《THE REALITY GAMES: A BATTLE ROYALE progression fantasy/litRPG》 1 - THE NIGHT BEFORE… 1 - THE NIGHT BEFORE¡­ I spit blood. My fists ache. My ears are ringing. I stare across the octagon at my opponent, who stares right back. In fifteen seconds¡ªno, make that fourteen¡ªthe next round will start. ¡°Jack,¡± Erick, my coach, speaks right into my ear. ¡°Jack. This is it. Last round. That bastard over there wants your belt. Your title. Are you going to let him take it?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, breathing hard, barely able to hear my own voice. I look past Tseren, my opponent, and search the crowd for my girlfriend, but I fail to find her amongst the sea of blurry faces staring back at me. A buzzer signals that break time is over. I rise from the stool, which my corner takes with them as they leave the octagon. It¡¯s just me now, locked in here with Tseren. One man against another. The MFC light heavyweight belt on the line. It¡¯s been mine for two years. Now Tseren, an undefeated fighter from Mongolia, tall, muscular, fast, skilled, and hard-hitting, wants to take it from me. But he won¡¯t. No one will take it from me. The cage door closes. The ref, a black blur in my periphery, claps his hands, signalling that the round has started. The crowd roars. Twenty-thousand people in attendance. A lot of them are here to support me, but I know how it really is: they just want to see blood. And so for their pleasure, I spit some more, and grin a bloody grin for the crowd. They roar again in approval, a deafening cacophony. And immediately, without even needing to think, I start to circle Tseren. He¡¯s wary as he circles me in return. I¡¯ve taken more damage than him, and although he¡¯s bleeding from a broken nose, he otherwise looks relatively unscathed¡ªunlike myself. My face is swelling badly. I can barely see out of my right eye. A rough night in the office. I¡¯m definitely losing the fight, which is particularly frustrating, because I know I¡¯m better than him. I have my excuses¡ªa staph infection, leading to two weeks of antibiotics, leading me to feeling lethargic and going through a rough weight cut. And then, last night, I¡¯d managed very little sleep. But, valid though they are, I don¡¯t care for the excuses. Excuses are for lesser men. I will win this. I¡¯m probably down three rounds to one. That means I need to finish him in the next five minutes. A submission is unlikely¡ªTseren is primarily a grappler. That means I need to knock the fucker out. I feint a jab, slam my shin into the calf of his lead leg. He immediately throws a leg kick back, as he always does, and I lunge forward, throwing a jab then a cross, snapping his head back with both. The crowd explodes. I swear I can hear Sarah¡¯s voice amongst them. But Tseren is a tough bastard, and that¡¯s been a problem all fight. He has an insane chin that I can¡¯t quite manage to break. Not yet, at least. And whenever I hit him hard, he endeavors to come back even harder at me. He does it now, blitzing in, throwing a four piece combination so fast that all I can do is cover up and retreat. He drops to a knee, shoots in for a takedown, and I just barely manage to sprawl on him and create enough space that we go back to circling. I glance up at the clock. 3:34 left in the round. Time is running out. My heart thuds. Sweat drips into my eyes. I simply refuse to lose. I throw myself at him, throwing caution to the wind in the process. I abandon defence. If he knocks me out, so fucking be it. It¡¯s time, I tell myself, to give my all, to live by the sword or die by it. Tseren backs up. I throw two jabs, striking his broken nose, causing him to flinch. Next up is a hook to his body. I know just how much it hurts because he¡¯s been hitting me with them all night long. He tries to keep me back by throwing an overhand, but I just take it. My vision blurs. I can¡¯t hear. I don¡¯t even consciously think about throwing a high kick. But I do. I know I do because I feel the impact of my shin against his skull. It¡¯s a deep, sickening impact. There¡¯s a thud, a little like striking a bag with a baseball bat. My eyes widen. I watch, almost in slow motion, as Tseren falls. Falls and hits the ground. Years of instinct and hard training have instilled within me an unconscious urge to leap upon a downed opponent¡ªto make sure that the job is finished. But this time, I don¡¯t have to. Tseren is out cold. The ref is between us, waving his arms in the air. Signalling that the fight is over. I walk away from Tseren, at first numb, then, by rapid stages, triumphant. I did it. I grin. Of course I fucking it. I¡¯m Jack Ren. Two division champion. Undefeated. And the best fighter in the world. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! # By the time we make it back to our hotel room, I¡¯m just about ready to collapse. ¡°Sit,¡± Sarah says, taking my bag from me, nudging me lightly in the direction of the soft, wide bed. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± ¡°Incredibly so,¡± I say, laying on the bed, closing my eyes. After the post-fight interview, I¡¯d gone through medical, then had spent an hour answering questions from the press. A waste of time, especially when they all wanted to ask the same thing: what¡¯s next for you? The answer to which is always the same. The next best opponent. Simply put another man in front of me and watch me knock them down. After that, I¡¯d had a few phone calls to make. To my mother. My brother Adam, then Caroline, my sister. Then, lastly, my agent, Tim, who hadn¡¯t wanted to stop talking about setting up the next big fight. His main question: how soon can you come back? Not a question I even want to think about right now. I massage my temples. People think fights are painful but, mostly, they¡¯re not. There¡¯s too much adrenaline rushing through you to feel much at all. It¡¯s the days afterward that really get you: the constant, pounding headaches, the bone-deep aches in the legs, which swell, and leave you unable to walk with assistance. Thankfully, this time, I think I¡¯ve managed to get through it without anything worse than a broken nose and a mild concussion. I have no idea how I didn¡¯t shatter my fist against Tseren¡¯s granite dome. ¡°What do you want?¡± Sarah asks from the other side of the room. ¡°Anything at all. I¡¯ll order it. You just lay there, okay? I¡¯m going to take care of you.¡± I smile and crack my eyes open¡ªthough mostly, I just open the left one, since my right eye is so badly swollen. ¡°And what, exactly, did I do to deserve you?¡± Sarah smiles back at me. She¡¯s tall¡ªthough not as tall as I am¡ªand fit from years of volleyball and swimming. Her brunette hair¡ªwhich she usually lets loose¡ªis done up in a bun and held together with a black steel pin. Her eyes are a soft brown, and I can so easily lose myself in them. Her skin is smooth. Perfect. Her face is a perfect balance of angles and softness. She has the most kissable lips in the world. I know I¡¯m biased, but she¡¯s the most beautiful woman in the world. Right now, she¡¯s more beautiful than ever. ¡°I could list all the things,¡± she says. ¡°But we¡¯d be here for a while, and you need to get some food and some rest.¡± She moves toward me, her tight, black dress hugging her form. Desire stirs inside me. Injuries and hunger be damned, I have half a mind to pull her down on top of me. ¡°Pizza,¡± I say suddenly. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re going to have.¡± I sit up. Too quickly, as it turns out, because my vision swims and the world twists around me. ¡°Pizza it is.¡± Sarah kisses me, pulls away, her dark eyes gleaming. ¡°I wonder¡­tonight¡­will you be feeling well enough to¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll make it work, I assure you.¡± Her grin is devilish. ¡°Good. But¡­food first.¡± While we wait for our pizza to arrive, we stand by one of the immense, glass windows overlooking the city. New York stretches out before us, a million or more windows lit up against the darkness. A siren echoes through the quiet, midnight streets. Snow falls gently. It¡¯s January 26th. I lock the date in my mind. Standing there, the two of us silent, our arms wrapped around one another, I feel perfectly content. At peace. I could lose every fight from here on. It wouldn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ve accomplished everything I set out to accomplish. I¡¯m in love with the woman of my dreams. I have enough money to never have to work again; to live a life of relative luxury. Life is good. ¡°I love you,¡± I say quietly. Sarah turns to face me. Her smile is radiant. ¡°I love you, too.