The humans yapped at each other like cubs barely past their mother's milk, which in truth most who still lived were. They celebrated the return of the long-haired female and the fat stack of cards she brought back with her – unearned spoils if Titus had ever seen them. When their cheer subsided, her mate pulled her aside to whisper his displeasure of how she had spoken their troubles for all to hear, which Titus rumbled a laugh to himself about. A leoness wouldn't just complain about her mate, she would publicly take him to task. Titus had hosted many such lover spats in the Maw, some to the death.

As if sensing the attention, the sullen human looked at Titus, red eyes sparkling. He was small, but he was the only one who had ended his duel properly, with his own hands. If Titus had to face one of these children, that would be his pick of the litter. Titus shook his head, fanning his mane in a show of aggression. The best duels started before either fighter stepped into the arena, and the two of them had unfinished business from the vampire jubilee.

"Competitors Gale and Titus." It was the centaur calling, the pride leader among the half-horses.

Titus pushed off from the wall and approached. Annoyingly, the old centaur stood a few inches taller than him. While humans might be weak of body and spirit, Titus found the horsemen considerably more frustrating. With their size and speed, they surely could be great warriors, but none of the few he had met in his lifetime had been interested in such things, even when he tried to entice them with riches and fame. Titus prided himself on finding the most unique sport for his people to watch, and he did not take kindly to centaurs consistently thwarting that wish.

And yet that was not what truly grated. To any with eyes, it was clear that the twin gods Fang and Claw held a great love for duels. Why then did those same gods permit a race who involved themselves so little in such things to serve them, and by extension, to host such a grand event? What did someone who had never stepped into an arena know of such things? Very little, it seemed from Titus's observations so far. Feeding a competitor before the fight would only dull their senses and weigh them down. And what of the history of the warriors? Without knowledge of the grudges borne between two fighters or at least how they had achieved their elevations, how was an audience to become invested? To feel their failures and triumphs with them? And yet the lazy centaurs stayed removed, waiting out the fights in the boxes with the competitors.

The tittering laugh from one of the female centaurs only made Titus more certain of their ineptitude. She had been flirting with the very human he was about to face, the two of them stealing soft words and more during the duels when they assumed attention was elsewhere. It would have been one thing if she was doing it to spark a rivalry, to push the warrior to perform beyond himself in the arena, but judging from the blush of her cheeks when he departed, she was merely concerned with her own pleasure. Titus growled deep in his bones. His people would have been much more suited for this task, him especially after all his years of experience.

The lead centaur raised an eyebrow, mistaking the cause of his discontent. "You will be sharing the tunnel down together, but no fighting is permitted until you are both in the proper position. You will know the correct time when your soul cards are put on display."

Titus's growl deepened. If this centaur knew anything of leonids, he would know he was wasting his breath. Attacking an opponent when no one could see? What glory was there in such an act? Only the most feeble ever dared behave so cowardly, and any that had been discovered to have tainted his arena with such actions, Titus had handled personally, swiftly and with finality.

Titus was, however, becoming increasingly tempted to rake his claw across the centaur's face, particularly because the male was looking down on him.

"Honestly," the human said when he arrived. He was smiling affably as he waved a hand behind himself, indicating his fellow competitors who were huddled together. "You'd think I was never coming back from how that lot is acting."

Titus narrowed his single eye. He had seen plenty of false bravado in his day, but this human played it more convincingly than most, only a slightly tightening of his neck muscle giving away the lie.

Titus nodded to the Wall of the Fallen, adorned with the Soul card of the female general – another human he would have enjoyed fighting. When she had gone to die, not a single part of her had moved unnecessarily. "A piece of you will come back, sure enough," he agreed before heading into the tunnel.

Despite being a good head shorter, the human caught up with him surprisingly quickly, something about his steps letting him move faster than he should have.

"About that," the human said. "Since it seems that events other than duels are allowable by our hosts, I was wondering if I might interest you in a foot race or a game of Rel?"

"Rel?" Titus asked. As the runner of the greatest fighting arena in leonid lands for more than three decades, Titus had done his share of varied formats: team fights, group free-for-alls, beast hunts, youngblood tournaments, king of the hills, and more. If someone could think it and the crowd approved, Titus would not only run it but make it a regular part of the arena schedule. "What is this Rel?"

