You thought I had quit, didn't you? You thought I gave up. I would never do that to you. I'll try to finish this, go to the end. Here it is, Chapter 12. Enjoy.

Jak could feel the difference the moment he stepped through the thick hodge-podge of Precursor metal that was the outer gate of Spargus. The moment he entered the haven, the thrashing, torturous winds of the desert ceased in a heartbeat. As the mechanical doors closed shut with a resounding crash, Jak collapsed to his feet, pulling his mask down from his mouth, tearing away his goggles to breathe the city's tranquil air.

Daxter collapsed as well, falling from Jak's plated shoulder to lay stock-still on the floor, kissing it. "I love this city," Daxter groaned, rubbing the floor with his furry palm. "I love it. Let's live here, Jak."

"We have to get moving," Jak grunted, spitting a mouthful of grit over his shoulder. "I really don't want to be the one to tell Kleiver that one of his 'precious vehicles' has been totaled."

Daxter immediately rose to his feet, clambering swiftly to his regular perch. "Yeah," he agreed, suddenly very serious, "let's get moving."

Jak crossed to the other side of the garage in several swift strides. He made a conscious effort not to look at the gaping empty space where the Sand Shark, as he had named it, one sat.

The doors opened with an ominous hiss, and Jak walked through to the welcome stillness of Spargus.

The desert city's streets were practically free of people. As Jak strode down the uneven roadways he would occasionally pass an armor-clad insomniac or a leaper foraging for a snack. Other than that, it seemed that most people had retreated to the comfort of their own homes.

It was at this point that it suddenly dawned on the outsider that he had nowhere to stay. He had no home, no bed to curl into. How could he have been so stupid? Jak groaned and buried his face in his callused hands. "Now what?" Jak moaned through his fingers.

"What?" Daxter asked worriedly, pulling on the tip of Jak's ear. "What's the matter buddy?"

"Dax, we don't have anywhere to go."

The blonde elf felt the Ottsel on his shoulder go rigid. A violent tremor began to stir through his friend's furry body. His feet twitched nervously, his tiny digits curling into fists.

"Dax?"

"D…D…"

"Hey, Dax?" Jak turned to his friend worriedly. Daxter's face was screwed into an expression reminiscent of rage and sorrow. His eyes twitched nervously, his small black nose drawing breath in short, quick bursts. "Daxter!" Jak snapped his fingers before the Ottsel's face.

"Damas," Daxter finally blurted. "Let's…go…to Damas."

Jak stared at his friend in shock. "What? Why?"

Daxter turned to face his friend, staring into Jak's dumbstruck face. "We can sleep in the elevator. At least it's somewhere inside."

"Daxter, are you being serious?"

Daxter hopped down from Jak's shoulder and began walking in the direction of the palace, his padded feet slapping quietly on the city's worn cobblestones. "For once, yeah."

Though Jak didn't particularly like the idea of sleeping inside of an elevator, he couldn't argue with Daxter's logic. It was inside, and it was partially safe. This was a city of convicts, banished into the desert for crimes they had committed within Haven. Sleeping outside, unprotected, could be suicide. Jak wasn't bothered so much by the concept of sleeping in an elevator, though. What concerned him was what the Desert King's reaction would be if he found him sleeping there.

Regardless, Jak followed the two foot Ottsel and scooped him onto his shoulder. Then, silently, the duo marched on to the Spargus Palace.

As they reached the palace, the doors; engraved with Damas' house seal; hissed and sprang open. The two proceeded into the dark area which would serve as their sleeping quarters for the night. The two friends each picked their corners, where they curled into. The floor was hard and uneven. No matter what position the elf or the Ottsel twisted themselves into, there always seemed to be something jabbing them from some odd angle. As sleep finally began to take hold of Jak, allowing him to close his eyes in comfort, he heard Daxter mutter from the corner opposite his own: "Bah! How did Pecker get it so good?"

The pair awoke some time later. It was impossible to tell the time of day from inside the elevator shaft. Whether it was day or night, it was always the same shade of dark. Jak rose to his feet, his back popping. He yawned and stretched his arms out, running his fingers gingerly over the play of muscle to the red marks left in them by a night of sleep on an uneven surface.

Daxter hadn't fared much better. His fur was turned at odd angles as if someone had pet him the wrong way. His eyes were dim, his tongue dry. In the dark Jak heard him mutter, "Ok, if I ever suggest sleeping here ever again, shoot me."