¡± And then she slowly eases herself down to one knee in front of me. I cock an eyebrow. ¡°Sweety¡­what are you doing?¡± She holds something out in front of her. A small, black box. My heart pounds in my chest. ¡°Pretty sure I¡¯m meant to be the one down there,¡± I croak out. That devilish smile again. ¡°Well, yeah, but I figure that, since you¡¯re so beat up right now, I¡¯d save you the effort and do it myself.¡± She cracks open the box. The ring shines in the low, warm lights of the penthouse. ¡°Jack¡­will you marry me?¡± I can¡¯t help the grin that twists my lips upward. I gently help her to her feet. I kiss her. I say yes. Later, after we¡¯ve eaten, after we¡¯ve showered together and made love on that immense, impossibly comfortable bed, we sit upright amongst the pillows and simply hold each other. My eyelids are heavy. I could, if I let myself, fall asleep at any moment. A burst of sudden, white light blinds me. Pure, animal instinct compels me to explode to my feet. On the other side of the large bedroom, the light, now multicolored and less bright, coalesces into a sort of¡­oval. An opening, at the center of which is a pool of darkness studded with stars. My heart slams against my ribs. I¡¯ve fallen asleep, I tell myself. This is a dream. Two tall, armored figures step out of the black opening. A violent wind whips at my hair, beats against my chest. The bedsheets are sent flying. Sarah, in her nightgown, leaps out of bed, eyes wide, hair twisting through the air. ¡°Stay behind me!¡± I call out, teeth gritted. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening. I just know that we¡¯re in danger. And I know, too, that I¡¯m not going to let anyone¡ªor anything¡ªhurt my woman. The two armored figures step toward me. They¡¯re both nine feet tall, clad in golden metal, like medieval knights. I¡¯m a very large man¡ªbut these two dwarf me. Behind them, the black opening is still gaping, emitting a burning, metallic reek, as well as low, crackling static that fills my ears. ¡°Jack¡­¡± there¡¯s fear in Sarah¡¯s voice, and it breaks my heart to hear. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I take a step back, arms out, standing right in front of Sarah. I don¡¯t take my eyes from the two approaching figures. They, I recognize, are threats. And none of this makes any sense. But only a few hours ago, I took a significant number of strikes to the head, and almost two decades of training MMA is not particularly healthy for one¡¯s brain. So, it¡¯s possible that this is some sort of strange side-effect of the trauma I¡¯ve received, a concussion gone wild¡ª But I don¡¯t really believe that. The first armored figure raises its left hand and points it at me. The air starts to ripple, to distort around it, and something primal inside me screams a warning. I could run. I could scream for help. But I am, and have always been, a fighter. I charge them. A burst of pure, white light shoots from the raised hand. It comes at me fast. But I¡¯m faster. I duck beneath it, take another step, throw a right hook at the first armored figure¡ª It catches my fist. Squeezes it. My bones creak. Two dark eyes, like black jewels, glare down at me through the narrow visor of the golden helmet. I hear Sarah screaming behind me. The sound shatters my heart, and activates within me an ancient, primordial rage. I will destroy these things. I will burn down the world to save her. Except this person¡ªthis thing¡ªis impossibly strong. Still gripping my fist, it forces me down to my knees. Then it touches its other hand to my forehead. There¡¯s another burst of searing, white light. And then absolute darkness. 2 - LEVEL ONE: The Dragon Stones 2 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 10,000,000 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 60 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: RANKINGS NOT YET ALLOCATED I spit dirt. I¡¯m laying face down in soft, warm soil, and as my awareness returns to me, I roll over onto my back, spit again, then blink against the harsh, warm light of the sun. White clouds drift languidly across a pleasantly blue sky. Where am I? The question comes, at first, from a place of curiosity, But then comes the sudden, existential terror. It isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve woken up somewhere without remembering the context. I¡¯m a fighter. That means I¡¯ve taken my fair share of hard shots to the dome. After a bad knockout, it isn¡¯t uncommon to wake up in, say, the back of an ambulance, without any memories of the fight that got you there. But this is different. For one, I feel¡­good. Suspiciously, physically good. Like I¡¯ve just had the best sleep of my life. As I rise easily to my feet, I clench and then unclench my hands. My body is unharmed. Even better, my knees, which have troubled me for the last few years, feel better than they have in a long time. To test them, I jump in place, barefoot on soft grass. So. This, I tell myself, is likely a dream. Only, it does not feel like the dream¡­everything is too tangible, too real. My dreams have never been particularly vivid. And now, suddenly, memories come rushing back in¡­ The fight with Tseren. My victory. Then hours of interviews, of medical exams, and of a long bus ride back to my hotel, where Sarah and I had¡­ Had been attacked. Images flashed through my mind: the strange opening in the air, the golden, armored figures¡­ ¡°Sarah?¡± I turn on the spot, panic flooding in. We¡¯ve been abducted. That¡¯s the only logical, rational explanation. I¡¯m standing in a field, flat grassland extending in all directions, except east, where there¡¯s a dense patch of woodland. Distantly, I can see mountains outlined against the pale sky, immense, jagged peaks forming a serrated outline. The air is cool. Fresh. Wherever I am, it¡¯s far, far away from civilization. And that makes sense, because the last I can remember, I was on the sixty-third floor of a hotel building right at the very heart of New York City. The vista before me surely can¡¯t be from within New York state, and to my eyes, it doesn¡¯t even look American. One question leads to another. I¡¯m overwhelmed. Confused. I look down, and for the first time see that I¡¯m wearing a plain gray tunic. It¡¯s not a modern piece of clothing. In fact, it reminds me of something a person would wear in a historical movie, something set in the middle-ages. This can¡¯t be real. I don¡¯t understand. Light flashes in front of my face. A small, bright thing floats in the air in front of me. It¡¯s roughly the size of an adult human head, although it doesn¡¯t look solid; rather, it¡¯s wispy, like a cloud made out of multi-colored, flickering light. Even still, it has a sort of face, with a pair of eyes and an opening that¡¯s like a mouth. Jack Ren, the wispy thing says. Its voice is genderless, toneless. I know that it¡¯s the source of the voice because the mouth moves in perfect harmony with the syllables. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t understand¡ª¡± I start to say. Allow me to explain, says the thing. I am your Whisper. You may think of me as your guide. For as long as you participate in the Reality Games, I will follow you wherever you go. I will answer your questions and help you as much as I possibly can. First, here is the situation: you, Jack Ren, have been entered into the Reality Games. You may think of the Games as a tournament. The greatest, grandest tournament ever held. They are a regular occurrence; in human terms, the Reality Games are held every six years. There are ten million contestants, chosen from a multitude of worlds, dimensions, and timelines. Each contestant has been selected due to their brawn, intellect, fighting prowess, cunning, or pure entertainment value. There are ten levels. Only a set amount of contestants can move to the next level. Your goal, Jack Ren, is to survive this level and make it to the next¡ªand then, ultimately, to win the Reality Games. I stare at the thing¡ªthe Whisper¡ªwith wide eyes. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest. ¡°Where is Sarah?