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Booming steps echoed and they both flipped around to see the seven-foot Saint emerge from the dark tunnel.

The Warrior.

West went to shove her behind him but she refused, standing stubbornly at his side.

“Come back for another round then, North?” He hissed in displeasure. Then his gaze fell to Crimson.

Within an instant, the Saint understood.

He’d never been far from smart, nor would West ever consider him to be dull. But the instant recognition was faster than he would have originally given the male credit for.

“Red Lyric.” He drew the title out like he was tasting each letter as muscles in his jaw bulged in anger. “I knew there was something off about you.”

“No you didn’t.” Crimson immediately responded with a haughty laugh that he assumed could have only come from herexhaustion from the night. From the fights, from their situation, from her week in the cells and everything around it.

She’d been so strong, all by herself for eight years. It was all coming out tonight as they faced another Saint.

An idea sparked to life inside of him.

“Whatever you do, Heartstrings, don’t crush his heart.” He warned her. Because there was no way that they were leaving here alive if War decided it. And with the pinched expression he wore, he’d already chosen to engage in another round with them. Rage for the third time that West would beat him, for his loss last time. Vexation and fury that a girl had slipped into his ranks and managed to rise to the top as one of his best, defying his strict rules.

“Why not?” She glanced at him.

West prepared himself, tunnelling down into his well of magic and drew up a burst of moonlight, readying another crescent scythe. He curled it into his palm, aching to toss it and be done with this entire mess.

“Because I think his heart can cure Cobalt. Even if we succeed in killing Atlivar, which I assure you- I want more than anything else in this realm- Cobalt is mortal. At least this way, he’ll be healedandhave a prolonged life.” He explained, savouring the cold feeling of the night in his grasp.

War barked a laugh, shaking with it. “My heart isn’t going to anyone. It’s not goinganywhere.”

“We’ll see about that.” West attacked.

He sliced the moon across his throat, a rasping cough following as Crimson flipped her daggers and plunged one of them straight into his knee. She jerked it forward and the cap ripped right off, eliciting a scream of pain from the Saint.

War smacked her aside, sending her toppling as she rolledin the sand. She spit out a mouthful of blood, fury glowing in her eyes with a red tint that he found alluring. Crimson rose as West avoided the hit from one of his axes, swivelling around and slamming his sword down. The opposing Saint growled in frustration as his neck began to knit back together, one slow patch at a time.

“Enough,” He breathed and sent his hand straight down into the ground, sand flying up on impact as a furious crack registered. Crimson had just managed to get back to her feet before the force knocked them both down.

West flipped over himself, grunting as he smacked into the ring’s edge, a sharp pain rippling down his back that he ignored. “I’ve always hated that move.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand to remove the gritty bits stuck to his mouth.

Crimson lifted herself onto her knees, her hair wild as she palmed her daggers. West didn’t give her the chance to attack as he charged at War. War was ready for him, waiting. A vicious grin appeared as he threw himself towards the Saint. He punched, kicked, smacked the immortal god, ducking under the mirroring blows that War sent his way. Their feet skidded in the golden sand that was mingled with blood and sweat, both of which coated both Saints.

West slammed his fist into War’s cheek, a gargled cry following as War stumbled back, panting heavily.

“Saints damned bastard.” He hissed, dislodging a broken tooth and depositing it on the ground. “I always forgot how good of a fighter you were.”

“It’s almost like you trained me.” He jerked his head towards the redhead that was slowly inching closer. “As well as her.”

War made the mistake of glancing at Crimson.

Before he could say anything else, Crimson pounced. Sheused the full impact of her weight to swing into his form, grappling onto his thick neck as she flipped one of her knives into her palm, her thumb tight on the handle as she plunged it into the meaty spot where his shoulders began. War screamed, the noise echoing in the blank stands above as he tried to fling her off. To no avail as she ripped it free, blood smattering across her face as she repeated the action on the other side and jerked it towards her.

Skin ripped.

Blood spilled.

War raged.

His red eyes matched the fury and pain he felt, a roar not unlike that of a lion breaking free. She grunted as he spun around in a desperate rage. Crimson wrenched her dagger free and repeated the motion on either of his elbows, driving the point deep until tears formed in the corner of his eyes. He struggled to find her as she jumped off, catching her balance before she could fall. Crimson was heaving heavily, which meant that she was running out of energy. West couldn’t blame her after the two other men she’d taken out in her previous matches. Going up against a Saint however, was something else entirely.