Feeling powerless was a new experience for Soros.

Dying didn't scare him. It was inevitable, something that absolutely everyone faced eventually. He considered it Turian's biggest fault – the clan lord refused to accept the course of life, the inevitability of it ending one day.

No, he felt powerless because of Kat. He had to leave her behind, to an unknown fate. Soros didn't trust Turian, not one word out of his mouth could be taken for truth. If Turian wanted to kill Kat after Soros was gone, he would certainly find an excuse to do it, regardless of what he had said.

Knowing that made nothing better. He was still unable to really fight back. The Hall stood on the verge of destruction and Kat was bound to go down with it.

I should have sent her away, with force if necessary. She would have hated me, but she would have survived this madness.

Walking with Turian, drawing looks and instilling complete silence, was almost unbearable. After hearing the other warrior confess to doing it all for power, Soros found the clan lord’s presence repulsive.

To think he had actually considered the issue before – the chieftain, the Union. Thinking back, if Turian had really been against the new way, he would have expressed it several months ago when there was an actual uprising. Nadar had sent one of his loyal clan lords to quell it, but that would have been the time for Turian to speak up.

Dealing with two clans was a whole different matter than trying to control the realm alone. Of course, that was what the chieftain was doing.

Soros had never viewed the position of the chieftain as anything other than symbolic. While he had always thought of Nadar as an amazing warrior, he was not a man who had inspired loyalty in Soros. Yet Nadar seemed to be conquering the minds of the other Corgans easily enough, time willing.

As for Soros’ loyalty… The only things he'd ever been true to were Hetton and Dolon Hall.

And now Kat, if he could only find a way to save her.

All in all, Soros had not exactly wanted to side with the chieftain, but Turian had unwittingly pushed him into doing exactly what he had feared all along. Soros had thought he could live without taking part in the big clashes, but now he saw what it brought. His students, Turian's nephews, Hux, all the men that had died because of Turian's desire for power – he couldn’t help but think it could have been avoided.

Power.

It brought a bitter frown to Soros' face. Power was the lowest of goals in his eyes. It was an excuse for weak men to feel like they were the center of the universe, and he couldn't stand the idea of Turian achieving that.

Yet, even knowing all that, Soros still didn't see a way out.

As they neared the Plateau and the Grand Arena standing next to it in rubble, he thought of Kat's warning and whether it had cost the little Terran her life. It was a piece of information he would have given his life for, metaphorically speaking.

Would Turian dare to trick him?

Of course he would. If he planned to bring an assassin to the arena, he would dare to do anything.

* * *

Their audience was gathering. Soros neglected to tell Turian that it had been his plan as well, to end up in the Grand Arena. Just the two of them.

It hadn't worked out exactly like Soros had intended – his plan had been ruined as they weren't quite alone in the Grand Arena.

Every once in a while, Soros caught the bodyguard following them. But the man was careful, staying out of his reach. The closer they got, the less Soros knew where he actually was.

The thousands of warriors in the Hall couldn't have been quiet if they’d tried. The murmur, the hushed talking, the smaller fights still going on, clashes of metal against metal. It all drowned out the warrior's footsteps, hiding him from Soros' senses.

It would be even worse in the arena. Not only would he be facing a very dangerous fighter, but another unseen one as well. The warriors watching on both sides would only be cheering them on.

No, Soros had to find another way to deal with the ghost following him like a shadow, before he cut his throat.

He had kept hoping a miracle would present itself as they walked, something that would allow him to kill Turian without dooming everyone else.

And then he stepped on the arena and nothing had changed.

Turian, on the other hand, was practically glowing with glee. It was sickening to see him gloating, already certain of his victory. Soros couldn't entirely blame him, considering he had no idea how to save all of them without dying himself, giving Turian exactly what he wanted.

He would have accepted death, if he'd known that it would spare the academy and the realm. Before Kat, that was. Now, for the first time in his life, Soros felt like he was alive. Not merely living, breathing, functioning. Not simply taking pleasure in the little things, but never truly caring for anyone.

All he wanted now was to take Kat into his arms, hold her and never let go, to live with her.

The man in front of him stood in the way of that. Watching Turian walk around the arena languidly, with confidence he didn't deserve, Soros knew he couldn't let the clan lord leave that place alive.

"Silence," Turian roared to the crowd gathered around the arena.

Many of them were still students and most had been. They knew how things went. As much as Soros could tell, they were prepared to stand side by side with their enemies to see two legendary warriors duel.