¡± I choke out. If this is real, and I¡¯m actually here, and Sarah has been taken as well¡­ Allow me to introduce you to the Incentive Program, says the Whisper. For each contestant, organizers of the Reality Games take away the one thing¡ªor person¡ªthat the contestant values most in life. This, for you, is Sarah Anderson. Right now, Sarah is being held in stasis by the organizers. If you win the Reality Games, she will be given back to you, and you¡¯ll both be returned to your regular life as though none of this happened. Additionally, there are bonus prizes for winning. Secret prizes. The Whisper winks at me, an oddly grotesque expression. I cannot tell you anything about the secret prizes, except for this: if you win, you will have anything that you wish for. My ears are ringing. The Whisper¡¯s words pour across the surface of my mind like oil. I can barely comprehend what¡¯s happening. What I¡¯m hearing. I lunge forward and attempt to grab the Whisper out of the air, to squeeze the life out of it¡ª You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. But my hand simply goes straight through it. ¡°Where is she?¡± I growl. ¡°Where is Sarah?¡± As I have just explained, Sarah is in stasis. Safe for the time being. An odd calm settles upon me. The world narrows. I don¡¯t know if this is real. I don¡¯t care. I just need to get Sarah back. ¡°If I do not win,¡± I say calmly, ¡°what happens to her?¡± She, along with the incentives for all other contestants, will be destroyed. A long, deep silence stretches out after this. I grit my teeth so hard that I worry they might shatter in my mouth. A bird flies overhead. The wind pulls at my gray tunic. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°No. Fuck this.¡± Furthermore, says the Whisper, I feel that now is a good time to inform you that there are sixty days until the Culling. Since only five million contestants can move to level two, if there are more than five million still alive when the Culling begins, the bottom-ranked five million will be automatically destroyed. Initial rankings will be assigned at midnight tonight¡ª I cover my ears with my hands, turn away from the Whisper, and start to walk in the opposite direction. I can¡¯t hear this shit anymore. This endless rambling. Fact of the matter is that someone or something has brought me here and that they¡¯re holding Sarah hostage. That¡¯s all that matters. I will find her. I stop. But what if this is the wrong way? Wherever I am, it¡¯s vast. The middle of nowhere. And if this Whisper is supposed to be my guide, it makes sense to take it with me. But the Whisper is way ahead of me there. It¡¯s already floating by my shoulder, smiling blandly. ¡°Where is Sarah?¡± I ask calmly. ¡°Just give me a direction. And do you know where my things are? My clothes? My phone?¡± Your belongings are back on Earth, in your bedroom. ¡°On¡­¡± I let out a hiss. ¡°On Earth? So then, where the fuck are we now?¡± Level One, the Whisper says simply. Slow, deep breaths. Just play along, I tell myself, until you learn what you need to learn. And then get out of here. ¡°These games,¡± I say slowly. ¡°Who¡¯s doing this? Who are the organizers?¡± The Reality Games are organized and conducted by the Celestan Empire. ¡°Is that supposed to mean something to me?¡± The Celestian Spire is an intergalactic and interdimensional empire. ¡°And what is the purpose of all this?¡± Entertainment, said the Whisper. Entertainment. The word echoes around inside my head. Rage eats at the edges of my awareness. My hands tremble. I¡¯ve probably gone insane. Probably none of this is real. And yet even still, I feel, then, the imperative to punish this Celestan Empire. To find the individuals who had made this possible. To wrap my scarred hands around their throats and squeeze the life out of them. But if Sarah was here with me now, she¡¯d tell me to keep a clear head. That¡¯s what she always does. There¡¯s no one in the world as good at keeping me in check as her. It¡¯s part of the reason why we work so well together. She makes me better. I like to think I make her better, too, but in truth, I think she¡¯s just perfect. Since I know that the Whisper will simply follow me, I start to walk, striding across the grass toward the distant woods. In my ear, the Whisper says, For as long as you and I are together, I am here to answer as many of your questions as possible and to assist you to the full extent that I can¡ª ¡°Do you have a name?¡± I interrupt. I am simply a Whisper. ¡°So, no name. Are you sentient?¡± The Whisper¡¯s faint, glowing eyes widen as though it¡¯s never before contemplated such a concept. I glance at it. I¡­do not know, it says finally. Is there a way to know for sure? I shrug. I want to laugh. The whole thing feels comically surreal. ¡°You need a name,¡± I say, still walking, ¡°because there¡¯s no way I¡¯m calling you Whisper.¡± You may name me whatever you like. ¡°Yeah? Whatever I like? What about Fuck Face?¡± If that pleases you. I scowl. ¡°Why don¡¯t you pick something?¡± I cannot make independent decisions. I exist merely to guide you. I try to think of a name. I¡¯ve never been good at naming things. As a child, my parents got me a cat. They¡¯d wanted me to name it, and the best that ten-year-old me could come up with was Mr Bell, because his collar had boasted a single silver bell. That name isn¡¯t going to do now. But, in my early twenties, when I¡¯d first moved out, I¡¯d bought myself a dog, a German shepherd I¡¯d loved dearly. His name had been Loki. I¡¯d always been obsessed with Vikings and Norse mythology. So, unable to think of anything better, I say, ¡°You¡¯ll be Loki from here on.¡± As you say. ¡°Before,¡± I say, ¡°you said that there are ten million contestants.¡± I pause and look around. ¡°So, where the fuck is everyone?¡± Level One has an area of eighty-thousand square kilometers, says Loki. The Reality Games began roughly ten minutes ago. All ten million contestants have been spread across the eighty-thousand square kilometers as randomly and evenly as possible. It is likely that you will encounter another contestant before the day is over. ¡°And then what?¡± That depends entirely. ¡°On what?¡± On you and the contestant in question. I pause. The reality of the situation is starting to set in. ¡°The goal is to kill each other, yes?¡± It would be more accurate to say that the goal is to achieve the highest possible ranking¡ªand, of course, to survive. But killing other contestants is one way to achieve both of those things. I consider that for a moment: the concept of killing. I¡¯m a fighter, not a killer. But in my heart, I know that there¡¯s nothing I wouldn¡¯t do to save Sarah. I¡¯ll be whatever I have to be. A killer? Sure. As long as I win. Before we continue further, says Loki, you should know that all contestants are allowed a starting weapon. I pause and slowly turn. ¡°A what?¡± A starting weapon. There are five options. ¡°Is an automatic rifle one of them?¡± No. The options are as follows: a sword; a spear; a bow with thirty arrows; an ax; a warhammer. I stare at Loki, realization dawning. ¡°This level¡­what is it? Medieval themed?¡± Not exactly, says the Whisper. And then Loki draws closer, eyes bright, mouth twisting. Welcome to Level One: The Dragon Stones. 3 - Level One: The Dragon Stones 3 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 10,000,000 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 60 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: RANKINGS NOT YET ALLOCATED ¡°A spear,¡± I say after thinking about it for a minute. The truth is, I know very little about weapons, about how to use them. I¡¯m a fighter, yes, but my weapons have always been my fists, my feet, my elbows, my knees. Still, a spear, I think, is pretty self-explanatory. It¡¯s a long stick with a pointy end. If anyone gets too close, you stab them with said pointy end. As you wish, says Loki, intangible form glowing brighter for a brief moment. And then there¡¯s a spear lying in the grass in front of me. A spear that hadn¡¯t been there a second before. I stare at it for a long moment. It¡¯s going to be important, I tell myself, that I start to mentally readjust my ideas of what¡¯s normal and what isn''t. Evidently, this place doesn¡¯t work the same as the world I¡¯m familiar with. I¡¯m six foot three. The spear, I guess, is maybe eight feet long. The shaft is made from a sturdy, dark wood, and the head, leaf-shaped, is a simple piece of elegant and sharpened steel. When I lift the spear, I¡¯m surprised by how light it is. I have to be honest: it feels good in my hands. ¡°Alright,¡± I grunt. