The damnable cell they were in for viewing the duels was not nearly long enough for Gerard to outpace the anger the conversation with his bastard brother had drawn up. Instead, he was forced to stew against the opposite wall, waiting for the centaurs to call his name.

"Best make your peace, human. Stafford will delight in ripping your head from your shoulders."

It was the white-haired leonid who had spoken to him, without any of the titles or bowing that should have accompanied such an interaction. Dignitaries in other cities and visiting ambassadors knew as much, but this mangy beast was clearly neither of those, here because of the value of this soul and nothing else.

Gerard speared the cur with a sharp look.

"I am the son of the king," he said, enunciating each word like it was a cut.

"The dead one?" the leonid drawled.

What if I just killed everyone? Gerard thought. Even those prancing centaurs? He could feel the weight of Orderbringer, his Legendary sword, in his hands and the rightness of what it would be like to hack through all those here who had disrespected him – their idiot minds not keen enough to recognize when their better was in their midst. There was a bone-deep satisfaction to the idea, and because of that, it took him longer than normal to tamp down on the inferno of anger that boiled in him, sparked by Hull, stoked by this leonid, and blazing at the absolute folly of their situation.

Instead of running the lion-man through with his Relic, Gerard said, "Observe how a true prince of Treledyne handles himself. Then you shall not speak so foolishly."

The leonid snorted, going back to inspecting his claws, which only made Gerard angrier. Every competitor here should have been begging him for protection, for advice, and yet they were largely ignoring him – just like his father would have.

"Competitor Gerard?"

The old centaur's voice reminded Gerard of the braying of a goat, a sound he had no love for. Fuming, but unwilling to let anyone know that he was anything but perfectly centered, perfectly Ordered, he covered the distance that separated him from the exit in even strides. Gerard could control what he presented to the world, if nothing else, and that particular mask was one he had carved in intricate detail over the years.

"You may depart," the centaur said when he arrived.

Again, no titles, not even a tilt of the head. These horse-men were servants, and they thought they were equal to him? Him?

Gerard was about to storm past, when another called his name from behind. He considered not turning, but in the end he did, seeing that Gale, Basil, and Esmi had come to see him off. The trio said a few loveless words of encouragement as if they were being paid per nicety and found the coin did add up to the unpleasantness of the task. The worst of them was Basil, his tone flat, almost bored. Gerard half believed that some fairy creature was wearing his skin, much like the match they had just seen, because in no way was this the same boy he had grown up with – the sniveling, weak-willed worm of a noble who Gerard had constantly needed to remind of his place. But this Basil had killed a man – with his bare hands, no less – and Gerard saw not so much of a flicker of deference from him as their gazes locked.

"I don't need your pity," he finally spat, spinning on his heel. He hadn't seen Basil accepting any advice before his match, and the day he was outdone by a Hintal was the day his Soul card would be broken down for shards.

The tunnel gave Gerard time to bank his newest burst of anger. The unending fury in him was a curse, the very weakness that had ruined his life. He hated it with nearly the same passion he did his father, perhaps more so because the erratic trait was obviously passed from the man; yet another way King Hestorus had set him up to fail.

When Gerard reached the wide open dueling space, his opponent was not there. His breath hissed through his teeth at the slight while his attention was drawn upward to the glittering glass stands, stacked one atop the other, on and on, in the biggest arena by far he had ever stood in. And yet it was eerily quiet, a low hum being all that escaped the hundreds, if not thousands, of those watching, each in their own little glass box that stopped Gerard from finding his mother or hearing anything that they might be saying or shouting. The shimmering latticework was beautiful, though, the entire structure and all of its parts sparkling like diamonds.

He traced the pearlescent glass from the stands down one of the lines that separated the floor tiles, his eyes following the inch-wide divider to where it cut right in front of where he stood. Viewing it so closely, he saw something else reflected in its glittering surface, and he blinked, stepping closer. Walls and towers flicked there, ramparts and white-washed streets, all places he knew well.

Bile rose in his throat. Treledyne. The city was the fabric of this arena's construction. Appropriate, he could admit, since it was the very thing that they were dueling for, but to him, that bled this place of every ounce of beauty it had previously possessed.

