its myriad limbs wave in a hypnotic, and faintly threatening, pattern. A thin silk garment, almost a dress, shimmers as it moves, covering much of its body in the purest white. Its entire body seems elegant, delicate, meant to dance instead of fight. It stands almost defensively over the huddled body of something barely bigger than a child, though its rugged bronze skin definitely isn’t human.

  Identification: Zaratiumynya, Laranya Weaver

  Level: 6

  Strengths: Will, Charisma

  Weaknesses: Strength, Agility

  The Laranya are the Competitor species of the First. A species akin to the arachnids of Earth, the Laranya’s dedication to the art of creation is second only to the gods themselves. Generally a peaceful species, the Laranya are still terrible foes when they are forced to turn their creative potential to war.

  I barely register the words, or the creature they’re attached to. I only have eyes for its opponent standing ready with a thin sword in hand. She stands with such languid grace it is as if she dances without moving. Her flowing silver hair frames a face of fierce and dangerous beauty. It is like looking at a bonfire, not just for its devouring beauty, but for the half-seen shimmer of its heat. My world seems to shrink as her eyes, the luscious pink of an aged sunset, meet mine. Her lips tighten in displeasure, and it feels like something strikes my chest.

  Though there is no truly physical sign, I somehow instinctively know she is anything but human.

  Identification: Vesyla, Drelni Blademaster

  Level: 21

  Strengths: Intelligence, Agility, Charisma, Will

  Weaknesses: Toughness, Strength

  The Drelni are the Competitor species of the Third. A race evolved to feed directly on soul energy, the Drelni live in a delicate, parasitic balance with the other species of their homeworld. The Blademasters represent the upper echelon of the retributive branch of the Drelni military, meting out justice to offenders of all species.

  “Holy shit.”

  “What is it, twig?”

  “Uh, wow, nothing,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden yet again, though for an entirely different reason. “Be careful, though. The hot one is strong.”

  Threenut leans forward and squints between the two.

  “Does one make heat?” he mutters quizzically. “A fire Class, perhaps?”

  “Oh. Silver hair. She dangerous.”

  And not just with the rapier she’s holding.

  “Aye.”

  Realizing it's no longer alone, the Laranya glances our way with an abruptness that makes me blink. Far too many eyes decorate its forehead, but I’d be lying if I called it ugly. There is a symmetry to its face, an elegance to its mouth and mandibles, that speaks to an intelligence well beyond any insect I’ve ever known. Its carapace bears markings in whorls of faint black and dim yellow like ink dropped into a cup of clear water. Beautiful and impossible both at once.

  Not that the sight of it doesn’t provoke some level of existential terror in my heart.

  “No,” it whispers, voice like a cold wind trembling through empty branches in winter. Immediately, it begins to back from the figure it was defending, raising thin limbs in a defensive gesture. “Take this prey, as the Mother wills. Zara will not resist.”

  “Won’t, and can’t,” the Drelni calls dismissively, pivoting smoothly to face us. Her eyes take us in, moving deliberately between Threenut and me. A hint of confusion ghosts across her features, and her eyes settle on Three. “Why do you ally with the weak, Otachai? At least your people have some value. Why not crush one such as her?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Oh, ouch. My head wants to shout ‘bitch’ even as my heart staggers from a blow that feels mortal. God, I just want her to like me.

  “Competitor!”

  Right. Get a fucking grip, Sam. She’s some crazy vampire duelist who is probably about to try to kill you.

  Against my will, my gaze drags up and down her lithe form, the gentle curves of her body beneath shimmering and obviously magical black silk, the brilliant flash of her eyes and the tight pout of her lips…

  If she wants to kill me, I just might let her.

  “Really, Competitor. Is now really the—”

  Kora. Hush. I was joking. I glance at the gorgeous creature again.

  Maybe. Probably.

  “This human is mine, to nourish or scour,” Threenut says, his acorn helmet bobbing once at the declaration. “Though methinks she need not beg aid of the Tree to prune one stunted sapling. If ye wish to test the depth me roots delve, or hers, then let us wait not for winter.”