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going.¡± I continue to walk toward the dark woods, Loki floating around by my side. ¡°A question,¡± I say after a little while. The sun is beating down on me, already burning the back of my neck. I need better, more protective clothing. I need shoes. And, shit, if everyone else has a weapon too, I might even need some armor. Ask away, says Loki. ¡°The Dragon Stones. That¡¯s what you said the level is called.¡± I pause. ¡°But why? Why is it called that?¡± And even as I ask this question, I have the profound sense that I¡¯m not going to like the answer. Even still, better to face it head-on. I still have no idea what¡¯s happening, what I¡¯ve gotten myself involved with, but one thing you need to know about me is that I¡¯m a pragmatic bastard. I do what I need to do and accept what I have no choice but to accept. Right now, that means accepting that this, all of this, is somehow real. So be it. The name stems from both the theme and overall objective of this level, Loki explains. There are seven dragons in hibernation. Their locations are secret. For each of these seven dragons, there is a dragon stone. The seven dragon stones have been hidden in hard-to-find, difficult locations. Any contestant who finds a dragon stone will be able to command the matching dragon; it will obey all of their commands. This, obviously, can be used offensively against other contestants. Additionally, finding a dragon stone, and activating a dragon, will both drastically improve your overall rank¡ªand may even unlock other rewards. I stop walking, suddenly breathing hard. ¡°You mean to say¡­actual, real, living dragons?¡± Yes, says Loki. ¡°And¡­how do I find a dragon stone?¡± I can¡¯t answer that directly. There are clues scattered throughout the level. You must search, and search hard. And remember, only sixty days remain before the culling. I resume my walking, my heart thundering in my chest. The whole thing keeps getting worse and worse. It¡¯s overwhelming. But I kept my gaze fixed on the woods directly ahead. I have to focus. To think of Sarah, and only Sarah. I near the treeline, maybe only fifty feet or so away from the nearest ash trees, which are clumped so close together that they form a dark, almost impenetrable wall. Seeing how deep the shadows are within, I start to reconsider this direction. And then an arrow flies out of the woods. It blurs through the air, and without even thinking, I throw myself down into the grass. The arrow soars past me and buries itself in the soil. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Hey!¡± I shout out, my voice hoarse. ¡°I¡¯m friendly! Fuck, I¡¯m friendly!¡± Which, under the circumstances, I know is a ridiculous thing to say. If Loki is to be believed, we¡¯re all here to kill each other. But what else am I supposed to say? ¡°Any advice?¡± I grunt to Loki. I cannot give direct advice, says the Whisper. I am merely a guide. ¡°Stand up!¡± A voice calls from the treeline. ¡°But without that spear of yours. And keep your hands up in the air.¡± The voice is male. More importantly, it¡¯s human, with an American accent. Southern, maybe even Texan. The familiarity is soothing, and even though the motherfucker just shot an arrow at me, I¡¯m just glad I¡¯m not dealing with another giant alien in golden armor. Leaving my spear in the grass, I slowly rise, keeping my hands up. The alternatives aren¡¯t great. I could try to run, but how good is the Texan with the bow he¡¯d evidently chosen? I didn¡¯t yet feel willing to risk an arrow to the spine. ¡°I mean you no harm,¡± I call out through gritted teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll go the other way if you just let me. I won¡¯t bother you.¡± A man steps out from behind an ash tree. He¡¯s maybe six foot, shorter than me for sure, but stockier. He has the arms and shoulders of a laborer, of a man well-acquainted with hard work. He¡¯s tanned, clean-shaven, with short, golden hair and a pair of green eyes squinting in my direction. Like me, he¡¯s wearing a plain gray tunic. He¡¯s holding his bow and has an arrow nocked, pointed slightly downward so that it¡¯s not quite aimed right at me. ¡°Nice to meet you, sir,¡± he says, sounding oddly friendly for someone who¡¯s just shot at me with an arrow. And he¡¯s definitely Texan. ¡°Likewise,¡± I grunt. ¡°Although it¡¯d be nicer if you didn¡¯t have that thing pointed at me.¡± ¡°Honestly,¡± he says, ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to point it at you. But I¡¯m a little worried. Because, see here, there¡¯s this strange, glowing thing floating around my head¡ªcan you see it?¡ªand it¡¯s trying to tell me that we¡¯re in some kind of tournament. Like gladiators. And that we¡¯re supposed to kill each other. And seeing as how you got yourself a spear, I¡¯m concerned, is all, that you might try to poke me with it.¡± I let out a breath. If I¡¯m going insane, it seems that at least I¡¯m not alone. Which, actually, is bad, because it¡¯s just confirmation that this is real. ¡°I have a floating friend of my own,¡± I say, ¡°and it told me the same thing. But it also told me that there are ten million of us in here and seemed to imply not all of us are human.¡± I pause. ¡°So, maybe we humans ought to stick together.¡± The Texan considers this for a moment. Then, with a grunt, he removes the arrow and gracefully returns it to the quiver slung across one shoulder. He strolls toward me. I lower my hands and step forward to meet him. The Texan thrusts out a hand. ¡°Earl,¡± he says. ¡°Earl Braithwaite.¡± I shake his hand. His grip is strong. Mine is stronger. ¡°Jack Ren.¡± Earl¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Wait¡­I thought you looked familiar, but¡­really? Jack Ren? The MMA fighter?¡± I¡¯ve never been one who particularly cares about being recognized. Other famous fighters love it¡ªit strokes their ego big time. For me, it¡¯s always been a little bit of a hassle. I can¡¯t even count the number of times I¡¯ve tried to enjoy a relaxing outing with Sarah, only to be harassed by MMA fans who, no offence to them, tend to be amongst the most obnoxious fans in the world. But it happens a lot to me. The MFC is the top fighting league in the world, and they have me ranked as the pound-for-pound best fighter on the roster. All that being said, here, in this unfamiliar setting, it actually feels good to be recognized. It¡¯s a dose of much-needed normalcy. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, ¡°that¡¯s me.¡± Earl whistles. ¡°Well, fuck me. Isn¡¯t that crazy? The floating thing, the Whisper, it told me that only the best of the best were chosen for this¡­¡± he grins. ¡°Guess that makes sense why you¡¯re here.¡± ¡°And may I ask why you¡¯re here?¡± Earl bends down to pull out the arrow that had barely missed me. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s probably because I¡¯m special forces. Delta Force, to be exact.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± I look him up and down. It makes sense. I¡¯ve met a few SF guys before under various circumstances, and he definitely holds himself like one. It¡¯s in the posture. The way his eyes move around. Even the way he speaks, the confident, commanding tone. This man¡¯s an actual killer I¡¯m just an athlete. The disparity strikes me hard. Sure, I could kick his ass, assuming we were unarmed, but this man has been to war. Actual war. And who else is in here with us? Ten million contestants. And all of them are fighters, killers, warriors. A chill shoots down my spine. The true danger hits me for the first time. This is bad. Very, very bad. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± I ask Earl. ¡°The plan?¡± Early offers me a wide grin. ¡°Brother, I woke up maybe an hour ago. I have no god damned idea what¡¯s happening, where I am, or if this is even real.¡± ¡°That makes two of us, at least,¡± I murmur. ¡°By the way¡ªcan you see my Whisper?¡± Early asks. I shake my head. ¡°Can you see mine?