For most of his youth, Gerard had dreamed of ruling his father's city one day, of laying down his life for it if need be. The King had flown him into the sky to show him the swathes of land the capitol spread over, whispering that it would be his if he but earned it. That was before Gerard had visited Darlish with his retainers Losum and Reginald. The entire ride home Reginald could speak of nothing else but them joining the Earth city's adventuring guild, finding treasures in the peaks and caverns that abounded in the mountainous terrain. The people there had been happy, well-fed, and proud of their home. Only a year later, Gerard had traveled to Charbond with his mother, a trip that had further opened his eyes to the way of things, with their ruling council that dated to even before his father's time as well as their cutthroat dueling schools – he had learned more studying a month there than he had in Biddlewyn's soft halls or years of private tutoring.

Coming back to Treledyne, it had not seemed so grand then, nor so glorious. But it was the Lows that finally forced him to see the truth of things. He had always thought it some strange folk tale, some jest among nobles, because how could Treledyne, a place famed for fostering Order, have a place of such degradation and squalor? It was not until after Kitsayna dared him to go there with her that he finally experienced the rotten underbelly of his father's creation firsthand, the festering wound. He had confronted the king that very night, him barely sixteen and arguing against a man around which even the powerful tiptoed. And what had he gotten for his bravery, his desire to do right by the people? A nonsensical explanation that 'Every ordered house needs a latrine,' and a sharp-eyed warning not to interfere.

Gerard's dreams had changed that night, along with the way he viewed Treledyne and what he was willing to give for it.

The hum around him rose, and Gerard looked up to see his opponent finally stepping onto the opposite side of the stage. It was a large vampire, all square-jawed and round-shouldered. There was a flush to his pale cheeks like he had just experienced a most delightful tumble, and his smile revealed canines twice as long as a man should have.

With his arrival, their Souls cards flashed above, and Gerard spared a glance for his opponent's.

What brutish simplicity, he thought. Gerard's own card was up there too, but he had little wish to see it. Even so, his eyes betrayed him, flitting over the lackluster abilities, which stirred up his self-loathing – a companion nestled nearly as close to his bosom as his anger.

His father had never outright called the abilities useless, but he didn't have to; his eyes had been able to shout disdain with barely a look.

"My apologies for the delay," Stafford said. "Shall we begin?"

The vampire acted cultured, and even dressed like he was nobility – old, outdated nobility – but it was all a ruse, for he started drawing cards right away, before Gerard had given his assent.

Gerard did the same, but with only half an eye on them.

"I am told you are battle-hungry and bloodthirsty," he said to Stafford, "but not entirely unreasonable."

The vampire chuckled darkly, letting a Death Source float up from his hand. "Not the most flattering of assessments, but I suppose I shouldn't expect better from someone I killed."

Gerard wasn't sure who Stafford was referring to and didn't really care, at least not yet. He did, however, have to deal with Stafford's lunging attack, the vampire covering the distance between them with speed.

Even with only the beginnings of a hand, Gerard easily deflected it.

Stafford ricocheted off with a thud, and when the shield vanished between them, Gerard saw that vampire still looked pleased. He, however, was not.

"As I was saying," Gerard said, as he played his second Order, "I believe you and I might be able to come to an accord. You would like to win this match, yes?"

"That is the plan," Stafford said mockingly. The vampire hadn't used any Source yet, so when he played his second Death, he was able to summon a Graveyard, just as the Necromancer before him had done. A Zombie crawled free of the creation, but its Slow prevented it from attacking.

Gerard frowned. Wasn't Esmi blathering something about this vampire using an enhance deck? He'd name her a fool… but then he'd be an even bigger fool for losing to her in the grand finals of the Rising Stars tournament, so he kept his mental tongue still for now.

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Once again, Stafford came at him directly and once again Gerard stopped him with an elevated Protection.

"Aren't you tired of that yet?" he asked the vampire, not bothering to hide his growing exasperation.

"I believe I just told you that I plan to win. I've found attacking helps with that."

"If you would but listen," Gerard replied, "you would know there is no need for that. I am willing to cede the match to you."

The vampire raised a surprisingly well-manicured eyebrow. "Running away so quickly? I thought I heard you were a prince."

"I am," Gerard grated, playing a Paladin and an extra Source due to its Aura.

"And I am not running away," he continued. "Our interests align."

"I highly doubt that," Stafford said, racing at him a third time, while strangely keeping the Zombie back.

