“ I don’t think i’m supposed to do this kind of work, it might disbalance my karma.” Kian gulped, staring at the poster.

  “ Hey, you ain’t getting out of this. You want to eat tonight. You got to work for it.” Zeyk replied.

  “HANDS NEEDED FOR ANIMAL RELOCATION. PAY: 6 COPPER. MUST BE TOUGH, STRONG, AND NOT AFRAID OF… ODORS.”

  “We could search for something else.” Kian urged.

  “We’ve been searching since morning. I’m done.”. Zeyk tore the poster off the wall, before Kian could protest.

  It wasn’t that they hadn’t looked for other jobs.

  They had checked a blacksmith’s shop.

  The blacksmith took one look at Kian’s hands and said, “You’ve never worked a day in your life.”

  They tried a tailor.

  Zeyk accidentally sat on a pile of silk. The tailor screamed.

  And that was that.

  The ‘relocation’ wasn’t really a relocation in the noble sense

  It was a pit.

  A hellish pit.

  Hundreds of pigs. Dozens of wagons. And a gnome foreman who screamed like he was trying to crack glass.

  “LIFT WITH YOUR LEGS, NOT YOUR BACK, TWIG-BOY!”

  Kian didn’t know pigs could poop that much. Or that it could cling to a man’s soul.

  By the end of it, they were covered in muck, broke two wheels, Kian slipped and face-planted into something I’d rather not say, and Zeyk was visibly vibrating with rage.

  “Six copper!!! I touched poop, with my bare hands!!!” Zeyk burried his face in his hands.

  “It was your Idea. Anyways, we can use it to buy a crust of bread. Maybe two if it’s stale.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “I’m surviving this.”

  They were still sitting on the side of the street, drying like disgraced laundry when a shadow loomed over them

  “You boys looking for grub.” came a voice smooth as oiled silk

  A wiry man with a crooked grin and far too many rings stood above them, leaning on a cane he clearly didn’t need.

  “I’m guessing the job hunt hasn’t been too kind?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

  Zeyk narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”

  “Name’s Dell. Talent scout, promoter, visionary entrepreneur. And I’ve got just the opportunity for two lads with your... particular aura.”

  “What job.” Zeyk’s eyes lit up with curiosity, he was gonna take anything other than pigs

  “Fighting,

  Underground ring. Real crowd.

  Real stakes.

  Real payout.

  And don’t worry No Killing!”

  Dell said the words with such a practiced ease, as if he had said them hundreds of times before.

  Kian shot Zeyk a glare.” Absolutely not.”

  “He could win!” Zeyk said, excited now. “He’s got that freaky divine stare thing!”

  Dell snapped his fingers. “See? He gets it. Look, I’m not saying it’s all sunshine and rainbows in there. It’s rough. Some fellas use a bit of street magic. Illusions, sparks, smoke bombs. But no real mages. Just grit, guts, and a good right hook.”

  “No! I’m not fighting for money.”

  Zeyk leaned in close to Kian. “This is our chance. One quick win. We walk away with money. Real food. Maybe even a bed that isn’t made of rocks.”

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  Kian stared at Dell. Than Zeyk. Then his ring.

  All he had to do was hope the ring worked right and changed the opponent's mood. Right?

  Maybe he could win a match.

  “…One fight,” Kian said through clenched teeth.

  Zeyk grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

  Dell was already pulling out a scroll. “Just need your name. Blood optional. Just go prepare; I’ll find you.”

  Kian found himself in a dusty back room one day later, barely prepped, with a ring and dagger he couldn’t use and a knot in his stomach the size of a pig cart. The sounds of the crowd filtered in—cheering, stomping, chanting. His name was called. He took a step forward.

  And regretted everything.

  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

  Kian screamed.

  It was not dignified.

  It was not composed.

  It was a raw, high-pitched yelp as he hobbled out of the way of a punch that whistled past his ear and cracked the wall behind him.

  He already had bruises. Plural. His shoulder throbbed. His leg screamed. His ribs had started developing their own rhythm section.

  The crowd roared.

  Not for him.

  Kian stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own foot. “This was a terrible idea. The pigs were better. I could’ve handled pigs again,” he shouted.

  He had long since abandoned the dagger. It was no use. He’d started with it clutched in both hands like some kind of talisman. Tried to lunge once. Maybe twice. It clattered across the floor a minute ago. He hadn’t dared to look back.

  “USE THE RING!” Zeyk bellowed from the crowd, waving both arms like that would somehow help.

  “I’M TRYING!!!” Kian yelled back, ducking under a kick and scrambling behind a barrel. “It doesn’t come with a manual!”

  He pointed the ring at the man, shut his eyes, and focused—like, really focused. He summoned every ounce of willpower he had. Concentrated until his brain throbbed.

  Nothing happened.

  Kian cracked one eye open—

  —only to see a giant palm slam across his cheek.

  The sound echoed.

  The pain bloomed.

  The man laughed.

  And that was somehow worse.

  Kian’s ears rang. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his face, rage bubbling under his skin. He wasn’t just hurt. He was humiliated. He was done. The dirt was cold against his back, but it was better than trying to stand.

  And then the thought came, dark and sharp:

  I want him to feel it. I want him to feel pain worse than he can ever imagine.

  Something clicked.

  Not in his head.

  Not in his heart.

  In the ring.

  The world slowed.

  Yes, Kian. Harness the emotions. Use them. EMOTIONS ARE A PART OF YOU.

  A voice echoed through his skull. Kian was pretty sure this was what the gods meant by “guidance”—and that the voice belonged to Emotion.

  He had no idea what “harness the emotions” actually meant.

  All he felt was deep, undying anger for the idiot in front of him.

  He just wished he could make him feel the pain.

  Something pulsed.

  A surge of energy, so intense it burned through him like wildfire. The air around him distorted—shimmering like heat on stone.

  The laughter died.

  The man froze.

  Then he gasped.

  Then he screamed.

  Not a little yelp. Not a groan.

  A soul-wrenching, bone-deep, full-grown-man-wailing-for-his-mother scream.

  The crowd went dead silent as the man dropped to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, shaking. His eyes were wide and distant, like he was trapped in a nightmare only he could see.

  Kian stared. Everyone stared.

  Even Zeyk’s jaw had unhinged.

  “…Did I do that?” Kian whispered.

  Dell, from the sidelines, pumped a fist in the air.

  “THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about!”