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± We exist only for those we¡¯ve been tasked with guiding, Loki explains into my ear. ¡°Right,¡± I say, taking a deep breath and kicking my spear into the air. I catch it easily. It makes me feel tough¡ªjust a little bit. ¡°Suppose we ought to start exploring, then.¡± ¡°Suppose so,¡± Earl agrees. ¡°But to what end?¡± I start walking toward the woods. ¡°To find one of these dragon stones.¡± 4 - Level One: The Dragon Stones 4 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,994,956 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 60 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: RANKINGS NOT YET ALLOCATED Side by side, Earl and I make our way through the dense woodland. It¡¯s cold, and the fact that neither of us even has shoes is starting to become a hindrance. And it¡¯s only a matter of time before the sun sets and we¡¯re forced to get some rest¡ªbut without tents, bedrolls, or any way to start a fire, I¡¯m not looking forward to the prospect. The only thing I have going for me is the fact that, through pure luck, I¡¯ve managed to link up with a special forces commando, who more than likely knows a thing or two about outdoor survival. ¡°Loki,¡± I say. ¡°Another question. Since there are dragons¡­are there any other things we need to worry about? Other than the contestants.¡± Oh, yes, says Loki. Many. I grit my teeth. ¡°Well? Out with it.¡± The level is populated with a variety of themed monsters and other entities, all designed to fit in with the aesthetic and style of The Dragon Stones. ¡°What sort of monsters?¡± I am afraid that I can¡¯t answer that. The surprise is part of the fun. ¡°The fun,¡± I say, hands clenched into fists. ¡°I¡¯m not finding this particularly fun.¡± I meant for the spectators. ¡°The Celestan Empire. How many of them are watching right now? Is this¡­a television show?¡± Currently, there are over one trillion live viewers. ¡°Fill me in on the answers, will you?¡± Asks Earl. I do that, and when I¡¯m done, Earl just shakes his head and says, ¡°This is fucked up, man. Real fucked up.¡± I have an idea, and ask Loki how many contestants are still in the game. My thinking is, with ten million elite killers involved, a bunch of them are bound to have come into contact by now, just like Earl and myself. I doubt that all such interactions are going to be friendly ones. Nine million, nine hundred and ninety four thousand, nine hundred and fifty six, says Loki. I¡¯ve never been particularly good at math, but I quickly run the numbers. ¡°Shit,¡± I say, ¡°over five thousand contestants are already dead.¡± Earl¡¯s expression is grim. ¡°My guess is, the first day is going to have a high casualty rate. The weak are rooted out first. And the unlucky. You and I, I figure, got lucky, running into each other rather than something¡­less pleasant.¡± I¡¯m about to say something else when Earl comes to a sudden stop, gesturing for silence with a raised hand. I stop moving. We stand there as the wind blows through the canopy, vividly green leaves scraping against each other. Birds sing into the silence. I can hear the pounding of my heart. I listen out for whatever has given Earl pause, and a moment later, I hear it: a branch snapping underfoot, accompanied by low, heavy breathing. There¡¯s a guttural voice speaking a language I don¡¯t even recognize. And then two small, strange humanoids step out from around a tree. They¡¯re maybe four feet tall. Their skin is gray and weathered, a little like leather. They have beady black eyes that shine with cold cunning. Their ears are pointed. They come to a stop, their eyes finding us, and they stare at us while we stare at them. I¡¯ve seen a few fantasy movies in my time. I like video games and, although I¡¯d fallen out of the habit of reading, I like books, especially fantastical ones. These two things are most certainly goblins. The thought almost causes me to laugh. Goblins. You have to be fucking kidding me. The goblins, however, do not seem to find the situation as funny as we do. They, like us, are wearing gray tunics. And like us, they¡¯ve clearly picked a weapon each; the one on the right, with a vicious scar running across its face, is wielding a short, curved sword. The other has a spear. ¡°Hello,¡± I say uncertainly. Then, when they don¡¯t respond, I ask Loki, ¡°Are they contestants, or¡­?¡± Yes, Loki says simply. They are contestants. Scar Face looks at his companion. They exchange a brief burst of words. And then they run at us. Earl and I react quickly¡ªit¡¯s in our blood, and it¡¯s the one thing that saves us from dying right then and there. Earl¡¯s approach is different from mine¡ªhe charges right at them, straight ahead, a fearless bull. I, on the other hand, circle to the left with the distance management of a trained cage fighter. Scar Face goes for me. The other addresses Earl. I have a spear. Scar Face has a short sword. Even worse for Scar Face, he¡¯s short, and so are his arms. I jab at him with the spear, at first not even trying to hit him. Instead, I just want to keep him away from me¡ªand he does stay away from me, crouched low, growling as he tightens his grip on that vicious blade of his. I cannot let it cut me. Not even a glancing, shallow blow. Because, for all I know, there¡¯s zero chance I¡¯ll be able to have the wound taken care of in even a reasonably sanitary way, and the one thing worse than dying a quick death here and now is instead suffering a slow one as a blood infection ravages me. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I have, after all, seen just how brutal blood infections are. It¡¯s how my father died. But there¡¯s no time to even think about that now. I jab at the goblin again. There¡¯s commotion to my right, where Earl and the other goblin are clashing, but I don¡¯t dare even look. I can¡¯t take my eyes off this thing for even a moment. I have a feeling he¡¯s a quick, sneaky bastard, just judging by the way his shifty, dark eyes keep darting from side to side. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this,¡± I say through gritted teeth. ¡°Can you understand what I¡¯m saying?¡± The goblin looks at me, but there¡¯s no comprehension in its gleaming eyes. For the record, Loki says casually, as though I¡¯m not fighting for my life, all contestants can understand all other contestants, regardless of what languages are being spoken, thanks to the Arcane Linguistic Field encasing the arena¡ª I stab at the goblin again, this time aiming for its face. It gets out of the way. ¡°Then why¡ª¡± I say, teeth gritted, lunging forward, ¡°¡ªcouldn¡¯t I understand what they were saying just before?¡± They weren¡¯t conversing, Loki says simply. The goblins don¡¯t have language. They merely grunt and¡ª But I¡¯m no longer listening to the Whisper¡¯s lecture on goblin communication because Scar Face chooses that moment to run at me. He does it smartly, coming at me in a sort of zig-zag way, so that when I try to stab his face with the spear, he¡¯s already darting to the side and swinging at my legs with that nasty sword of his. All I can do is throw myself backward. My bare foot strikes a root. I stumble, arms flailing, and it¡¯s only the fact that I trip that saves me from the goblin¡¯s next swing, which is surprisingly fast and cuts through the air where my face had been just a second before. I straighten up, mouth dry, heart pounding, moving back again as the goblin comes forward, and I really don¡¯t want to do it, but I stab again, and this time I really try to hurt the thing¡ª And I can see in the way that the goblin¡¯s eyes widen that it hadn¡¯t thought I could move so fast. The spearhead plunges into the goblin¡¯s face. There¡¯s a spray of dark, red blood, and the thing reels back, not dead, but badly hurt. I watch it, shocked. I¡¯ve hurt people before, of course¡ªit¡¯s what I do for a living. But MMA is a sport. We¡¯re not trying to kill each other, nor are we even trying to seriously injure our opponents. This is different. I can see the goblin¡¯s torn skin flapping. Its face is already covered in so much blood that it¡¯s hard to make out its pointy features. ¡°Kill it!