I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Steele muscled his way through the throng of bodies, his eyes locked on Zafron's retreating form. The newly crowned champion was moving with surprising speed for someone who'd just been through such a brutal fight.

"Move!" Steele growled, shoving past a group of excited spectators. "Get out of my way, damn it!"

His progress was frustratingly slow. For every step forward, it felt like the crowd pushed him back two. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to keep Zafron in sight.

'I didn't come all this way to lose him now,' Steele thought, gritting his teeth. 'Not when he's right there.'

Behind him, Maze paused at the base of the stands, torn between following Steele and pursuing their other lead. Something deep in her gut twisted uncomfortably as she watched her partner disappear into the sea of bodies.

'This is a bad idea,' she thought, biting her lip. 'Steele's too worked up. He's going to do something stupid.'

But the mission came first. With a final glance in Steele's direction, Maze turned and began making her way up to where Matilda stood with the Governor.

As she climbed, Maze's eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The Governor's guards were positioned strategically, their expressions alert despite the celebratory atmosphere. A direct approach was out of the question.

Reaching the top of the stands, Maze casually plucked a mug of some unidentified brew from a nearby table. She took a swig, hoping to blend in with the other spectators.

The liquid hit her throat like liquid fire. Maze's eyes watered as she fought to keep the drink down. A violent cough escaped her lips, drawing several curious glances – including one from Matilda herself.

'Shit,' Maze thought, struggling to regain her composure. 'What the hell is in this stuff?'

She managed a smile and forced herself to take another sip, grimacing at the taste. 'Come on,' she silently urged Matilda and the Governor. 'Start moving already.'

Near the arena's exit, Zafron walked briskly, his mind racing as fast as his feet.

[Well, that was quite a show,] Calista's voice chimed in his head. [I particularly enjoyed the part where you nearly got your skull caved in. Very exciting.]

Zafron snorted. "Glad you were entertained," he muttered under his breath.

[Oh, I was,] Calista replied cheerfully. [Nothing like a little near-death experience to get the blood pumping, eh? Or in your case, the slime flowing.]

"You're hilarious," Zafron grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

[I try. So, what's the plan now, champ? Going to rest on your laurels? Maybe get a nice trophy made out of that big lug's hammer?]

Zafron shook his head. "No time for that. We need to-"

He broke off as he passed a grimy mirror hanging on a nearby wall. The reflection that stared back at him was a far cry from the polished fighter who'd entered the arena. Blood and sweat streaked his face, and a nasty gash ran along his cheekbone.

But as Zafron watched, the wound began to close before his eyes, the skin knitting together with unnatural speed.

[Well, would you look at that,] Calista mused. [Seems like your little gift had an upgrade of recent. The healing time is faster now. Maybe next time you can avoid getting hit altogether, hmm?]

Zafron touched the rapidly healing scar, a mix of wonder and unease on his face. "Yeah," he murmured. "Maybe."

Back in the stands, Matilda was deep in conversation with the Governor, her face flushed with excitement.

"I must say, my dear," the Governor was saying, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration, "your... 'assistant' as you call him, is quite the surprise. I don't think I've seen a fight like that in years."

Matilda beamed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, Zafron is full of surprises. I knew he had potential, but this... this was beyond my wildest dreams."

The Governor chuckled, raising his glass in a toast. "Well, he's certainly made me a happy man. The odds on him were astronomical. I dare say I've made quite a tidy profit today."

"I'm so glad," Matilda replied, her smile never wavering. 'Like hell I'm glad' she hissed inwardly.

She continued by saying, "perhaps we could discuss how to... reinvest some of those winnings? I have some ideas that I think you'll find quite interesting."

The Governor's eyebrows rose, a sly smile spreading across his face. "My dear, you know I'm always interested in your ideas. Why don't we continue this conversation somewhere more private?"

As they turned to leave, Maze suppressed a groan of frustration. 'Finally,' she thought, setting down her barely-touched drink with a grimace. 'Let's see where you're really going, Matilda.'