  “Then you stand together?” she asks, her posture shifting slightly. She gestures casually with the point of her sword towards the Laranya and the fallen creature it was defending. Who, I notice, seems to still be breathing. The four other bodies laid about are still and cold, bearing horrific wounds as if from a massive blade. “And these? Do you claim them?”

  “Twig?” Threenut says, bright green eyes darting my direction.

  “Uh,” I say, eloquent to the last, trying to force my brain into motion again.

  Do I want to stick my neck out for a spider and a dying… something? Neither is human. Neither has earned my loyalty or my energy. Both would probably kill me in my sleep. But the way the spider stood, ready to fight for the fallen creature… a fight that it had little hope of winning…

  Damn it.

  “Competitor…” Kora says in warning. “The rodent I can, at least partly, understand. But this…”

  “Ours,” I say, though my voice breaks when I meet the gorgeous woman’s disappointed eyes. I clear my throat and look towards the Laranya. “Yes, we claim them.”

  The Drelni warrior makes a sound in her throat, though it's hard to tell if it’s disapproval or surprise. Her sword disappears into its sheath as if by magic, and she opens an empty hand towards the path leading onward.

  “Then take them. Their spirit is too weak to offer much sustenance, anyway.” Her eyes linger on me, feeling like they burn tracks into my skin wherever she looks. The Drelni arches one exquisite, dismissive eyebrow and turns to leave. “I imagine I’ll see you at Haven, Otachai. With your… friend.”

  She’s almost out of sight around a bend before I find my voice.

  “What do you mean, Haven?” I call, forcing my voice level.

  She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. She murmurs something to herself, her voice low enough that I would never have picked up the words without my unnatural Perception.

  “That’s why I don’t know them. Have they been out here this whole time?” She raises her voice to address us. “If you follow the next fork to the right, and the one after that, you’ll come upon it soon enough. A place where the killing is suspended, and Competitors can sleep free of fear.”

  “The right fork?” I say, feeling an impossible laugh building in my belly. I’ve been picking left the whole goddamn tournament because why the hell would it matter. “All we had to do was go right?”

  “Yes,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing.

  “Awesome.” I shake my head, fighting a smile. “Thanks.”

  She stares at me, unblinking, for another long moment, then turns and disappears into the forest without another word. Once she’s out of sight, I have to fight not to let myself sag to the ground. I feel like I’ve gone three rounds with that stupid moving staircase tree. All I want to do is lay down and imagine pink eyes and silver hair, the curve of her lip, the tilt of her eyes… but the world isn’t that accommodating.

  The Laranya has shifted to face us, its arms waving in that same vaguely threatening manner it presented to the Drelni. It could be casting a spell or activating some crazy ability, but my heart tells me it's just afraid. It eyes us warily. At least with most of its attention. Independent of the majority, several of its eyes track towards the fallen figure breathing shallowly a few paces from it. Creepy.

  “Hey, uh, Zara,” I begin awkwardly, holding up my hands to show them empty. “We mean you no harm.”

  The spider looks uncertain, though it doesn’t drop its guard. I mean, I think it looks uncertain. It’s a spider-woman-thing; it’s hard to tell.

  “Seriously, we don’t want to fight you,” I continue, trying to look as relaxed as possible while lining up a Strengthen Gravity with the few points of energy I’ve recovered. Just in case it tries anything. Threenut, thank God for him, relaxes at my words, throwing his stick back over his shoulder and raising the little visor of his acorn helmet. “See? No threats. You mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Speak,” it says in its rattling voice.

  “Who is that?” I gesture towards the child sized creature on the ground. “Why are you defending it?”

  “It is a soul abandoned by its people,” Zara says, three limbs waving elegantly in its direction. “There were many, far more in one group than any I’ve seen, woven together through bonds unfamiliar to me. Together, they were mighty. Yet the moment these were hurt, they were left behind. Those, I could not save. This one… the Mother’s will is not yet known.”

  Now that it—she?—seems not to be aggressive, I take a second to study the fallen figures at her feet. They are small, for aliens, though Threenut still makes them look positively huge. They have some kind of pebbled, rough skin, either scales or literal rock, it's hard to say. The one that still breathes has wisps of webbing clinging to its wounds. There is the briefest glow, and the stitches pull tighter, drawing the edges of its cuts closer.

  What the shit?