¡± Earl calls from just behind me. And for some reason, the command does something to me. It propels me forward. I charge and thrust my spear straight through the goblin. The spearhead goes through its chest and sticks there. The goblin¡¯s eyes widen even more, and it makes a strange, hissing sound at the back of its throat. When I pull out the spearhead, there¡¯s a noise like a plug being pulled from a bathtub full of water. Suction. The goblin topples backward. Dead. I stare at it, heart thundering. I¡¯ve just killed another living being. And sure, it¡¯s a goblin, not a human¡ªbut as far as I know, it was still a conscious, thinking, feeling being. But not anymore. Earl places a heavy hand on my shoulder. ¡°You alright, brother?¡± ¡°I¡­I think so¡­¡± I stare at the spearhead, dripping with blood. Earl¡¯s expression is sympathetic. I glance past him at the other goblin. It¡¯s dead on the ground, an arrow stuck straight through its jugular. A pool of blood is growing around it. ¡°The first time you take a life,¡± Earl says gently, ¡°it¡¯s a profound moment, brother. A dark one, too. Listen, my advice¡­just keep reminding yourself that it was either that thing or you. And you got a reason to keep living, right?¡± He looks me right in the eye. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking¡­what did they take from you? These bastards who put us in here?¡± ¡°My girlfriend,¡± I whisper. ¡°Sarah. The love of my life.¡± Earl lets out a breath. ¡°That¡¯s rough. Real rough. So, what I want you to do, Jack, is just remind yourself that that thing,¡± and he points at the goblin, ¡°was trying to get between you and your girlfriend. And you¡¯re not going to let that happen, are you?¡± ¡°No,¡± I murmur. ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever I need to do.¡± He thumps my back. ¡°That¡¯s the attitude. And now¡ª¡± Loki flies in front of me. The Whisper shimmers and then expands and twists so that its glowing body forms words that float in the air before my eyes. You have leveled up! Name: Jack Ren Contestant level: Two Current rank: N/A (Ranks not yet allocated) Reward: Spring Boots OR Mirror Shield ¡°Uh¡­¡± I stare at the words, which remain floating in the air. ¡°Loki¡­what¡¯s going on?¡± You have leveled up, Loki says gravely. Each level of the Reality Games has its own rules and parameters. Some of them, such as the Dragon Stones, involve contestant levels. When you kill other contestants or otherwise perform acts that the audience outside the Games consider entertaining, impressive, or just interesting, you advance toward the next level. Your current level affects your ranking, and leveling up unlocks rewards. You currently have two options to choose from. Somehow, the current situation just keeps getting stranger and stranger. The bastards who set this whole thing up, I think, are truly sick creatures, with their layers of rules and guidelines. It¡¯s hard to believe that, for them, outside the Games, this is little more than entertainment. ¡°Tell me more about the options,¡± I say, taking slow, deep breaths to keep myself calm and composed. I can¡¯t do that, Loki says gravely. You have to choose blindly, based on your intuition. It makes it more fun for the audience. ¡°Of course it fucking does,¡± I hiss out through gritted teeth. ¡°Alright then. I want the Spring Boots.¡± And a moment later, a pair of boots are on the ground in front of me. Seemingly made of leather, they¡¯re a nice, dark brown, and although not particularly modern looking, they strike me as being high quality and comfortable. I slip them on. I can¡¯t help but wonder about the Mirror Shield and feel as though I¡¯ve missed out¡­but at the same time, I need shoes, especially if we¡¯re going to cover a meaningful amount of ground. When I look at Earl, I see that he, too, has just gone through the exact same process, and has also chosen the boots. He has them on already, is grinning at me. ¡°Damn comfortable,¡± he says admiringly. Since you¡¯ve made your choice, Loki says, I can now inform you that the Spring Boots will allow you to jump exactly twice as high as you would without them. Of course, the second I hear that, I can¡¯t resist immediately jumping. And although Loki has just explained what the boots do, I still underestimate how propulsive the effect is going to be. I launch upward and bump the top of my head against an overhanging branch, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that I feel immediately like a fool. Earl is grinning at me like a madman. ¡°Damn,¡± he says, face splattered with goblin blood, ¡°this whole thing is kinda fun, ain¡¯t it?¡± 5 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES 5 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,991,647 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: RANKINGS NOT YET ALLOCATED As the sun starts to set, Earl takes charge. ¡°Firstly,¡± he says, ¡°no fire. Not here, not now. Can¡¯t risk anyone seeing the smoke. Not when we ain¡¯t ready. Secondly, we¡¯re going to sleep in shifts. I rest for five hours, you rest for five hours. It¡¯s hardly enough, I know, but hopefully, we can link up with others and build ourselves a nice little squad to ease the burden...for now, however, I¡¯m most concerned with staying alive.¡± I can¡¯t argue with him there, and as far as these things are concerned, I¡¯m more than happy for him to take the lead for the moment. He, after all, is infinitely more qualified than I. We settle down in a small clearing. Earl tells me to get some sleep first, and so, curled up against a tree, that¡¯s what I try to do. I fall asleep surprisingly easily, drowning in my own weariness. I wake to Earl¡¯s face, lit up by the moon, as he gently shakes my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s been five hours already?¡± I groan. ¡°Just about. Plus, something¡¯s happening.¡± I don¡¯t like the sound of that. It¡¯s hard to imagine anything good happening in this God forsaken place. ¡°Check it out,¡± Earl says and points up at the sky. Although the woods are deep, dark, and dense, we can still see through the canopy just enough to make out the giant, glowing words that have been carved into the black and cloudless sky. They read: ATTENTION: RANKINGS HAVE BEEN ALLOCATED TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days I let out a breath. ¡°Well then. I wonder what our rankings are.¡± ¡°I know what mine is,¡± Earl says. ¡°My glowing friend told me. By the way, do you have a name for yours?¡± ¡°Loki. You?¡± ¡°Pearl. And don¡¯t ask me why.¡± Earl scratches his chin. ¡°Well, you ought to ask Loki about your ranking. I do exactly that. Loki rearranges itself in the air before me, glowing body forming words in the dark. Name: Jack Ren Current Ranking: 4,555,234 I relay this to Earl, who smiles. ¡°I¡¯m two ahead of you, buddy. But hey, four and a half million, we¡¯re not doing too bad¡­we¡¯re in the top fifty percent, anyway, meaning¡­¡± ¡°We won¡¯t get culled,¡± I say. ¡°Assuming we can stay in the top half.¡± ¡°That, I suppose, will be the tricky thing. At a rough guess¡­the fact that we¡¯ve each killed a contestant is what¡¯s putting us ahead of the others.¡± I let out a breath. ¡°And that means we¡¯re going to have to take out more of them, and soon, if we want to stay where we are.¡± ¡°Or advance. I reckon, the higher we get, the better.¡± That makes me think of a question, and I turn to Loki. ¡°Do the rankings carry across to other levels?¡± That depends, Loki says cryptically, on the level and on the whims of the Game organizers. These things can be flexible. ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± I say with a sigh. ¡°Really helpful.¡± After that, it¡¯s Earl¡¯s turn to get some sleep. I sit with my back against a tree, fighting the heaviness of my eyelids. There¡¯s no chance I¡¯m going to let myself drift off by accident, not when Earl¡¯s relying on me. We need to trust each other, to be a solid team, and if I let him down by dozing now, I doubt that trust will ever recover. So. I sit awake, and I watch the shadows. More than once I think there¡¯s something out there, moving through the woods¡ªbut when ever I cock my head to the side and pay close attention to the noise, it¡¯s gone a moment later, leaving me to wonder if I¡¯ve just imagined it. It takes a long time for the sun to rise, and that causes me to wonder where, exactly, we even are. I have a feeling this isn¡¯t Earth. But I can¡¯t think about that. I don¡¯t want to. Earl wakes naturally with the rising of the sun. He stands, stretches, yawns, and says, ¡°Holy fuck, am I hungry. We need food, my boy, ¡®else we¡¯re simply going to starve.