It was at once painful and great to behold. It stood proof that the problems Turian had created were artificial. Corgans hated fighting each other with a passion. That was what true enemies were for. Clan clashes happened, they were unavoidable, but when possible, Corgans would always choose to point their swords at a common enemy instead of someone of their own races.

This time, some of them simply were yet to realize that the true wolf stood among them, guised as a Corgan while his soul was anything but.

The warriors stilled, seated and standing on the ascending rows surrounding the arena.

"The Commander has issued me a challenge," Turian announced. "And I have accepted."

I gladly would have, yes, Soros agreed in his head.

"Neither one of us wants to see more bloodshed in this ancient Hall. So we have decided to settle this feud between us with a duel, as is proper."

Turian had an amazing gift for saying the worst possible thing in the most awful way imaginable. Making it sound like he was trying to broker peace, as if someone else had suggested turning a personal issue into a battle that encompassed all the warriors gathered.

"The stakes are high," Turian added more quietly, and the crowd strained to hear him.

The clan lord was looking right at him, but Soros was more focused on the movement he'd just seen. The Palian cloak wasn't foolproof in any way, nothing ever was. It could be noticed by subtle clues, like the air seemingly twitching when the fabric became crumpled. It was possible to catch the cloak before it managed to compensate for the changed angle sometimes.

That was the only hope Soros had for dealing with the ghost.

Turian was still looking at him, waiting for Soros to start paying attention.

He was. He had never taken a duel more seriously in his life, even if it was all a charade. Seeing that no divine intervention was going to happen, Soros decided that he might as well play it out. So he smiled like a beast grinning at its prey and gave the clan lord a small, mocking bow, unsheathing his swords.

Taken aback by the look on his face, Turian hastily did the same. Soros noticed how his eyes strayed a little to his left for a second. The ghost must have been behind the clan lord.

"That's right," Soros said loudly, deciding to go forward with the plan he'd had ever since he emerged from the ice ocean. "The stakes are high. I'm challenging Lord Turian for his clan."

The look on Turian's face was amazing. The clan lord's entire stance dropped, and although he gathered himself immediately, there was a cruel fire burning in his eyes.

"I accept, of course," the clan lord snarled.

Of course you do. No lord who has refused a challenge has ever lived very long after.

"You've made a terrible mistake, Soros," Turian warned him, testing his swords by striking through the air a couple of times.

After all, his blades had not seen blood that day. Soros knew the crowd saw it.

"We'll see," Soros replied.

Turian attacked, alone. Soros kept an eye out for any strange movement, his ears listening to every last sound, but the ghost was not near him, not yet at least. Apparently he hadn’t been instructed to join the fight at once.

The clan lord had gotten better over the years. That was the first thing Soros noticed when Turian actually delivered a blow he couldn't parry. The maneuver was unfamiliar to him, but that was to be expected from Turian. If he came to challenge Soros, the man who trained all Corgans, he had to come with something in his arsenal that was not Corgan in the slightest.

Perhaps he has learned from the Brions, Soros mused darkly.

Soros could see the glint of unrestrained pride mixing with joy. Turian was getting everything he'd ever wanted. To hurt Soros as well as humiliate him in front of the Corgan warrior elite.

But it made Turian clumsy. Soros' next strike cut a deep gash across his face. Turian stumbled back, wiping the blood away, glaring at him. Soros waited for the clan lord to say something about Kat or the Hall, but instead he saw a smile dawn on Turian's face.

Soros realized it was what he'd asked for – for him not to make his victory look easy. The more he bled, the better it would look.

His entire being rebelled against the idea of Turian fooling anyone, this little man trying to write his name on the pages of history with Soros’ blood.

Over my dead body is probably not the right way to phrase this.

They clashed together again, exchanging punishing strikes that made them spray the ground beneath their feet red. Turian's fervor reminded Soros of Hux and his relentless attacks. The clan lord came at him with the same mindless force, but yet they differed.

Hux had known it was his only chance. Turian, however, was hungry, impatient. He wanted to get this over with, quickly, to go and celebrate the first step towards ruling the Corgan realm.

Unthinking, Soros' next cut went too deep. He could hear a low, growling gasp escape Turian's mouth as the other warrior glared daggers at him. Turian's follow-up move was to charge at Soros, throwing both of them on the ground in a cloud of flesh and blades.

They rolled together, jumping back to their feet. It was a feat on its own that they had both managed to hold on to their swords.

"Don't be a fool," Turian hissed at him. "That's what you always told me. Now I'm telling you. You know there is only one way how this can end. With your blood, or hers."

Mentioning Kat knocked every ounce of bravado out of Soros. He thought of her, locked up down in the crypt, right in the epicenter of the explosion. Of her beautiful body being torn to pieces. At least it would be a quick death.

