When Nomad woke this time, he found himself manacled to a wall. No … it was the outside of a boxy ship, one of those forming the arena. He’d been chained right up against the side of the thing, pulled spread-eagle on a flat piece of metal ten feet by ten feet.

It seemed he hadn’t been out for very long, though it was impossible for him to be sure with no sun in the sky. Just those dramatic, sweeping rings.

He tried to move, but was held tightly against the ship at both his wrists and ankles. The rowdy crowd was still in place, though a small ship with a podium framed by four ornate columns had settled into the center of the arena. It was open to the air and looked like its only purpose was to be a speaking platform—the small ship’s front deck giving a regal place for a leader to stand and address people. Glowing Eyes perched atop it, addressing the crowd, stoking their enthusiasm.

“Auxiliary,” Nomad growled. “Did I miss anything relevant?”

They moved the boxes out of the way, Aux replied. Then strapped you here. I’m trying to make sense of that speech, but I haven’t caught more than a word or two. Some of this is about you. And … an “example”?

“Lovely,” Nomad said, struggling against the chains.

I don’t think they realized or saw what you did with me, Auxiliary continued. With the barbell, I mean. The angle was wrong. So I turned into a crowbar again when they pulled you out of the mud. They examined me, then tossed me aside, assuming I was nothing important. I’m still out in the mud, off to your left.

Well, that was something. Nomad could summon the weapon at any time, making it vanish, then appear in his hands. The bonds on his wrists were tight, but Auxiliary could become all kinds of odd shapes. One might work for freeing Nomad. But if he wasn’t in immediate danger, then there was no reason to reveal what he could do. So for now, Nomad considered other methods. Perhaps if he broke his thumb, he could get his hand out, then let it heal. Unfortunately he healed fractures much more slowly than bruises.

Movement off to his left caught his eye. He turned his head as well as he could and noticed a swiveling black box with a blinking light. A security camera? It lingered on him for a moment, then rotated away toward the podium.

Glowing Eyes’s voice rose to a crescendo as he gestured to Nomad. Damnation. Even if he could get free, he still had on the bracers that froze him. And he was still surrounded by enemies that he couldn’t fight and cameras that could track him. What good would it do to get a hand free in such a situation?

You might be in real trouble this time, Auxiliary said.

“You think?”

Do I think? I’m not sure. Depends on your definition.

“You know, I liked you much better when you were alive.”

And who is to blame for that?

Nomad snarled and raged against the chains. His attention was finally drawn away from his predicament, however, as several officials led a few ragged captives up to the podium ship. Glowing Eyes seized each of them in turn by the throat, and they seemed to wilt, their skin growing ashen. When he tossed them aside, they were corpses, and the ember in his chest grew brighter.

The crowd cheered, and then that cheering built as another captive was dragged to the podium ship. Two guards in white coats accompanied her, one carrying a long spear, while the other had a rifle. Glowing Eyes didn’t grab this captive, but instead raised his hands to let the crowd yell.

Nomad’s eyes lingered on that rifle. It was the first modern weapon he’d seen here. Were those rare? He inspected this latest captive and realized it was the woman who had done so well avoiding capture. The one it had taken two ember people to catch.

“That woman …” Nomad said. “She was one of the better fighters—or at least, better dodgers—in the arena earlier. Perhaps because she fought well, they’re going to reward her?”

Glowing Eyes gestured to the woman, and the crowd roared. He slapped her on the shoulder in an almost congratulatory way. But then the captive woman started to struggle harder, and Nomad got a sinking feeling.

Not my problem, he thought to himself.

Glowing Eyes waved to the side, and one of the guards handed him the spear. Glowing Eyes removed a sheath, revealing that the spearhead itself had a glowing ember at the tip—so bright that it left a trail in Nomad’s vision.

The captive screamed.

Glowing Eyes rammed the spear into the woman’s chest.

Nomad had just the right angle to see what happened next. Glowing Eyes yanked out the spear, leaving the ember behind. The officials scattered in a panic, though Glowing Eyes remained, unconcerned. The agonized captive fell to her knees, her screams intensifying as searing heat flared at her core. Sparks and jets of flame sprayed out, like from a stoked campfire, individual motes scoring the skin of her arms and face—leaving streaks that continued to glow even after the central fire in her chest subsided.

The woman finally slumped to the side, although her eyes didn’t close. She lay there, staring sightlessly, the quiet flame in her chest illuminating the podium floor.

Well, Auxiliary said, I guess now we know where those ember people come from.

“Agreed,” Nomad said, feeling sick. “My guess is they choose the most agile captives to be elevated. After all, the ones he fed upon were some of the weaker captives.”

A stretch, perhaps, but logical enough.

Nomad took a deep breath. “That might give us an opportunity. You think we could absorb whatever powers those spears? Maybe get enough BEUs to escape this planet?”

