Adakontus wrestled a purple-skinned woman across the arena grounds. Flecks of dried blood lifted off the stone and stuck to his bronzed skin as he attempted to pin Lady Grape. He forced her into one of the grips Amolhekai had shown the students. He knew it well. Amolhekai used Adakontus as the example. A little more pressure, and Grape would taste the pain Adakontus suffered. Instead, she bodily threw him onto his back, the pounced on Adakontus and wrapped her legs around his head. Unfortunately they stunk of body odor and not fruit. Why be such a stupid color if you got nothing out of it? Adakontus leveraged his right arm to escape, but the she-beast captured that too.

  Adakontus was annoyed. A strange thing to be feeling while getting choked out by a naked woman. Some men might be angry or emancipated at losing. Some men might be elated. The Adakontus living in his memories would feel pure bliss. The Adakontus of now felt nothing about it. Thoughts of that nature never drifted into his mind, unless Adakontus had time for idle introspection. When the thought occurred that he should feel that attraction. When the thought occurred that he used be someone else, somewhere else. When the thought occurred that he might never have been that person at all.

  Adakontus’ lungs throbbed as he fruitlessly struggled. No, his annoyance did not stem from the purple woman at all. Amolhekai annoyed him. The monster used him as an example for anything that hurt. It was torture! Then it threw him into the arena to get overpowered by any other student. Duels were far more useful than this wrestling garbage. He had a weapon, why fight without it?

  The fire in his lungs mounted, and pain flared in his head. Then the pressure fled. He felt lightheaded and tingly all over. His vision narrowed and he slipped into sleep.

  Adakontus woke up to Missy Purple’s pearly smile. She bowed slightly, and her short blue hair bobbed up and down. Ah! That’s the name of her haircut, a bob! Adakontus remembered he liked that hairstyle, which fouled his already bad mood.

  Remembering things put a pit of disgust and embarrassment in his stomach. His memories were like a biographical documentary starring a useless fop. Adakontus’ former self had been three things: a shitty social climber, a shittier poet, and the shittiest casanova. Gaps filled his memory, like the documentary editors decided to cut anything of remote value. Adakontus had been educated, or at least implied to be. He recalled none of it.

  To top that all off, the old Adakontus never did anything more strenuous than bat his eyelashes at wealthy young women, and unsuccessfully too! Which explained why current Adakantus gets his ass whooped. Damn violin lessons! Adakontus was some sort of black knight in training. He didn’t need to read sheet music.

  Adakontus returned his opponent’s bow. Most of the students showed manners now. A bow before a fight, and a bow after. A few clamped a fist to their chests, or performed some other strange salute. Adakontus always felt mocked.

  'Thank you for the easy win, I needed a break from my real fights.'

  Controlling his expression, Adakontus stomped to his spot in the ring of students. No longer did the students shuffle around as The Instructor picked the best angles for mind-numbed duelists to charge. Everyone had a place. Two skeletons waited for Adakontus, his undead cornermen. A mannequin, delivered by a second wagon, wore Adakontus’ armor, and his ass-kicking boots laid nearby. The skeletons had repacked his clothes into the original crate, which sat behind the mannequin. A weapon rack held his sword-lance and long, narrow dagger. Adakontus couldn’t wait to test his new blade.

  The blue-black skinned woman and green-beard skillessly rolled around on the floor. Adakontus sighed. Given equal strength, Adakontus would bend either one into a pretzel and have them flailing until they went limp. But he couldn’t. Adakontus had a knack for grappling, or so he thought, just not enough power to back it up. That sentiment made his string of losses all the more painful.

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  Green-beard ended the fight by picking his opponent up and repeatedly slamming her into the iron obelisk. Pitiful. The goal of this exercise was to disable your opponent with technique, not brutalize them. Raw strength gave results, sure. But Amolhekai didn’t snap Adakontus’ spine in the demonstrations, and it certainly could have. Amolhekai itself walked onto the arena. Green-beard made it away unpunished, giving tacit approval of his savagery.

  A bony finger tapped Adakontus’ shoulder. Surprised, he looked behind him to find the skeleton proffering Adakontus the dagger. Only then, did he notice the blade in Amolhekai’s hand. Grimacing, Adakontus grabbed his weapon and walked to certain death.