The human brightened. "A boardgame played out in the westlands. I'm told it's quite exciting, with pieces that move and attack in various ways." He leaned closer for a moment as if imparting a secret. "Some even say it inspired the Twins in their own creations. If the centaurs had a table and ham sandwiches hiding under their rumps, I'm sure they can supply us with a set. Or Fate and Fortune can snap their fingers and make one appear, I'd wager, along with the rules plopped neatly into our minds."

They exited the tunnel together, entering the arena proper, a massive space that dwarfed even the Maw in sheer size.

"A game?" Titus growled. Was this human truly such a simpleton? Fools among leonids didn't last long. It was a testament to how soft humans were that one such as this had risen to the rank of Epic. "You wish me to stand before the gods and play a game?"

"They just watched a tea party," the human answered with a droll waggle of his brows. "This would be a step up, I'm sure."

"A duel is only as good as those who are there to see it, and we have the grandest audience of all." Titus pointed a clawed finger to the sky and let his eye gaze upward as well. There were at least ten stories of seats, but it was the clear sky at the top that drew his attention, along with two figures hovering side-by-side in the center. Titus could see perfectly on the darkest of nights, some two miles distant on flatland, but he could not make out the details of Fang and Claw beyond a vague outline. It was like they were here and yet still so very far away. Titus dropped his gaze. "The gods watch us. Does that not ignite your spirit?"

The human sighed, of all things. "You may not have heard, but we've been dealing with a war of late. I'm a bit dueled out, to be honest."

Titus's long tail snapped, and he turned, stomping across the arena floor. It was smooth beneath his paw pads, the seams that separated the great square sections indistinguishable in texture to him from the rest. He had hoped to use this opportunity to prove himself and his people deserving of greater attention from the gods, but how was he supposed to do that when his opponent wasn't even worthy?

"Look at that," the human said from behind him. "You're a better version of me."

That tugged unexpectedly at an old wound, and Titus glanced over, then up to see when the fool was talking about. Their Soul cards hovered overhead, and Titus spotted the cause of the observation.

Flurry was a powerful, and thus rare, ability, and Titus's fur bristled down his back in agitation that he shared such a thing with this popinjay. "Featherlight?" he sneered. That would explain the man's quick steps, but in a duel with Fated damage, such a thing was sure to be worthless.

"Not much help in a card fight," the human said, as if he could read Titus's thoughts, "but marvelous for travel, I can assure you. At least it was before my recent acquisition."

If the human expected him to ask after that dangling comment, he would die disappointed. Titus pulled his cards, sorting through what he would keep.

His first Source played was Earth, for protection, while it was Air from his opponent, which Titus had guessed. The small whirlwind of energy barely had to dip for a card in the human's hand to shatter and reform into a blade that hovered between them.

Titus readied the card he would block with, but the man wasn't a complete fool, keeping the Relic Soul back and not equipping it, so it could be used to defend against Titus himself.

When he became able to do so, Titus played a Life Source and devoted it, using a combination of two Spells to gain Armor 2 on his first turn.

The Instinctual Protection matted the fur on his body, making it hard like bark yet still flexible, letting him move freely when he loped forward. The floating sword struck at him, slicing across his belly, but the Armor kept him from taking any damage. A single swipe of his paw was enough to destroy the Relic, slashing it into shards. Even so, his ability forced him to swing again, and Titus wished it had been his opponent's flesh it bit into instead of air.

"Ah, the curse of Flurry," the human called from where he safely stood, a bit further away. "I always feel like a drunk when that happens, flailing at nothing."

Yet again the man blasphemed in the most sacred of places and the gods didn't strike him down for it. They must be expecting Titus to do it for him; he would gladly oblige.

The human summoned a second Owl Blade, along with a new Soul.

Titus didn't miss the wink his opponent threw him when he focused the Relicsmith – the Soul pounding at the small anvil he had appeared with – to bring the lost Blade back. It didn't immediately return to hand though, so Titus held out hope that he'd come to grips with the man behind the cards soon enough.

He slashed through the second Owl Blade and after that a little bird that worried and pecked at him.

Titus didn't feel a lick of it, of course, especially not now that he had cast a second Instinctual Protection and had Armor 4.