No, I’d say it isn’t powerful enough for a Skip, Auxiliary said. Hard to say without more information, but I’d guess a spear like that has a couple thousand BEUs—maybe ten to twenty percent Skip capacity at most. More than enough to give you a Connection to the planet, though. You’d finally be able to understand what people are saying, and have a reserve left for healing or powering me up.

As the guards returned to drag off the newly made ember woman, Glowing Eyes strode back onto the podium, and someone approached with two more spears. Glowing Eyes took one and whipped its sheath off, revealing a second glowing tip—like metal heated white-hot, yet somehow never cooling. The crowd shouted and cheered even louder.

“I’ll bet,” Nomad said, “he’s going to use one of those on me. He tried to get me killed, but his people failed. So now he’s going to try something else.”

Ah, the hero says with a sense of understanding. Yes, that’s reasonable. Why isn’t he worried that you’ll turn against him once you’re given powers?

“I suspect he counts on the freezing bracers to control the others, and he just proved to himself they work on me.”

Seems dangerous.

“Agreed,” Nomad said.

In this case, the situation wouldn’t play out as Glowing Eyes expected. If he touched the spear tip to Nomad, he’d be able to absorb the power from it. It was one of the few useful aspects of his Torment. Nomad had gained an unusual ability to metabolize nearly any kind of Investiture, although he sometimes required Auxiliary’s help.

Right. But why are there two spears?

“They’ll want to do me last,” Nomad said. “As the big finish. So I assume there is another poor captive to be …”

He trailed off as they pulled a second person up onto the podium: the gap-toothed man who had helped Nomad earlier. As soon as he saw the poor fellow, Nomad realized it made sense. He’d just been theorizing that they turned the best fighters into ember people. This fellow might be a little overweight, but he’d managed to elude capture—and had even gone out of his way to help Nomad, who was aggressively being targeted.

The man’s grit had earned him a terrible reward. The crowd cheered as Glowing Eyes raised the second spear. The poor captive screamed a piteous sound, pulling against his captors.

Not my problem, Nomad told himself, closing his eyes.

But he could still hear. And somehow, in shutting out the light—there within the blackness of his own design—he felt something. Something of the person he’d once been.

Words once spoken. In a moment of glorious radiance.

Damnation, he thought as the man’s terrified shouts shook him to the core.

Nomad forced his eyes open and ripped his right hand out of the manacle, his supernatural strength shattering the thumb and tearing the skin along the sides of his hand. He raised his bleeding hand above his head and to the side, then summoned Auxiliary from the mud.

Holding the hilt with only his fingers against his palm, Nomad whipped his hand forward, throwing Auxiliary to spin—flashing and glorious—through the air. Aux slammed into one of the pillars on the podium right next to Glowing Eyes’s head—a six-foot-long glittering sword, Auxiliary’s truest form. It sank deeply into the pillar and hung there, quivering.

The crowd hushed.

Huh, Auxiliary said in his head. I thought you couldn’t do that anymore.

He’d intentionally aimed away from Glowing Eyes. By not threatening anyone, Nomad could avoid triggering the Torment. That said, it had been a while since he had seen the full Blade, been able to access it in all its glory. As he’d hoped, Glowing Eyes was stunned by this spectacular apparition. He gaped at the sword in confusion, forgetting his captive. The gap-toothed man shrank back in the grip of his guards, but hadn’t been touched by the spear yet.

Nomad resummoned Auxiliary, trying to form the Blade again. He failed. The Torment had slipped up once, but now it was on guard. No weapons. Nomad raised Auxiliary high in the form of a tall pole. His thumb screamed in pain, but a bracer at the bottom held it in place, letting him grip it with his unbroken fingers. He formed it into a wrench next, then a crowbar.

Glowing Eyes watched the weapon, entranced, a visible hunger in his wide eyes. He stumbled off the platform, carrying the spear. Fixated on Nomad.

“Good,” Nomad whispered. He met those glowing eyes, daring them forward. “Good. You want this. Come, try to take me as one of your slaves. Then you can command me to give it to you, right?”

The man approached, paused, then held the spear in front of him, threatening.

“I don’t fancy being stabbed as I absorb the Investiture,” Nomad said to Auxiliary. “You want to handle this one?”

Yes, Auxiliary said. Just form me as a receptacle—or even a standard shield—on your chest as he stabs, and I’ll recycle the energy.

Glowing Eyes hesitated a few feet from Nomad.

“Come on, you!” Nomad shouted. “Stab me!”

The man put the white-hot spear tip near Nomad’s eye and demanded something.

“I don’t speak your tongue, idiot,” Nomad said. “Just stab me!”

The man waved at Nomad’s hands, speaking again, sterner.

He wants you to show him, the knight explains to his sometimes-dense squire, how you summon the tools.

Instead Nomad summoned a nice dollop of spit—spiced with the mud that still crusted his lips—and delivered it right into the bastard’s eye. The spittle hissed, as if on a hot plate, and the man jerked back, furious.

He pointed his spear at Nomad’s chest, growling, causing the crowd to cheer.

Here we go, Nomad thought.

At that moment, one of the nearby ships exploded.