Owyn stood behind me at the portcullis. After finding out I was capable of controlling the dead, he seemed a little more wary of me. His jovial mood was replaced by caution, as if he now feared me.

"This last fight is against the arena champion. He's been undefeated for years now."

"Tell me all about him." I kept my responses curt. The brimstone was still burning inside of me and I was feeling none too friendly.

"He's a dark elf like you. Uses both magic and weaponry. He wears heavy armor."

"What kind of magic does he use?"

"All kinds. Conjuration, illusion, healing. He's even learned to use the alternation class to affect the fighting environment. He's caused sandstorms to gain an edge before. There's one other thing too. I don't think it's the same as..." He hesitated to say the word. "Necromancy, but he summons this ghost of one of his ancestors sometimes. I've never heard of anyone but him being able to do that."

"All dark elves can do that," I told him. He didn't press me for any more answers.

Without ado, I went to the portcullis, a couple potions on my belt. Since he wore heavy armor, I didn't bother with a bow. Instead, I strapped a shield to my arm and took a mace in hand, once again keeping a sword on my back as a backup.

The announcer introduced us both, losing none of his enthusiasm from my disturbing display earlier.

"Ladies and gentlemen! This is it, the final event. Han-lu has survived longer than I ever expected, facing beasts, thugs, and even mages. We've witnessed his resourceful and quick-thinking nature. Now we get to see how he fares against the best the arena can offer. The champion who has proven himself time and time again. Dunmer will face Dunmer in the ultimate showdown. I give you, Dun-il Ranabi!"

I breathed deep and stepped out onto the sand. The crowd was cheering. "Dun-il Dun-il Dun-il!"

Across the arena, stood the champion. His armor was heavy steel. He wore a shield like me, but he had a sword instead of a mace in hand. I could see just a little bit of his face through his helmet. His skin was dark grey like mine. He came from ashlander ancestry.

Instead of climbing through the rubble to meet him in the middle, I circled to the side. He copied my movements with a barely visible smirk. "I hoped you'd survive long enough for me to kill you," he called. "It must be my lucky day." I made no reply as we drew nearer. The drummers played a fast beat, making my heart rate increase.

"I've been watching the previous fights. Necromancy may scare some, but I know that it's actually easy. Takes less magic to reanimate a corpse than to summon a whole creature, doesn't it? Efficient if you don't mind being hated, but you really don't mind do you? Naw, you thrive under loathing."

This made me crack a smile. It was true. Never in my life had I required approval from any but my family. That was just a part of the job.

"Of course, there's a few more people who hate you now. I wonder how mother feels, knowing you got her husband killed."

"You talk too much." I didn't let this bother me. The letter had confirmed that my mom didn't blame me for what happened.

"Oh no I don't. This isn't just idle chat. Don't you get it? I'm a dark elf, born into guile and subterfuge like you."

I narrowed my eyes. Was he trying to distract me? I turned just in time to see a ghostly being stab at me with a spear. My shield barely caught the tip in time to spare me. I'd been played. Instead of letting the ghost distract me, I rolled backwards toward Dun-il, predicting that he would charge. I came to my feet and twisted in a huge arc, giving my mace all the momentum I could. Dun-il barely stopped in time to avoid the swing, his skittering steel plated boots kicking up sand.

I followed through on the momentum of my swing, stepping forward, twisting again and launching my boot into his chest while he was off balance. He took the full force of the blow and fell on his back leaving me facing his ghostly ancestor. The undead Dunmer was skilled with a spear. He stabbed quickly. I blocked twice, standing my ground before attempting to advance. He responded in kind, stepping backwards and flourishing his spear. He raised it in a circle above his head and swung the blunt end at the side of my head.

I ducked and the spear whizzed over my head, but it came round again before I could strike, this time at my side. I blocked it with the mace, but he reversed directions and drove the blade just over my shield. The tip stabbed into my shoulder armor, not penetrating to my skin, but driving me off balance.

