While Gino places his bets, a kitten sneaks into the main colosseum through a vent barely large enough to squeeze through. Once inside, the kitten makes its way through hallways, reaching a familiar room. The moment he enters, Boriss grins.

  “Comrade fluffy, you have come vish me luck?”

  Quasi hops upon the bunk and spits out a finger-sized bottle. “Boriss, drink that right before your match. It should make you stronger.”

  Boriss frowns, “Is not right to cheat.”

  “Cheating is fine if both opponents are cheating. And trust me, you’re going to need it against your opponent. By the way, did you level today?”

  “I did not sleep yet.”

  “Then sleep. Hopefully you get something good.”

  Boriss nods and the cat disappears from the room. The cat travels the hallways until it finds another familiar room. This one has a man resting in a bed, nearly about to fall asleep. Sneaking inside, Quasi finds that the room is filled with objects from a mirror, to weapons, armors, and various other equipment. The room is quite full of places to hide, including pillars above.

  With a quick stretch, the cat parkours to one of said pillars. Then, while unseen, the cat opens its mouth.

  the sound of Stavros’s voice echoes in the room, causing Garvey to jump up out of bed in panic. The man looks at the door, then around in panic.

  After a moment, he decides that he’s just hearing things. He lays back down.

  Stavros' voice echoes again, but this time as a whisper loud enough to wake Garvey.

  After another moment, he rests his head.

  “Armband!” The scream resounds, scaring him out of bed. Garvey grabs a nearby sword and looks around. But nothing else happens.

  He shakes his head after a moment. “Must be the nerves,” he says. When he lays down and begins to truly calm down enough to sleep, the sound of a nearby bottle shatters loudly upon the floor, scaring him again.

  Groaning, the man rubs his neck and stares at the shattered remains. He doesn't remember putting the bottle anywhere near the edge of the counter.

  Sighing, he clears up the broken remains, grabs another bottle, opens it, drinks, and makes sure to place it away from the edge.

  Then he lays back down in silence. As soon as his eyes close and sleep takes him, he is immediately awoken to another crashing sound. In the corner of his room, a mirror lies broken and shattered across the floor.

  _______________________________________________________________

  Gond knows that Gladius doesn’t play fair. He knows that they manipulate the matches and opponents to maximize profits. Usually, this is done through controlling who fights who. Generally, weapons and classes have a more difficult time against certain others. For example, [Berserkers] are faster and more aggressive than a [Warrior], making them good opponents against something like a [Rogue]. But a [Swordsman] is generally skilled enough to make a Berserkers speed and aggression easily punishable.

  They are small shifts that increase the chances of a win or loss by single digit percentages, but that’s usually enough for Gladius to win bets more often than not. Boriss, as far as Gond can tell, is quite the enigma. The man adapts to his opponents quickly while being both physically stronger and faster. The only thing he lacks is specialized expertise with a singular weapon like a [Swordsman] with a sword or an [Axeman] with an axe.

  His opponent though, is Garvey Embriss. [Myrmidons] stand at the peak of swordsmanship similar to [Samurai] and [Sword Duelists]. Skillswise, Boriss cannot compete. Physically, Boriss is maybe an equal if Garvey put all of his trait points into something like vitality. Though that is unlikely as Garvey is contracted to Gladius and would be ordered to increase Strength, Endurance, and probably even control depending on skills.

  In essence, Garvey should win, and the large bet from the Royals says they believe the same.

  “Still”… Gond shifts his head to the Timbergroves crew. All of them seem confident that Boriss has a good chance to win. Even Myers- who Gond is sure is twice his age, seems to believe in Boriss.

  It is in the next moment that Gond finds out why. Quasi flies towards them as a bird, transforming back into a cat upon landing.

  Quasi yawns, “I’ve done what I can for Boriss. Everything is now up to him.”

  Gond looks at the cat and finds Quasi looking quite haggard and exhausted. The cat yawns again. “Boriss better not forget to take the potion.”

  “You’re having Boriss take drugs?” Gond asks, surprised and upset. Taking performance enhancers can very easily get you disqualified if it is found out.

  “Of course,” The cat blinks. “Boriss needs whatever advantage he can get. I’m not about to play fair against an opponent that refuses to.”

  As much as Gond hates to hear that, he can’t refute the logic.

  “Did you even sleep?” Myers ask.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Nope,” The cat grins while pointing a paw, “but neither did he.”

  Gond follows the paw to find the finalists taking the field. Boriss is grinning energetically, waving towards the cheering crowd. The man seems bigger somewhat, more focused even.

  As for his opponent, Garvey is quite the opposite. He looks tired with sagging features, a pale complexion, and dark circles under his eyes. His posture depicts fatigue, one clearly born of a lack of sleep.

  “You kept him awake all night.” Gond says in realization.

  Quasi chuckles tiredly. “Yup. Do you think it will be enough for Boriss to win?”

  “No,” Gond answers with a shake of his head

  “He’s exhausted, though. I doubt he can keep up.” Quasi says.

  It normally would.

  “Garvey is an [Elite Gladiator], and one of the skills I know he has is . Once the fight starts, that exhaustion is going to go away until the end of the match.”

  “Shit.” Quasi curses nervously.

  Gond sighs. Even if Garvey is exhausted, he doubts Boriss could win anyway. The difference in levels and skill is far too great to overcome.

  Once the fighters are on the field, the [Announcers] voice echoes to all those watching.

  “Welcome to the final fight of the tournament. The fight you’ve all been waiting for. The fight between Boriss and Morgan. Two contestants that have fought beasts and men to stand at this pinnacle. Men who have shed blood and tears to stand upon this great stadium. Let us all scream in support of who you expect to win!