Jak couldn't help chuckling. "It wasn't all bad Dax," Jak laughed, "at least we were warm." Jak sat back down in his corner, resting his head against the carved stone wall. His hand passed over the floor, feeling the rough texture, trying to judge exactly what kind of surface they had been sleeping on. The previous night he had been too tired to even care.

Suddenly his hand passed over something that felt like a small note card. Grabbing it, Jak held it close to his face. The card, as it turned out, had one simple message on it, written in a flowing Precurian text.

"Meet Me in the Throne Room as soon as possible."

-Damas, King of Spargus

"So he saw us," Jak muttered, pocketing the note. He then rose to his feet and looked over to Daxter. "C'mon Dax," he said, "we've got a meeting."

"Eh?"

At that moment the elevator jerked, nearly throwing Jak to his knees. The elevator, creaking loudly, began to rise up to Damas' throne room. Daxter scampered over to his friend and climbed up to his regular perch, glancing at Jak nervously. As the lift reached the peak of its rise Jak once again observed the small slice of paradise that Damas resided in.

Damas himself was sitting in his throne. His icy gaze was trained on the ceiling, staring through the beaten windows into the bright blue sky. His eyes were unfocused, his thick fingers drumming contently on the throne's arm rest. He seemed lost in thought, reminiscing about whatever it was elf men of Damas' power and status reminisce about. As Jak's footsteps grew louder, Damas' ears twitched slightly. His cold eyes rolled sideways towards Jak. For an instant Jak thought he saw a twinkle of happiness, of suppressed joy spark through the sand king's eyes. If this had been true, it was gone a split second later. Damas rose from his throne, snatching up his staff in one hand.

"Welcome back, outsider," Damas rasped, his voice as rough as a beaten mountain crag. "Once again you must test your fighting skills in the Arena. Face down your fears, defeat those who oppose you, and we will see if your skills are of use to us." Once again the king turned his gaze skyward, staring into the sparkling face of the desert sun. "The purity of the Arena is our only guide."

Daxter, his hair bristling uncomfortably, dropped down from his friend's shoulder to approach the king. "Excuse me, Mr. Sand King?" Daxter said in a mockingly timid voice. "Yes, I'd like to place a complaint. We've been training hard, my feet are killing me, and I think I'm getting a hangnail," the Ottsel, as if to add emphasis, held his digit up for Damas to get a better look. "So," he continued, scooting back toward Jak, "maybe I'll just sit this one out" –

"Enough talk!" Damas thundered. The king turned back to his throne and grabbed something from behind the polished chair. Turning back to the blonde elf before him, the king threw the object. Jak caught it easily in midair. Inspecting it, he found the object to be another gun mod. Judging by the reddish hew around the barrel, he assumed it to be an upgrade for the Scatter Gun. Smirking slightly, he stuffed it into his rapidly growing satchel. Damas nodded approvingly.

"The Arena awaits."

The roar of the crowd was even more deafening than Jak's first visit. Spargus' many citizens lined the rows of carven stands, cheering and jeering as the outsider stepped onto the moving platform. Jak turned his head momentarily towards the box in which Damas sat. The desert king was watching him, his solid eyes observing him as if he himself were a rare artifact of some kind. Jak, despite himself, offered the king a brief nod. To his surprise the king responded with a rare smile. The platform lurched, nearly bringing Jak to his knees. It then began its horribly slow descent down to the arena below.

As it did so, the heat became all the more intense. Jak peered down into the fiery crater, observing the battle ground. This time around the arena was split into four different sections. Overall it was a large square arguably a hundred feet across. The square was divided by two glowing rivulets of molten magma separating it into four different, smaller squares. Located at each of these squares, suspended by rotting lengths of wood were two patched huts which, as Jak guessed, contained his opponents – most likely captured Marauders as before.

As Jak stepped onto the battleground of patched Precursor metal, he immediately felt the rush of adrenalin that came with each fight he had ever been through. Cracking his knuckles in anticipation, he turned to the quivering Ottsel on his shoulder. "Time to rock, Dax."

An incoherent whimper was the creature's only response.

All at once the doors to the huts situated around the arena opened, and out leaped the same battle-scarred Marauders, their scorched scimitars glowing from the magma, their pallid skin white as chalk. Damas' voice echoed throughout the Arena, silencing the roar of the crowd for a split second. "Let the battle begin!"