¡± ¡°There might be game,¡± I suggest. ¡°And you do have a bow.¡± Earl grins. ¡°Exactly why I picked it.¡± # Six hours straight of walking bring us to the other side of the woods. I¡¯m surprised by how shallow the forest is, by how quickly we get from one side to the other, before I remind myself that all of this is deliberate. This isn¡¯t a real place. It¡¯s a constructed arena, their version of an MMA octagon, specifically designed to be as entertaining as possible. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. After six hours, I¡¯m painfully hungry. It feels like my stomach is eating itself. But I¡¯m a professional fighter, an athlete, and that means I¡¯m well acquainted with hunger. So, I push it to the back of my mind and focus on simply putting one foot in front of the other. And there, in the distance, is a castle. A small castle. It¡¯s nothing like the immense, sprawling fortifications I¡¯ve seen on TV. It looks more like an outpost than anything else, small enough that, had it existed in a real, historical context, it would¡¯ve been manned by only a dozen men. The castle sits atop a small hill. Flat grassland stretches out around it, so that if there¡¯s anyone on top of the castle walls, they¡¯d surely have an excellent view of anything and anyone approaching. A single, red flag flies from one of the towers, fluttering in the cool wind. Earl bites his lip. ¡°What do you think?¡± ¡°I think that this is some sort of challenge.¡± Earl squints. ¡°Can¡¯t see anyone. Always possible that it¡¯s empty.¡± ¡°Possible,¡± I agree. I glance at Loki. ¡°Anything you can tell me?¡± What would you like to know? ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡± I could not possibly say. ¡°Right,¡± I say. ¡°I forgot just how useless you are.¡± I turn back to the castle. ¡°There might be supplies in there. Food. Things we can use.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking,¡± Earl agrees. ¡°The only problem is, if other contestants are already in there¡­¡± From where we¡¯re crouching in the undergrowth, we can see the castle gate, an immense wooden entryway facing us. It¡¯s closed, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean anything. ¡°Seems like we have to approach,¡± I say reluctantly. ¡°I mean, what¡¯s the alternative? We have nothing. And there¡¯s no sign that there¡¯s any game in these woods.¡± Earl stands, pulls an arrow out of his quiver, and meets my gaze. ¡°Then let¡¯s go check it out.¡± # We approach slowly, neither of us speaking. I¡¯m afraid, but I¡¯m no stranger to fear. People think that surely fighters don¡¯t feel fear before a fight¡ªotherwise, why would we do it? But we do. Nearly all of us, nearly every single time. It¡¯s only natural. What truly matters, and what makes or breaks you, is what you do with that fear. Whether you let it control you, or do you control it. Years of fighting at the very top level, against monsters from all over the world, have taught me how to control my fear. Even still, right now, it¡¯s difficult just to breathe. This is life or death¡ªbut even that doesn¡¯t bother me. What really bothers me is the uncertainty of what might happen to Sarah if I lose. I glance at Earl as we sneak forward across the grass. His face is difficult to read but I¡¯m almost certain he¡¯s not afraid. People like him are different. Special operators seem to me barely even human¡ªor as though, instead, they¡¯re a subspecies of human born and bred without whatever gene it is that offers us the gift of fear. We reach the castle entrance. Earl kicks the gate. It swings inward, creaking as it does so. Earl raises his eyebrows. ¡°Follow me.¡± And then he jumps. Even without the Spring Boots, it would¡¯ve been an impressive jump. But with the boost that the Spring Boots offer him, he¡¯s able to reach up with both hands and catch the edge of the wall¡¯s parapet. With supreme agility, he pulls himself up, throws his legs over, and is abruptly on top of the wall. ¡°Well, shit,¡± I say. I follow him, jumping as hard as I can. I have a good job¡ªexplosiveness is a fighter¡¯s best friend. I pull myself up just as Earl had, and he¡¯s waiting for me with a big grin on his face. ¡°I reckon the place is empty,¡± he says. ¡°So, let¡¯s go have a look around¡ª¡± ¡°Not as empty as you¡¯d think,¡± a voice says behind us, from further along the wall. Earl and I meet each other¡¯s eyes. We start to slowly turn. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± the voice says calmly. A woman with a British accent. She sounds comically formal, like a princess or something. ¡°Alright, lady,¡± Earl says. ¡°We¡¯re not moving. But we also don¡¯t mean you any harm, so¡ª¡± ¡°Is that right? What are your names?¡± We introduce ourselves, and then I say, ¡°We¡¯re not going to harm you. That¡¯s a promise. Listen, you¡¯re obviously human. And it sounds like you¡¯re alone. The three of us could stick together¡ª¡± ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to just trust that you¡¯re saying that earnestly? That you¡¯re not going to simply stab me in the back for a boost in the rankings? Hilarious.¡± I let out a breath, drop my spear, and turn to face her. She¡¯s a short woman, with long, golden hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She, too, is wearing a pair of boots. And not only does she have a sword strapped across her back in a sheathe, but she¡¯s holding a heavy crossbow pointed straight at Earl. ¡°God damn,¡± Earl whistles, also turning. ¡°And where did you get that beautiful thing?¡± ¡°Found it,¡± she says. ¡°In this castle. Which is now mine. And which you¡¯ve intruded upon.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I say, ¡°to be fair, the front door was basically open.¡± ¡°It was closed.¡± ¡°And unlocked.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± she says, ¡°I was just baiting the foolishly curious into entering so I could shoot them with this beautiful crossbow and advance in the rankings.¡± The three of us all simply look at each other for several long moments. I can¡¯t help but feel a profound sense of relief that we¡¯ve found another person¡ªeven if she is pointing a crossbow at us. At the same time, I wonder why she¡¯s here. What her background is. There¡¯s a reason why we¡¯ve all been chosen, after all. We¡¯re violent people. And that means that the vast majority of the contestants are not going to be pleasant. Even if they are human. ¡°So,¡± Earl says. ¡°How about you lower that crossbow for us, eh? We¡¯re not going to harm you, you¡¯re not going to harm us, so why don¡¯t we all relax¡ª¡± The woman aims down the crossbow¡¯s sights. ¡°What are your levels?¡± ¡°Two,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re both level two. And yourself?¡± ¡°Four.¡± Earl frowns. ¡°So, I take that to mean you¡¯ve already seen some action?¡± ¡°Below us,¡± the woman says calmly, ¡°there¡¯s a storage room. Right now, there are three bodies inside. Elves.¡± She gives a little laugh. ¡°Would you believe it? Actual elves. With pointy ears and everything. Real. And they bleed as red as the rest of us.¡± Suddenly, I¡¯m a whole lot less comforted to have found this woman. I think she might be insane. ¡°Well,¡± says Earl, ¡°we¡¯re human. As human as you are. I¡¯m from Dallas. Used to be active special forces¡­before I woke up here. And this is Jack¡­he¡¯s famous, you know. MFC fighter.¡± ¡°Never heard of him,¡± the woman says, still aiming right at us. ¡°And what¡¯s your name?¡± I ask, hoping that if I can get her to open up, to connect with us on a human level, she¡¯ll be a lot less likely to shoot us. I think that¡¯s what Earl is attempting, anyway. ¡°Elizabeth,¡± says the woman, finger on the trigger. ¡°And if you really want to know what I used to do¡­¡± she gives us a little smile. ¡°Professional hitman. Or, in this case, hitwoman. So don¡¯t be thinking that I won¡¯t kill the both of you without blinking. I¡¯ve done a hell of a lot worse.¡± ¡°Your chances of survival are a lot lower,¡± I say, ¡°if you try to do this on your own.¡± ¡°Is that so? I reckon the chances are actually higher without anyone to slow me down.¡± ¡°And what happens,¡± Earl asks, ¡°when you come across a giant fucking ogre with an ax as large as you are? I bet you¡¯ll be wishing then that you had some help.