  Amolhekai’s gray muscles rippled as it took a familiar stance, the one that formed the basis of grappling. Wide legs and a low center of gravity. Diverting from the recipe, Amolhekai’s shoulders angled a bit, leaving its dagger out front, with its offhand hovering behind it. Adakontus mirrored it.

  Amolhekai darted. Its offhand clawed out to control Adakontus’ dagger, while its own flashed towards his ribs. The two fought like cats and bled like pigs. At least, Adakontus bled like a pig. Amolhekai did not bleed at all. Its fleshwounds repaired themselves, strands of muscle wiggling like tiny gray snakes before tying together. Even so, Adakontus finally managed to wound The Instructor. A goal reached, he smiled as he died.

  Knife fighting was violent stuff. The demonstrations were exceedingly bloody. Every time, Adakontus ended up pumped full of stab wounds. Amolhekai sometimes slowed down, and taught proper techniques: how to control the opponent’s blade, how to disable an opponent’s arm, or variations of killstrokes. But after that? Back at it like feral cats in a sack.

  Adakontus regularly wounded Amolhekai, a dire prospect. The two were mismatched like a goose versus a toddler. The goose always won, Adakontus knew from experience. If Adakontus could stab Amolhekai, then knife fights were little better than coin-flips to see who bled out first.

  Once the students began dueling amongst themselves, Adakontus found he was a master at coin-flips. Too weak to wrestle, too slow to duel, but definitely mean enough to stab some people.

  ‘Fight.’

  Miss Blue-black Skin and Adakontus entered the arena. She bowed with a regal flourish. Adakontus stifled a snort. That one oozed unearthly grace, and stared down her perfect nose at everyone. The dark-skinned beauty dominated Adakontus in the sword-lance duels. Truthfully, she dominated everyone. Adakontus bent at the waist and shot her a sharp grin. Her skill justified that attitude, but Adakontus suspected her arrogance was innate. Adakontus spun his dagger. Now though, he had the chance for a little petty revenge.

  Adakontus charged, as the aggressor had the advantage. Blue-black prepared herself and met him. Adakontus took control quickly, forcing her blade away from his vitals while jabbing his dagger into her main arm. He pushed up against her, jamming his dagger-tip repeatedly into her ribs. Her blade stabbed his shoulder, sliced open his cheek, and punctured lightly all up and down his left side, but it was far too late. Her strength faded, but Adakontus continued his furious stabs with clenched teeth. Adakontus grabbed her weak wrist and punched his blade into her throat. She crumpled.

  The bloodied victor, Adakontus stumbled back to his spot as the obelisk undid his wounds. Adakontus disliked stabbing that haughty diva to death. He wasn’t one to delight in another’s suffering.

  Who was he kidding? He loved it! His feral grin nearly ripped his face in half. Adakontus felt hypocritical for judging green-beard’s savagery, but he also didn’t care.

  When he reached his skeletal squires, they started wiping him down with damp cloths. That’s new. Once nice and red, the skeletons dunked the rags in a nearby barrel and kept at it.

  All cleaned up, the skeletons suited Adakontus into his armor. Finally! After sitting on that mannequin and teasing him, the armor was his. Adakontus’ lips pursed with excitement as the skeletons dropped the helm onto his head. Excitement soured to dread.

  Ice-rock armor plated Amolhekai, the deep blue stones banded together by riveted metal. A dagger clenched in its hands, and stood in the center of the arena. Those blue fires drilled into Adakontus’ fearful eyes.

  Adakontus took deep calming breaths. So what if he was terrified? He was the best knife fighter, and with his armor on, he could only get stabbed less. What could go wrong?

  Everything went wrong. As Amolhekai killed Adakontus over and over, his smidgen of hope died of dysentery and filled his heart with shit. Knife fighting in armor wasn’t knife fighting at all. It was grappling. The knife came out at the very end, and only then to put down a defeated enemy. The one thing Adakontus excelled at was entirely useless! He was the best ass-naked knifeman. The supreme stripping stabber. The crazed cock-out cutter!

  His helm hid his shame. Barely.