***Baptism in Blood***

The first blow came out of nowhere.

Jace barely twisted aside in time, the blade whistling past his ear close enough to nick the skin.

He tasted blood — sharp and metallic.

His instincts took over before his mind could catch up.

He pivoted low, driving his elbow into the attacker's ribs.A wet crack answered him, but it wasn't enough.

The man — big, broad-shouldered, masked with a grinning skull — snarled and swung again.A heavy cleaver, stained dark with old blood.

"New blood!" someone hollered from the edge of the arena."Bets are open! Twenty crowns on the Reaper!"

The Red Court's fight pit was nothing like Jace expected.No rules.No honor.

Just a rotting circle of sand and blood, ringed by hungry faces and flashing teeth.

He hadn't volunteered.Hadn't signed up.

Zariah had shoved him forward, laughing as the crowd swallowed him.

"Best way to learn is to bleed!" she'd shouted.

Now here he was, fighting for his damn life while the spectators screamed for more.

The cleaver came down in a brutal arc, aimed to split his skull.

Jace didn't try to block it.He rolled sideways, the weapon smashing into the ground with a heavy thunk.

The impact left the man open — just for a heartbeat.

Jace lunged, grabbing a handful of sand and hurling it into his opponent's eyes.

The man roared, blinded, swinging wildly.

Jace moved fast.

Too fast.

The shard in his chest pulsed — silver light flickering along his veins — and suddenly the world slowed around him.

Adrenaline.Or something more.

The shard had changed him.

Made him sharper. Hungrier.

He dodged another blind swing, ducked under a backhand swipe, and drove his fist — wrapped in raw, crackling energy — straight into the man's throat.

The Reaper staggered back, gagging.

Blood poured from his mouth.

Jace didn't give him a chance to recover.He closed the distance and slammed his knee into the man's gut, then twisted, grabbing the cleaver from stunned fingers.

The weight of it was comforting. Solid.

He didn't think.

He didn't hesitate.

Jace buried the blade deep into the Reaper's chest.

A sickening crunch.

The man's mouth opened — a wet, choking sound — and then he collapsed, dragging the cleaver down with him.

Silence.

For a breath, the Red Court went still.

Then the crowd exploded, howling approval.

Coins clattered onto the sand.

Jace staggered back, chest heaving.

Blood dripped from his knuckles, from his split lip, from the shallow cut on his ear.

He felt alive.

More alive than he had in years.

Zariah was waiting for him at the edge of the pit, grinning like a cat who'd just watched her favorite toy tear itself apart.

"You did good," she purred, looping her arm through his."Messy... but good."

Jace glared at her, but didn't pull away.

"You threw me in there."

Zariah shrugged, utterly unapologetic.

"If you can't survive a single death match, you're not worth the power you're carrying."

She leaned closer, whispering against his blood-streaked skin.

"And trust me, Jace... they're coming for you now."

He believed her.

Already he could feel the eyes.

Predatory. Calculating.

The Red Court wasn't a market. It was a hunting ground.

And now he was bleeding in the water.

"Come on," Zariah said, tugging him forward."You need to get patched up. And you need your first real deal."

"Deal?" Jace grunted, spitting blood onto the sand.

Zariah's smile widened.

"You're swimming in potential, sweetheart. But potential doesn't win wars. You need allies. You need contracts."

She gestured toward a dark corridor at the edge of the Court.

"The Guildmasters are waiting."

The word sounded ominous. Heavy.

Before Jace could argue, a low, mechanical bell tolled somewhere deep inside the Market.

The crowd scattered like rats — not running, but shifting. Moving with purpose.

"What's that?" Jace asked, wiping blood from his jaw.

Zariah's smile finally faded.

"Blood Auction," she said grimly."Tonight... they're selling names."

Jace frowned."Names?"

"You'll see."

She pushed him toward the corridor.

The stone floor beneath his boots was slick with old blood.The torches lining the walls burned with sickly green fire.

Somewhere ahead, voices murmured — oily, slithering sounds that made his skin prickle.

The shard inside him stirred again.

Hungry.

Eager.

For what, he didn't know yet.

But he had the sickening feeling he was about to find out.