The Marauders charged as one, their wicked swords held high over their heads, their savage battle cries magnified by the barbaric masks closed over their faces. As the two Marauders approached him, Jak clenched his fists, readying himself for the terrible trial of Spargus. The Marauders' scimitars sang lustily through the air, each approaching from opposite sides. In seconds, they would have the equal effect of a giant pair of scissors, to slice the outsider in half in two ragged, unclean cuts. It was in this moment that Jak dropped to the floor in a forced crouch. The two blades crashed together above him with an earsplitting shriek of metal against metal.

Jak's leg, tensed like a coiled spring, shot out into the Marauder's leg, shattering the bone with its steel tip. The Marauder screamed in agony, his pale leg buckling beneath him. He fell to the floor paralyzed, clutching his ruined leg with his burly arms. Jak didn't let this distract him for an instant. He drew his Scatter Gun and, looking up into the masked face of the Marauder, unleashed a single shot of concentrated Red Eco into the elf's abdomen. The elf flew backward instantly, his sword leaping from his hand. He fell to the ground nearly five feet away, a sizzling hole ripped open in his stomach.

"Woo hoo!" whooped Daxter as Jak rose to his feet. "That's my buddy!"

Daxter's celebration was short lived. No sooner had the words escaped his mouth, a deafening ringing filled the arena, like a warning alarm back in Haven. The crowd's cheers only grew louder. Jak turned a complete circle, looking confusedly about.

Suddenly Daxter tapped him on the shoulder. "Uhh, Jak?" the animal whimpered.

"What?"

As Jak turned, he suddenly realized there was no need for the Ottsel to answer. Magma was bubbling up from a hole in the center of the mini-arena, slowly but surely filling the expanse of the arena. The arena was sinking!

"Oh shit!" Jak moaned. Clutching a squirming Daxter in his arms, Jak began to sprint harder than he had ever remembered doing. He felt the intense heat of the magma as it seeped up from the floor. He didn't turn to watch as the crippled Marauder was engulfed screaming in a spontaneous inferno. All that mattered was reaching the safety of the next arena. He approached the edge and leaped, momentarily airborne before crashing back onto the patchwork of Precursor metal.

The moment he landed the huts opened again, and two more Marauders touched down, breathing heavily through their armored helmets. They charged at once, side by side, brandishing their identical swords with deadly skill. Jak charged as well, roaring with battle-fuelled ferocity. He dove forward, catlike, and tackled a muscle bound Marauder to the ground, berating him with punch after punch to the helmet. The elf kicked hard, trying frantically to force Jak off of him, but to no avail. Jak beat his fists bloody; crushing the helmet down until it fit so tight around the Marauder's face it would be impossible for him to remove it. He rolled sideways a moment later as the second Marauder's scimitar came crashing down, penetrating his partner's chest where Jak had been sitting a moment later. Jak swept the Marauder's feet out from under him with a swift kick. Then, pulling the elf's sword from the corpse of the first Marauder, impaled the stunned creature on his own weapon.

The alarms rang, and Jak ran. This was the simple monotony of the battle. Massacre, alarms, run, and massacre. There was no mercy, no compassion. It was fight to survive – the golden rule of the unforgiving wasteland. It was as Damas had said, strength and survival were valued above all. "Prove yourself worthy, or the desert will be your grave…"

Jak barely noticed as he slaughtered his next two opponents. It was as if it were a simple exercise – a specialized career. The thought sent shivers up his spine. Had those two years in prison changed him that much? Had Praxis really made him into a natural killer? Maybe he did deserve banishment…

The very last Marauder was huddled in the far corner of the arena, shaking uncontrollably. Dark Jak stood over him, his claws twitching readily. In his right hand he held the elf's dripping arm, ripped from the socket as easily as one would rip a sapling from live-giving earth. The Marauder grunted in some strange primitive language, incoherent and meaningless. The alarm would ring again soon, and unless every last enemy was dead, he would be burned along with the twitching waste of air huddled before him. This was all that the Id of Jak knew – kill or be killed. He would kill this last elf easily, without fuss. Make it quick, make it efficient. Easy.