Risking her meant risking the Corgan realm right along with it. So why was it that it seemed like no choice at all to Soros?

Turian took full advantage of his distraction, striking so quickly at his chest that Soros couldn't dodge entirely out of his way. The razor-sharp blade went through the armor plates and between his ribs.

Soros gasped for air, kicking Turian away with such force that the warrior fell backward. He clutched at the hole in his armor, feeling the way air and energy flowed out of him. Turian had injured his tertiary lung, maybe even pierced it. That left only his primary lungs to provide oxygen for a body that was used to having three.

He saw the death strike coming and parried. Turian's sword and his met in the air, and both men pushed forward, grunting. Soros saw the clan lord's eyes burn with victorious glee.

Soros had played along and now Turian’s look told him that he had to face the end. There was no other way. At least like that, he would give Kat a chance at living.

The voice he'd come to love cut into his world, just like down in the crypt.

"Soros! He has nothing anymore!"

The four words out of Kat's mouth changed everything. Soros saw Turian's eyes go wide as the clan lord disengaged at once. He backed away as Soros drew himself up to his full height.

"The crypt!" Turian roared.

Soros saw his bodyguards starting to rush back down, wondering if the ghost went with them.

"Stop them!" he bellowed to his students. "Don't let them near the crypt!"

They understood, finally. The crowd that had been so very calm around them up until that moment became alive again and the Hall seemed buried under screams. Out of the corner of his eye, Soros saw Kat rushing down to the arena's side, the air twitching where she stepped though he could not see her body.

I need to end this quickly, as we agreed.

He turned to Turian, who was staring at him with unguarded loathing, unleashed at last. Despite the crushing pain in his chest, Soros attacked. And Turian, with no other option, had to meet him.

Soros held nothing back. The seconds that followed were bloody and vicious and cruel as both tried to hurt the other as much as they could. Turian roared a name.

The ghost. He had to have been somewhere close by, and in the chaos around them, Soros had no chance of hearing him coming. He could only push Turian into a corner, waiting for the clan lord to make a mistake.

"Behind you! On your right!" he heard Kat scream.

A shot whizzed past him and he saw a Corgan rifle in Kat's hands, her eyes determined and petrified at the same time as she flickered into life. It had been such a risky shot, going past his head so closely he could feel its warmth.

She is a great shot.

He could hear the ghost groaning, but he wasn't gone. Soros saw a sword emerging from thin air just as Turian took his chance to attack again. It was easy to block two swords, but three complicated the matter. At least he could finally see where the ghost was.

Time seemed to slow down as for the first time in forever, Soros fought for his life. Turian was one of the best fighters in the realm, even if he didn't realize it fully and didn't trust himself. The man wearing the cloak wasn't much worse. Together, they were a handful.

Another shot went past him, this time missing, but making the ghost jump back. Soros used the second-long breather to deliver a furious blow to Turian, making the clan lord cry out in pain for the first time.

Turning back to the ghost, he saw a rifle in his hands now instead of the sword.

It was pointed right at Kat.

The universe seemed to stop entirely. Nothing else existed but the distance between him and the man he couldn't see, marked by the rifle seemingly hovering in the air. Behind him, Soros could hear Turian's victorious cry as the man proved he was perfectly fine with stabbing someone in the back.

Soros' swords swept through the air. One cut the rifle in half and the other did the same to the ghost. When the man crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his face was revealed. Soros recognized him easily – another talented warrior he had trained, but who, just like Hux, had been used by Turian. The shot never sounded, but he could hear Kat scream nonetheless.

The reason was the swords in his back. The pain was so intense that Soros thought he'd black out, but he fought against it with everything he had.

He turned around, wrenching the blades from Turian's grip. For a moment, he felt as if the blue of his eyes shined inward instead of out, his vision blurring at the edges as his twin hearts pumped furiously to keep him on his feet.

The look on the clan lord's face as Soros approached, his own twin blades in his hands and Turian's still stuck between his armor plates, was priceless.

"You…" Turian whispered. "You should be dead."

Soros dropped his swords, reaching behind him to pull Turian's sword free.

"No," he growled, seeing nothing but the blood on the clan lord's hands. "I am the new lord of your clan."

He cut Turian's scream in half, as well as his lifeline. The headless body dropped before his feet, Turian's treacherous, poisonous tongue silenced at last.

He had done it. Soros had become Nadar's assassin after all, whether he liked it or not.

But he hadn't done it for the chieftain.

Catching Kat in his arms as she ran to him, pressing his face into her golden hair, Soros knew the reason had always and would always be her.