Someone approached from the opposite direction. It was Grave, the vicious assassin, staring at the body from a distance. His eyes, dark and still like a forest pool, met hers. She ignored his rotting teeth as she jerked her chin toward the remnants of Xavier. “Too bad,” she said, deliberately not sounding very sorry at all.
Grave chuckled, sticking his gnarled fingers into the pockets of his worn and dirty pants. Didn’t his sponsor bother to properly clothe him? Obviously not, if his sponsor was nasty and foolish enough to pick him as a Champion.
“Such a pity,” Grave said, shrugging as she passed by him.
She nodded tersely, and despite herself, she kept her mouth shut as she continued down the hall. There were only sixteen of them left now—sixteen Champions, and four of them were to due