Meanwhile, Zafron had turned down a quieter street, his pace slowing as the crowds thinned out. He was about to round another corner when Calista's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

[Hold on, my lord. We've got company.]

Zafron tensed, his eyes darting around. "Since when do you even call me that anymore? And what do you mean?"

[That guy behind us. The one with the 'I'm totally not following you' walk. He's been on our tail since we left the arena.]

Zafron resisted the urge to look back. "One of the fighters looking for payback?"

[Don't think so. His aura's all wrong. It's... new. And not exactly friendly, if you catch my drift.]

A chill ran down Zafron's spine. He picked up his pace slightly, taking a sharp turn down an unfamiliar street.

"Any idea who he is?" Zafron murmured, his eyes scanning the path ahead.

[Not a clue. But he's giving off some serious 'I'm going to murder you' vibes. Might want to do something about that.]

Zafron nodded, his mind racing. He deliberately chose a path lined with reflective surfaces – grimy windows, metallic scraps, anything that might give him a glimpse of his pursuer without turning around.

As he passed a particularly large piece of broken mirror, he caught sight of a face he didn't recognize. A man with hard eyes and a determined set to his jaw, moving with the purposeful stride of a predator.

'Who the hell is this guy?' Zafron wondered, his heart rate picking up. 'And what does he want with me?'

[Well, he's probably not here to congratulate you on your stunning victory,] Calista quipped. [Unless murder is how they say 'good job' where he's from.]

Zafron ignored the comment, his mind working furiously. He needed to lose this guy, and fast.

Behind him, Steele was growing increasingly frustrated. The winding streets of the Undercity were like a maze, and Zafron seemed to know them far too well.

'Come on,' Steele thought, his fists clenching at his sides. 'Just turn down an empty street. Give me an opening.'

A part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind, to charge forward and tackle Zafron right there in the street. But years of training held him back. Too many variables. Too many witnesses.

As they approached another intersection, Zafron suddenly darted down a narrow alley. Steele's heart leaped. This was his chance.

He rushed forward, turning the corner... only to find himself facing a bewildering array of branching paths.

"Damn it!" Steele hissed, his eyes darting from one passage to the next. He closed his eyes, focusing on activating his phantom gaze.

For a maddening moment, nothing happened. Then, like a faulty light bulb flickering to life, his enhanced vision kicked in. But it was weak, unreliable, fading in and out like a bad radio signal.

'What the hell?' Steele thought, fighting down a wave of panic. 'Why isn't it working properly?'

He managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a phantom signature disappearing down one of the paths before his vision returned to normal.

"Stupid Undercity," Steele growled, his frustration boiling over. "Why didn't the Gatekeepers warn us it would be this bad?"

Unaware of Steele's struggles, Zafron pressed on, taking turn after turn in an effort to shake his pursuer.

[You know,] Calista mused, [as fun as this little chase is, we might want to consider, oh I don't know, actually confronting this guy? Just a thought.]

Zafron frowned, considering the idea. "It's risky. We don't know what he's capable of. And I just got out of a fight, I'm not exactly a hundred percent, you should know that. I have to wait for a chance to be at his tail rather."

[Stalking the stalker, sounds fun!]

Zafron ducked into a shadowy alcove, his back pressed against the cool stone wall. His fist clenched, a layer of hardened slime forming around it like a gauntlet.

[Ooh, getting ready for round two already?.]

Zafron ignored the comment, his eyes fixed on the corner where his pursuer would appear. His heart pounded in his chest, each second stretching out like an eternity.

Finally, he heard footsteps approaching. They were cautious, measured – the steps of a hunter closing in on its prey.

The footsteps stopped just short of the corner. There was a moment of silence, then a frustrated grunt. The sound of retreating steps echoed off the walls.

Zafron frowned, confusion replacing his tension. 'What the-'

His thought was cut short as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, iron-strong fingers digging into his flesh.

Zafron's blood ran cold. He'd been outmaneuvered, caught off guard in his own trap.

As he tensed, ready to fight or flee, a voice growled in his ear, low and dangerous:

"Got you, Zafron. It's time we had a little chat."