Gerard didn't want to lose his Paladin just yet, so he blocked all 5 incoming damage with a card from hand.

Using the power of his Paladin to full effect, Gerard played two more Order Source, giving him four ready in total. He devoted all of them to generate 8 Source and arm himself accordingly.

"Now that you and your Zombies cannot harm me," Gerard said, resplendent in his Epic Relics, "perhaps you can now more fully grasp your situation. I am doing you a favor by offering you this win. I could easily defeat you should I wish."

Stafford narrowed his eyes at him, and Gerard was certain that the vampire was trying to figure out a way around his defenses. Instead though, Stafford said, "So why don't you? If it is so very simple to do?"

"Because," Gerard said, willing his request to sound like a decree. He had heard his father do it enough; he knew the way of it. "After you accept my defeat, you will take me with you, to your side."

"Ah," Stafford said with a knowing smile Gerard didn't like the look of. "It was that big bastard of a demon, wasn't it? Scared the piss right out of you and yours?"

"No," Gerard said tightly, even though that was indeed a small part of his rationale. "As I said, our interests align. We can speak more of it when we depart this stage." Gerard had a sneaking suspicion that the audience could hear what they said as easily as the competitors did, and while he didn't care if every human was cursing him right now, he didn't want his mother to hear everything he wanted from the vampires, not until it was done.

Stafford gave him a feral smile. "I'll think on it." A Mythic swirled out of the vampire's hand, coalescing into a necromancer hunched over a cauldron.

Then, one after the next, the Zombies Stafford had been summoning while they spoke broke apart, their energy flowing into the great pot, swirling around, and vanishing. No, not vanishing. Gerard saw that Stafford was limned in a green energy, his muscles bulging in his legs, arms, and neck, until he truly did look bestial.

This time when the vampire came at him, Gerard tried to use his Paladin to defend, but Stafford shoved the Soul easily aside. Inhuman Strength, Gerard cursed, remembering the Soul ability a moment too late. And then Stafford was on him, striking for 10 damage, an amount so ludicrous it was offensive. Gerard's equipped Relics absorbed half of it, but he had to discard his only other Fate's Judgment to stop the rest.

"You troublesome brute!" Gerard shouted, holding a card out for the swollen vampire to see. "I could have blocked with this, which would have killed you. Is that what you wish?"

Stafford huffed a laugh. "That is indeed quite the card. I'll just slip this on then."

Gerard hissed in fury, using his final elevated Protection to defend against another charge before having his Paladin attack as a counterstroke. Stafford easily destroyed the Soul, healing as he did with Lifesap, but Gerard wasn't concerned about his opponent getting back a few Zombies.

Then, with his own side clear of troops, Gerard cast Equality.

Stafford responded by using two copies of a fiendish Spell to destroy the very Souls Gerard was hoping to be rid of and both his Relics in the process.

As the Epic armament turned to dust and sloughed off of him, Stafford rushing in anew, Gerard found that he was sweating. With Kitsayna he could have ended this, but he had convinced his mother to take the Legendary for protection. He could still defeat the vampire by using Hilbrand and equipping Orderbringer, but if he killed one of their side – for he saw no way of stopping Hilbrand from doing so once he was unleashed – he was sure the Undead would never acquiesce to his demands.

He would win only to lose in the long run.

Gerard blocked with more cards from hand, the shard confetti pushing the vampire back. In that free moment that followed, Gerard began tugging apart his high-necked jacket, throwing it off and then unlacing his shirt underneath to bare his chest. There, fused to the skin, was a small marble sphere, just like the one on his back and two on his shoulders. It was all evidence of his shame; evidence that he had failed to maintain the full 10 Order Source he had managed to cultivate in his youth. He had been celebrated at first, even by his father, but no one had told him how impossible it was to keep perfection, once attained. So he had been forced to turn to the deepkin and their artificing to maintain the façade.

He stared hatefully at the muscle-bound vampire for making it come to this. "If you will not listen to me," he said, gripping the sphere between his fingers. "Perhaps you will listen to another." He pulled, hard and firmly, despite the pain that lanced up and down his body as he did. His skin stretched, and then there was a ripping sound accompanied by a shuddering wave of agony that ended in a scream of pained rage as the sphere finally came free. He tossed it away, breathing hard as blood ran down his chest. With shaking hands he summoned a new Source, not of Order but the wellspring of the future he had chosen for himself.