I stumbled backward where Dun-il had just returned to his feet. He thrust his sword at my belly. The chain mail caught the blade, but the tip pricked my skin. I punched him in the shoulder with the edge of my shield, but took a stab to my thigh from behind. The left leg gave out, but I drove myself into a sideways roll with my right, getting me out from between them. As soon as I was clear, I forced some magic to the leg wound. It was deep, but I was able to scab it over and stop the bleeding. In a moment, the ghost was after me and Dun-il was close behind.

I threw myself over a piece of marble to regain some distance, but landed painfully, tearing the scab I'd just made. I limped backwards, healing again while I had the chance until the wound could hold itself together. My enemies flanked me slowly while I backed against the wall.

"You're doing wonderfully." Dun-il breathed heavily, but chuckled under his breath. "But I've got to wonder why you haven't summoned an ancestor. I mean, the way you and your father fought the city guard is the talk of the town. Surely it would be easier for you."

I kept backing away slowly, trying to decide my next move. I could summon an atronach or something to help me, but if I could stall a little longer, I might recover enough magic for a much more powerful helper. If I could drink a potion, I could do it, but they'd be on me in a second if I dropped my guard.

Dun-il cocked his head to the side as they continued to close on me, intrigued. "What? Didn't the thought even occur to you? That was my whole plan. Got to make it an interesting show."

I clenched my teeth and looked him in the face. He realized that I wasn't even considering it. He stopped in his tracks, a wide grin slowly spreading over his face. His ancestor stopped and gave him a confused look. "No. You don't want to face him. You're too ashamed to ask him for help. Oh you've got to be joking." He broke into laughter and hot butterflies took flight in my stomach. What kind of person could laugh at that. I wanted to charge him, but I couldn't face them both. I let him laugh and took the time. I felt my energy slowly rising. If only I could just delay a little longer.

"The best part is you don't even know the half of it. They say he sobbed on the block. His face was still wet while they paraded it in the street." He stared me in the eyes. I could see his through the helmet, dark red. "You know, tonight I'll stop at my favorite bar and I'll get more free drinks than anyone alive while I tell this story. They'll feed you to the animals and I'll be stumbling home with a girl on each arm."

As I felt my magic peak I sneered back at him. "I'll bet there's a part of the story you leave out."

"Oh really, what's that?"

"How you're still depending on your grandpa to look after you and how I can handle my own fights." Dun-il raised his eyebrow before I conjured a helper blocking my view. What stood before him was the strongest creature I could conjure and one of the most feared in Tamriel. The figure was black skinned, but you could only tell by its head. The rest of him was covered in crushingly heavy armor. A dremora. They were normally servants to otherworldly godlike beings. The daedric princes. With years of practicing conjuring lesser creatures, I'd eventually learned to command the elite fighters of Oblivion.

His face was covered in red war paint, the pointy designs matching the terrifying spiky armor he wore. He drew a four foot long two handed sword off his back with a rasp that chilled the bone. He obeyed without question, which was the biggest trick in summoning a dremora. They respected willpower and few mages had lived a hard enough life to develop true will. Without it, the dremora was just as likely to turn on you as it was to fight on your behalf.

With a strange inhuman yell, he swung the sword over his head to cleave Dun-il in two. The Dunmer raised his shield, but the sheer force of the blow threw him to the ground. I left the dremora to fend off the champion while I contended with the ghost. My first strike caught him off guard, his attention drawn to my summation. He barely stumbled out of the way of my mace and before he could use his spear, I had closed the distance between us.

I swung my mace up and across, giving him no chance to dodge or block. To my shock, the iron mace passed right through him. He shoved me backward and I berated myself. I'd forgotten that normal weapons don't affect spirits. I wished I had my broadsword I'd left with Bargrum. The silver lined blade would banish this ghost easily.

I blocked more jabs and parried as he used the spear like a staff. My options were limited. There was no magic to spare to conjure one of my ghostly weapons. Since I had a spirit inside me, I thought punching him could technically work, but I'd have to get past his spear.

The dremora yelled behind me and the answer suddenly seemed obvious. I whirled around and at my mental command so did the dremora. His daedric sword would work fine on the spirit. Meanwhile, I faced the champion again. Dun-il had a dent in his armors shoulder and a full tear across the stomach. He healed it in the moment that I traded places with my partner and was ready to face me.

The shield on his arm was nearly rent in two, so he flung it away and with a bruised left arm, took a two handed grip on his sword.