A blade of wispy mist appeared in the human's hands, the sheen of metal drifting in and out of sight as the air currents around it shifted.

"That's quite the scratch," his opponent said, lifting the sword to point at his own eye. "I imagine there's a story there."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

There was, but Titus wasn't about to share it. Instead he was cataloguing how even with the Relicsmith, Fast Attack, and Flurry, the Wind Blade wouldn't be strong enough to get past his current amount of Armor. So, he charged in without worry, eager to finally come to grips with his opponent, particularly now that he had two more active buffs.

But the human blocked it all with a single dual-Source Spell card, his misty blade expertly stopping Titus's strikes before ringing uselessly against his Armored fur.

Titus was familiar with such an effect, but he had never seen that exact card before, which gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this human was worthy after all.

They went back and forth like this, tit for tat, recycled Owl Blades stopping Titus's advance and his Armor absorbing the bulk of the return blows. A second Relicsmith did give the Blades enough bite to hurt Titus, but the small losses were of little concern when he had the Regeneration from his Inevitable Evolution returning a card to his Mind Home every turn.

And then the human played the perfect counter, a Relic that would force Titus to take twice as long between each attack.

The human had the gall to taunt him while slipping it on, saying, "If you've changed your mind about the foot race, feel free to say."

But this was hardly Titus's first duel, or his hundredth for that matter; he knew how to trade a barb or two when the situation called for it. "No card exists without a counter and that is hardly the exception." If the multitudes watching enjoyed the sharp reply, Titus couldn't tell. It was the strangest thing: his eyes could make out the many faces behind their individual glass cages but all he could hear of them was no better than a murmur. It struck him as deeply wrong, to be so cut off from the audience, the very lifeblood of a duel, but he soldiered on, telling himself it would be different when he was victorious.

Not two turns later, Titus drew the card he needed, summoning and destroying it right away.

As arena master, Titus didn't just attract the best competition but the best cards, and none knew the making of Relics – or unmaking – better than Deepkin.

"Dear me," his opponent said when his protection fell away in glittering motes.

It wasn't the reaction Titus had hoped to inspire, and he found himself responding despite himself. "Are you incapable of taking this seriously?"

His opponent squinted at him. "Father, is that you wearing a lion suit?"

"What did you just say to me?" Titus said, his hair bristling, all the way to his tail.

The human shrugged nonchalantly. "You sounded so much like him, the only reasonable thing to do was check."

Titus growled, buffing himself, and then he ripped the throat out of one of the Relicsmiths.

In response, the human brought out a mighty griffon, which he leapt upon, and then, finally, he attacked, no doubt wanting to make use of the remaining Relicsmith's attack buff.

Titus stood tall against the assault, bringing out new defenses of his own.

Elves he had fought before liked to have Fluid Grace always active on their person, but Titus preferred to hold it back, to trick his opponent into overcommitting, just as he had done now. However, no sooner were his Spells cast then the human used one of his own.

With a forceful gust, the human and griffon both were swept away, and a Starling that had been summoned to empower their attack was brought forward in their place.

Titus shredded the minuscule bird while bellowing, "You can't escape my claws forever!"

"You and I feel quite differently about that!" the human called from the back of his saddle.

Two new cards appeared in his paws, and a deep-throated chuckle escaped Titus. He had spent heavily of Earth in that last exchange, but he had just enough Life Source remaining. It was the culmination of his deck. Something he had lost his brother and an eye for, and he would have paid considerably more.

The Spell settled on him like a heavy shroud, a noticeable weight before he even triggered the Transform. When he did, the power of the gods suffused him. He grew in size and strength, his previous body for all its might a drop of sand in the field compared to what he was becoming. His roar rattled the crystalline walls of the arena, and for once, the human's smile slipped away.

With hulking muscles, Titus charged, knowing the man wouldn't be able to delay him with his Souls any longer. If his opponent had more Ripostes, so be it. He needed to bleed those cards from him anyway, and they wouldn't come back like the Blades.

Titus smashed into the pair, his first swipe hitting for a massive 16 damage that turned the Mythic Griffon into a spray of feathers. His second attack was partially blocked by two quick cards from hand.

And then the remaining 6 damage struck the man, sending him spinning away, card confetti trailing in his wake.