His father's death had put the world into clarity, and that was what he brought forth now, the black orb drifting upward.

Stafford approached him, standing a full head taller with his consumed power, but for once, he did not attack. "You think to convince me with this?" the vampire asked, his red eyes watching the blood that trailed down Gerard's chest. "A single Death Source among humans is no great feat. The necromancers accomplish that and more, but we have no great love for them."

"Wait," Gerard said, pulling a card from behind his ear and then slotted another in. The card's ability brought it immediately into his hand, and Stafford did indeed wait, watching with his arms crossed. The Soul card shattered in Gerard's hand when he fed Death Source into it and then his confidante misted into being.

"Stafford," the Soul purred. She was clothed in tight-fitting black and swayed seductively as she moved to stand in front of the much larger vampire. "So good to see you again."

"Lustra?" the other said, looking truly surprised. "I did not expect such a meeting after we heard that you were shed. Particularly not held by some human prince."

She chuckled deep in her chest, a sound Gerard had come to adore – not the simpering titter of court girls. "I imagine not. And," she said, turning to run her finger along Gerard's jaw, "I assume I am here because negotiations devolved."

"You assume correctly," Gerard said, straightening. He always felt more at ease with her around; the only time he truly did.

"Alexei would have been easier," she confided, giving him a lush smile before turning back to the overlarge vampire. "Stafford, you must learn to curb your battlelust."

"And why should I? I have all the more reason to kill him now to retrieve your card so we might celebrate your shedding properly."

"Oh no," she said, smoothly stepping in between them. "My shedding is but a temporary thing. Soon, I shall walk again in my own flesh."

Stafford's frown deepened. "Explain."

Lustra tilted her head toward Gerard, so he might do so. She was strong, yet she knew when it was best to let him shine.

"I have kept her body safe and preserved since my father killed her, and I will have access to a magic artifact soon enough." That was the other reason Gerard had sent Kitsayna with his mother: the Soul might not be able to enter the vault, but the Legendary had her ways. "An artifact that can revive your sister."

Stafford's eyes slid to Lustra's. "He speaks true?"

"This is not a new plot," she said with that smokey laugh again, "only your learning of it."

Still, the hulking brute looked unconvinced, and Gerard felt a tremor of doubt.

"Stafford," Lustra said, trailing two fingers up the vampire's chest before straightening his collar. "Did you not tell me before I departed that you were hoping for children? I promise you will find no more fitting candidate than him. He is filled with a beautifully tumultuous verve and the will to see the deeds he wishes done." She spread her hands. "Look at all he has done to try and convince you, and in front of the Twins no less."

Stafford's eyes fell on Gerard, and he met the gaze unblinking; it was nothing compared to his father's.

Gerard was not ready for the strike that came, and Fate provided him no Grace to react. His 3 Health crumpled in the face of the damage that the vampire was capable of, the stomach wound putting his chest to shame, like an entire battering ram had been plunged into it.

He managed to flick his gaze to Lustra, but she was vanishing into motes. Just like his dreams.

***

When Gerard next laid eyes on his surroundings, he was flat on the ground with an aching gut and something wet on his lips.

"What did you do to me?" His words came out groggy, and his mind was working no better.

"The kiss of unlife, of course," Stafford said. The vampire sounded pleased, as pleased as he had at the start of their match.

Am I one of the unliving now? Gerard wondered. Besides those first sensations, he felt… numb, and yet at the same time suffused by a flickering energy. What a wonderful paradox. He hadn't realized the depths of his feelings for Lustra until after she was dead, something that would have been easily remedied if not for his father denying him the resurrection staff as his rightful winnings. But they had not let such things stop them: once he had recovered her card along with a simple fabricator, every night they spun their web of plans, Lustra slowly regaining what memories she could as Epic and him falling more hopeless under her spell. It was no glamor – it never had been, not for him – but the delight of finally finding someone else who would stand up to his father, who would dare challenge the hateful man who had ruined his life and so many others.

And now they were one step closer to being together. If it had worked, if it had truly worked, he didn't care if the whole world had witnessed his betrayal. They hadn't wanted him anyway, and he would finally be free of them all.

"Come," Stafford said, holding a pale hand down to him. "It's time you met your new family."

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