"Having trouble champion," I taunted. Now he was angry, the prideful disdain he'd had replaced with fury.

I dropped to a ready stance, crouched in front of my shield with my mace poking out past it a couple inches. Dun-il charged, sidestepping to try getting past my shield. I turned to face him, catching the blow and swiping with my mace. He dodged and spun, slicing at my helmet. I ducked and dodged two cuts, then three without even having to block. Even without his shield, he was weighed down by his armor to the point where I could dance circles around him.

I got a hit on his already bruised shoulder, knocking him aside, but he still had the advantage of magic, while mine was still close to empty. He came back at me with a frostbite spell. It was too fast to ward off even if I'd had the magic to block it. I drew away from the cold blast instinctively, my face feeling like a thousand ice needles were piercing it. I dropped the mace and ripped off my helmet, desperately hoping to stop the sensation.

Dun-il stabbed at my back while it was turned and this time he managed enough force to break through some of the mail. I stumbled away, turning back to face him. He'd stabbed between my spine and shoulder blade.

I gritted my teeth against the pain. My left arm wouldn't raise properly, but I took the sword off my back with my right. We traded blows and all I could do was give ground. Without my left arm, the shield hung heavily and painfully at my side. Warm blood soaked its way down my back. With two hands on his sword, he had an advantage. I managed to knock his sword to the side and flank to the right, putting a chunk of marble between us.

Desperate for healing, I tossed my sword ahead of me and ran. I struggled to unstopper a bottle with healing potion. I couldn't drink it while I ran. I reached where my sword had fell and turned. Dun-il was fast on my heels. I tried to kick sand up in his face, but he stabbed at my heart, unfazed. His sword caught in my mail and pushed me backwards. I dropped the potion in the sand and fell back. He pressed forward and I raised the shield with my right hand, groaning when it strained the severed muscle.

I caught the blow and stepped in close. My right hand dropped the shield and I hit him in the helmet flat with my palm. He stumbled over a block and fell into the sand.

I rushed for the potion and almost choked chugging it down. I threw the empty bottle against his helmet before grabbing my sword. Dun-il struggled to his feet and I took the moment to raise my left arm, allowing the tendons in my back to mend back together properly. We stared at each other, both huffing for breath. That had been too close. On the other side of the arena, the dremora yelled again. I glanced sideways to see him stab the ghost through the chest and lift him in the air on his sword. The wraith fizzled away like one of my conjured weapons.

I turned back to Dun-il. He raised his hands and a wind swirled around the arena, picking up sand as it went. I squinted, my eyes accustomed to such conditions thanks to my father. I suddenly felt as though I were in the ashlands of my ancestors in a tribal skirmish. The dremora was no doubt lost in the storm. Dun-il must have expected to blind me like his other opponents, but when he charged through the storm, I saw him coming. I knocked his sword aside easily with my shield and stabbed through the open front of his helmet.

He fell down making gurgling sounds. The storm ceased and the crowd waited with bated breath to see the outcome.

The champion crawled backwards, his face bleeding. I'd inflicted a lot of wounds, but seeing the mouth sliced in that unnatural way stole my nerve and made me sick to the stomach. As soon as the air cleared, I sliced his throat and put an end to the suffering. I let the dremora return to Oblivion in a flash of purple light. I looked to the crowd. No one cheered, but they anxiously talked amongst themselves. What was to become of me? A quiet return to prison seemed so anticlimactic.

I looked to Fargoth who was sitting still, trying to hide the tears in his eyes from the people around him. In his face, I saw agony at his inability to help me. We were not used to feeling helpless.

I turned to the Emperor who wore a strange look. He seemed unsurprised. Could he have known beforehand that I'd win?

I should do something, I thought. I should say something. No words came. I couldn't fight my way out. If I tried to climb the walls, the guards would shoot me down.

The Emperor gestured to the bloodworks, making it clear that he'd offer no pardon and make no speech on my behalf. Even the announcer seemed afraid to say anything.

Slowly, I turned back to the underground, dropping my sword and shield in the sand. A pit formed in my stomach. I was going back to a cell where I'd likely spend the rest of my life.