Titus itched to go after him, but his body locked up, card exhaustion overtaking him for a time. Standing there, he watched as the human managed to pick himself up, smirking of all things.

"I hope you realize you've made a great deal of my deck useless," he said. "It's quite annoying." Then he cast some cards of his own.

A great bird appeared from the sky, streaking down at Titus, ripples of air around it speeding its descent.

As it fell, the man tossed his Wind Blade to it by using another card he had summoned.

And the human even had his remaining Relicsmith sharpen the blade from afar, giving it an extra gleam. It was a good combo, excellent even, striking Titus for a total of 12 damage, and denying him return damage when the human also cast another Riposte, which he must have just drawn. However, with Armor 8, only a mere 4 of it would actually land, and after Titus blocked from hand, it was even less.

A single card floated off his massive body that he would Regenerate next turn.

But the human wasn't finished yet. A burst of energy exploded out of him, no doubt Air from how suddenly refreshed the bird appeared, the Blade shining brightly in its beak. With the very last ounce of his Source, the man cast a final Spell.

Once again the bird took to the sky, and once again Titus blocked from hand, this time taking no damage at all.

The human chuckled darkly, shaking his head, to which Titus said, his voice twice as deep as usual in his current form. "Always expect an Earth user to have ample hand blocking."

The man gave him a little salute. "I'll keep that tip in mind. Perhaps when next I visit your lands?"

Titus stretched to his new, full height, the cost of his previous exertions finally lifted. He flexed his overlarge hands, savoring this last moment before the end.

"Or perhaps not," his opponent said in a knowing way. "Now that we've been acquainted, see that my card goes to a pretty lass, would you?"

Titus lunged, his giant body eating up the space between them in moments. It was obvious that the man would die from this attack, his Source entirely wrung dry and only two cards floating in his hand. It was too obvious, in fact. Titus glanced up as he ran. What would impress the crowds? What would impress the gods?

Titus's lips pulled back as his one eye narrowed on his prey. The trick was to make the target he wished to strike his whole world, as if it alone was a living thing he wanted to end. He had killed many before he had gotten it just right and it was even harder to do in this body, but Fang and Claw would know that, wouldn't they?

The strike of his elongated claw was as powerful as it was precise, slicing up through his opponent's armpit – a few card shards barely creating any resistance – and cleaving effortlessly through the shoulder. The appendage flew up into the air in a beautiful arc of blood, and the second strike of his Flurry saw it cut in two.

Before the bisected arm fell to the ground, Titus expertly caught the two halves and held them up for all to see, letting out a mighty roar. He waited, his ears flexed for the call of the crowd to answer him back, to echo his moment of triumph, sharing it with him.

But the audience grew no louder, their hum like the far off buzz of a gnat and just as meaningless. As for the gods… he craned his great neck up. Still the two figures floated there but he saw no movement from them, no indication that they recognized his effort.

Titus shrugged off the Spell, gradually shrinking down to his regular size as the adrenaline of the fight petered out of him. His opponent was moaning off the side – blood loss would likely make him pass out soon, if not kill him – but Titus didn't care.

He felt something then, a knowledge that he could upgrade one of his cards. Instead, he thought of his wish to replace the centaurs as the gods' hands in this world. But he heard nothing back from that either.

"Pointless," he gruffed. "All pointless." And suddenly, like the first smell of summer, he wanted nothing more than to be home: watching the games from on high, or bleeding on sands he had scraped clean as a cub, or sharing a bed with the quick-witted leonesses who sharpened his mind and body. He had come for what was to be a little party, a favor to an old friend, and now he was forced to fight in this empty, soulless arena that felt like the furthest thing a place built by Fang and Claw should have been. The humanness of the city it had formed from must have twisted it. There could be no other explanation.

Lost in such thoughts, Titus was through the entrance tunnel and back to the viewing box before he realized it. He expected the old centaur to be there, waiting for him, as any self-respecting arena runner would have been. Instead, it was the small human who stood there, his face a mask of rigid fury.

"I will skin you alive for this," the little human said to him.

Titus felt his blood flare in his veins, his body viscerally responding to the naked aggression with more fervor than anything he had experienced on the arena floor. This was how it should be: a challenge between warriors built from rage, bitterness, or respect.

Titus smiled to himself. Perhaps this duel had not been a waste after all.

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