  The stadium goes wild, with nearly all the watchers chanting His name echoes across the Colosseum and probably into the city proper.

  Above where the [Announcer] stands is a small boxed room where the [Governor] of Gladius sits upon a throne. The man smiles with each chant, knowing full well that those men and women had placed their bids upon Boriss winning. Millions of Trist, all for his taking.

  With a wave of the [Announcers] hand, the trumpets are blown and the crowd dies down.

  “Your voices have been heard, your expectations clear, and your bids are set. Let us begin the final fight of this tournament!”

  He [Announcer] raises his hand up. Boriss and Garvey take a stance. One with a sword and the other with a Greatsword.

  When he lowers his hand, the trumpets roar, and Garvey rushes forward- his exhaustion disappearing as though it never existed. Boriss reacts appropriately, with a thrust, but Garvey parries and attacks. Boriss diverts the attack with his pommel and swings. Garvey counters and thrusts, but Boriss is already giving ground as he steps backwards.

  Garvey follows and the two clash in a blur.

  Their weapons sing and dance, screeching on contact with a force that could not only slice, but crush bone. The runed platemail, light as it is, would fold from a direct impact.

  Through the engagement, it becomes clear that Boriss is moving faster than he’d moved in any fight before. The greatsword in his hands he wields as though it doesn't weigh twice that of his opponent's weapon.

  Regardless, even as he moves at a speed few could reproduce, his opponent not only matches it, but exceeds it. Garvey’s longsword lacks range, but the lower weight allows the man to easily react, parry, and attack. Which is why Boriss is being forced back step by step, engagement after engagement. Even as he avoids, he doesn’t go unscathed as glancing blows rips flesh, skin, and metal from Borris.

  A twist of the hips, a lean to the left, a hop to the back. Small movements in the grand scheme of things, but each turns a fatal hit into an ignorable injury.

  Impressed would be an understatement for what Gond is seeing. Somehow, whatever concoction they’d given Boriss is allowing him to survive against a [Myrmidon]. Survive being the correct word, for Boriss is fully on the defensive.

  “He’s going to lose.” Gond says.

  Myers grimaces with a nod. “Probably.”

  “My money!” Cillian cries.

  With how impressive the fight is, even the audience has lost it’s cheer. Instead, they are silently staring at the two go at each other.

  Each swing of a blade, each dodge to the side, each impact of swords sends sand dispersing all around. And with each second, blood pools under Boriss feet, drenching armor and sand with every movement.

  But, even with the wounds, Boriss does not falter. Instead…

  “He’s getting faster,” Gond blinks as Boriss gives less and less ground. His greatsword moves faster as does his movement. Even his reactions are sooner and predictions become more accurate.

  “Was he holding back?” Myers asks, but nobody knows the answer.

  After another minute, the fight turns into a standstill as the speed seems to even out.

  Another minute later and Garvey steps back to dodge.

  Both Myers and Gond glance at each other for a moment, then return their attention to the fight.

  With each minute that the fight continues, Boriss seems to grow not only faster, but stronger. At some point, Boriss starts wielding the greatsword like a longsword. This most of all shifts the fight in his favor.

  By the next minute, Garvey is on the defensive, his weapon screeches from parry to parry, nary a time to do anything more.

  “So, does anyone know what's happening?” Quasi asks.

  “Momentum.” “Momentum.” Myers and Gond explain.

  The cat rolls its eyes. “That explains nothing.”

  “Did Boriss level recently?” Myers asks.

  “Maybe? Why?”

  “I think he gained the skill [Momentum].” Myers explains.

  “Which does what?” Quasi asks.

  “[Momentum] slowly increases all physical traits over the course of combat. The longer the combat, the higher and higher traits improve.”

  The skill makes sense, for even as Boriss is on the offensive, he seems to be getting faster and faster. At this rate, it’s Garvey who is going to lose.

  Slicing sand and brushing it in Boriss’s face while jumping five meters away, Garvey grimaces as he points his longsword at the Grinning Russian.

  Taking a breath, Garvey takes a stance. He glances above the announcer where the [Governor] watches. He knows that if he loses, there will be a punishment that’s worse than death.

  “[Overheat].

  Instantly, the beat of his heart triples and the temperature rises exponentialy. Steam wasps from his nostrils as muscles expand. The world slows for a moment as his mind accelerates.

  With a jump forward, sand explodes behind him. Garvey watches, impressed as Boriss reacts with a swing. Garvey counters with a swing of his arm. His blade meets Greatsword, and both the weapon and Boriss are sent flying. Boriss bounces once but instantly regains footing by the second. Fast enough to block Garvey's following blow. But not fast enough to avoid being sent flying.

  Garvey’s legs rip holes in the sand with each jump, dispersing ground as he reaches Boriss again. The Russian somehow recovers enough to block properly. Instead of flying, Boriss skids on the sand.

  Growling, Garvey jumps forward and swings, but Boriss jumps meters into the air, avoiding the attack.

  Garvey doesn’t relent. His legs bend as he repositions and rushes where the Russian is going to land.

  The moment Boriss lands, he’s forced to block an incredible amount of force. So much so that the greatsword shatters in two and sends the Russian skidding. Seeing an opportunity, Garvey rushes in one last time. He swings, and Boriss attempts to block with the hilt of his blade. It works somewhat to slow his attack, but not enough to avoid the strike that rips through biceps, shoulder, and chest.

  With the blow landed, Garvey shifts his longsword to finish the man off, but pauses as he struggles to take a breath. When he glances down, he finds a piece of Boriss’s greatsword sticking through his neck while blood rapidly squirts out from the wound.

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