Dark Jak lunged forward, dropping the arm to the floor. His clawed hands closed around the elf's exposed neck, lifting him into the air as if he weighed nothing at all. The man's meaningless pleas fell onto deaf ears. The tainted elf's hands closed around the man's esophagus, the claws sinking deep into the flesh. In one jerk of his arm, he wrenched half the elf's neck from the rest of the body. The limp body fell to the floor, lifeless. Dark Jak breathed slowly and deeply, staring down at the blood-soaked heap of flesh quivering in his open palm. The changed happened instantaneously – claws shrank, horns disappeared and skin regained its pigment. Jak's muscles shrank back to normal size, and the overwhelming blackness shrank from his eyes, back into his pupils. It took Jak a moment to focus in on the elf's neck in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, as if incapable of truly seeing it for what it was. The heap of flesh fell from his limp hand with a splat.

Jak lowered his gaze to the patchwork of Precursor metal that made up the remainder of the Arena. "What the hell am I?" he muttered.

Daxter's head poked out from Jak's thoroughly stuffed satchel. "We," he said, tapping Jak comfortingly on the ear tip, "are best friends, desert gladiators, and we kicked some serious Marauder butt!" The Ottsel leaped onto Jak's shoulder and struck an insanely dramatic pose, "now let's go get our prize!"

Jak couldn't help but smile at his friend's antics. He knew that no matter what the future brought, Daxter would be by his side to help him. He had proven his loyalty a year ago, and that was all that Jak needed. Nodding, Jak stepped onto the platform and rode it to the top.

Moments later he and Daxter stepped onto the carefully carven platform set before the King's box. Damas sat at his throne, looking down at Jak with an intense interest. Jak could only stare back, wondering what thoughts could be crawling through the king's mind.

"I can't believe you two are still alive!" Pecker crowed.

"Neeyah," Daxter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What a surprise."

Pecker crossed his wings and said in his usual, superior mood: "Damas and I are very impressed."

Daxter's digits tightened around a pawful of Jak's blond hair. "Hey feather butt, who appointed you king?" he demanded.

Pecker scowled. "He did!" he retorted indignantly, nodding towards Damas, "almost. Sort of a…semi-king, you know." Then, as if in order to spite his orange-furred rival, added in an overly blissful tone "You should see our sleeping quarters, and his harem of love birds," Pecker moaned, waving his wings slowly for added emphasis. Jak and Daxter could only stare at each other in uncomprehending confusing as a fresh wave of images flowed through their minds. "I never get any sleep these days," he chuckled. "It's good to be the king, no?" he said, turning to Damas, who smiled in return.

Daxter, who by now was quivering with fury, shot out with anger. "I don't see no crown on that fat feather head!"

Pecker retorted with equal anger. "You want a crown? I'll crown you! Don't make me come down there from this perch!"

Daxter leaped onto the pedestal before them, egging the Monkaw on. "Oh, I got a perch for ya, birdie. Right here, twirl on it!" Daxter extended a paw, the middle digit raised in defiance of Pecker's power.

A collective gasp ran through the Arena. Startled citizens stared wide-eyed at the king's box, wondering at the Ottsel's fate. Most of them hoped to see a bit more blood before they left.

"That's it! It's go time!" Pecker shrieked, airborne in a spit second. He soared downward towards the Ottsel like a multi-colored vulture, ready to kill.

"Bring it on, bird brain!"

The two animals locked together in a mass of fur and feathers, pummeling each other – spitting and cursing with reckless abandon.

"That's enough!" The two animals halted in an instant. Damas was standing, staring down at the two creatures with disgust. "If I had wanted you to fight, I'd have commanded it!" Then his gaze turned to Jak, and both his eyes and overall demeanor softened for an instant. "You did…very well, Jak." The king paused for a moment, his head turned slightly, as if unable to meet the blonde elf's eyes. "You make me proud, er…" Damas paused again, unable to complete his statement. "…That our training program is…so good." Shaking his head, the Sand King's eyes hardened once more. "Before you is a new weapon mod and your second battle amulet. One more arena win, and you will be a true Wastelander."

Jak nodded thankfully and took both items, examining them. The mod was an upgrade to the Blaster. It had an added barrel, but what its function was remained unknown. As he continued through the metallic doors, out into the noticeably cooler air of the outside. He began to wonder about possible solutions to a problem that was rapidly becoming greater and greater. It was something that he would have to take care of, and soon.

"I'm going to need a bigger satchel," Jak muttered, cramming the new mod into the bulging leather sack on his back. Daxter would have to settle for his shoulder for the time being.

Well? Well? What did you think? Please let me know!