¡± Elizabeth clicks her tongue. ¡°An oddly specific example. I¡¯ll just have to hope that that doesn¡¯t happen. And if it does¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to,¡± Earl assures her, and there¡¯s something about the way he says it¡­ I turn to look out past the wall. Elizabeth glances across at the same time. We both see it at once. An ogre with an ax as long as we are. Coming straight toward the castle, one lumbering step at a time. The damned thing has to be at least nine feet tall. It¡¯s wearing a gray tunic just like us, so, I figure it¡¯s a contestant. Which is problematic. Because it turns out that not all contestants are made equal. ¡°Oh, shit,¡± I say. ¡°So.¡± Earl doesn¡¯t take his eyes off the hitwoman. ¡°Are we going to work together or not?¡± 6 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES 6 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,960,227 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 4,555,234 The ogre¡ªand I have no clue if it¡¯s actually an ogre, but ¡®ogre¡¯ will have to do for now¡ªis lumbering toward us with concerning speed, its ax digging a deep gouge in the earth as it¡¯s dragged along. Earl doesn¡¯t hesitate. He¡¯s up against the wall, an arrow nocked, his mouth becoming a firm, hard line. ¡°Didn¡¯t know special forces guys trained with bows.¡± It¡¯s a stupid thing to say, and definitely not the right time, but I guess just because I¡¯m afraid, the words come out of me regardless. ¡°They don¡¯t,¡± Earl says absently. ¡°But I bow hunt in my spare time. Or I used to.¡± He glances at Elizabeth. ¡°You going to help or not?¡± And then, before the lady can even respond, he lets loose. At a rough guess, the ogre is around a hundred feet away from the castle walls when the arrow slams into its right shoulder. The impact staggers the thing for a second moment, but then it just keeps on coming, somehow even faster, as though all Earl¡¯s managed to do is piss the thing off. Elizabeth fires her crossbow. She misses, only just, but a miss is a miss, and I feel a surge of despair. By the time Earl has another arrow ready, the ogre is only fifty feet away. Earl shoots. He hits it again, this time in the chest. Blood wells from both wounds, forming bright red rivers that flow down the creature¡¯s rough, gray flesh. And then, a second or two later, it¡¯s at the gates. Pushing them open. Charging into the courtyard below. For several moments, one of the castle towers is between us and the beast, so it vanishes from sight. Then it¡¯s back and staring up at us with wide, furious eyes, each the color of a glowing ruby. It¡¯s angry; that much is obvious. It lifts that stupidly large ax and swings it in our direction, and even though it¡¯s far enough away that there¡¯s no choice it¡¯s going to hit us, I still flinch back. Earl, clearly a more collected individual, just shoots it again. He misses this time. But Elizabeth doesn¡¯t. Her bolt strikes it in the forehead. And the moment I see that, I¡¯m hit with relief, because surely we¡¯ve done it and are once again safe¡ªat least for now. Instead, the bolt bounces off of the thing¡¯s thick skull. It roars, revealing a mouth filled with long, sharp teeth. And then it charges. I shit myself. At the same time, I move, compelled by a fighter¡¯s instincts, and leap to the side, narrowly avoiding being hacked in half by that immense axe. Elizabeth and Earl scatter in separate directions. Earl calls, ¡°Jack! Distract the fucking thing while I shoot it!¡± But maybe the ogre isn¡¯t as dumb as it looks. Its red eyes find Earl and, deciding he¡¯s the greatest threat amongst the three of us, it climbs the wall with surprising speed and agility and joins us on the parapet. ¡°Well, gentlemen,¡± comes Elizabeth¡¯s voice. ¡°It¡¯s been an honor. But I believe it¡¯s time for us to die now.¡± The ogre swings again at Earl. Earl manages to dive out of the way, but then the ogre¡¯s free hand, curled into a fist, comes from the opposite direction and slams into his side. Earl goes flying. He hits the crenulations with a sickening impact, head jolting. He doesn¡¯t get back up. My mouth is dry. I¡¯m breathing hard. The ogre turns to once again face me. I think of Sarah. I think of her on her knees proposing to me. I think of all those nights we spent together dreaming about our future, about how many kids we¡¯d have, where we¡¯d live, how we¡¯d live. I will get her back. The ogre runs at me. I¡¯d expected that. My instinct is to run in the opposite direction¡ªto flee. Instead, I charge. And as I do, I let out a warcry, raise my spear, and wait for the right moment. When the moment comes, when only a few feet separate the two of us, I jump. I jump hard. I launch myself straight up, the wind in my hair, and plunge the spear downward. Straight through one of the ogre¡¯s eyes, metal sliding through flesh, then coming into contact with bone. The beast topples backward, topples beneath me, while I continue to fly through the air with no way to slow my descent or cushion the impact that¡¯s about to come. I hit the ground, grunt, roll, the breath knocked out of me, the world spinning. Slowly, painfully, I rise to my feet. I don¡¯t feel much pain¡ªthe adrenaline is working hard to suppress it. But soon enough, I know, the adrenaline will ooze out of me, and all that pain and exhaustion will be right there and waiting to drown me. But that¡¯s a problem for later. I whirl around to face the ogre. It¡¯s lying on its back, my spear protruding from its face and sticking straight up. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The beast isn¡¯t moving¡ªexcept for the subtle twitching of its fingers, which cease a few moments later. Glowing, golden words appear in the air before me, dominating my vision: You have leveled up! Name: Jack Ren Contestant level: Three Current rank: 1,235,008 Reward: Class specialization Choose from one of the following Ranger Wizard Rogue Brawler Warrior I stare at the words, heart pumping. I know what each of the words mean, at least superficially speaking, but I have no clue what they actually involve in this context. But what does it matter? The choice seems obvious. Brawler. Because that¡¯s what I am. That¡¯s what I always have been. And why not play into my strengths? It¡¯s the only thing I have. ¡°Brawler,¡± I say out loud. The effect is immediate. Strength surges through me, as well as a deep sense of restfulness, as though I¡¯ve just woken from the best sleep of my life. The ache in my bones goes away. My hunger goes away. I feel suddenly better than I have in a long, long time. I curl my hands into fists. I feel¡­powerful. In a way I can¡¯t even describe. You have selected Brawler. Your speed, strength, and resilience have been adjusted accordingly. Skills granted: Masterful Evasion and Devastating Blow. But I don¡¯t even have time to process these words because Earl and Elizabeth are with me. Earl is rubbing the back of his head, his eyes a little glassy in that familiar way that tells me he¡¯s likely concussed. Elizabeth is still looking at the ogre, as though not entirely confident it¡¯s going to stay down. She has her crossbow loaded and ready and pointed at the beast¡¯s corpse. ¡°Nicely done, lad,¡± Earl grunts. ¡°That was damned impressive.¡± ¡°And stupid,¡± Elizabeth says, but there¡¯s admiration in her voice. When I walk toward the ogre, I expect to be limping, to be sore all over. Instead, I feel lighter and faster and more agile than ever. I reach for the shaft of my spear and pull it out. Except the head breaks off, lodged firmly as it is in the ogre¡¯s head. I stare at the shaft, which is now little more than a long and useless stick. ¡°Shit,¡± I hiss. ¡°What class did you pick?¡± Elizabeth asks me. An innocent question on the surface, but she asks it warily, her eyes now watching me intently. She¡¯s a sharp one, I sense, and I don¡¯t trust her. I think she¡¯s asking because she¡¯s in the process of weighing up just how much of a threat I might be. Whether or not, should it come down to this, she could take me in a fight. ¡°Brawler,¡± I say, deciding there¡¯s no point in lying. ¡°And since you¡¯re level four, you must¡¯ve picked a class of your own.¡± Elizabeth nods. ¡°Rogue. Was tempted by wizard, though. Who doesn¡¯t want to use magic, eh? But then I thought, what if I set myself on fire by accident, or turn myself inside out? Nah. Anyway, the key, I think, is to be fast, and to be able to move unseen when you want to.¡± ¡°Classes,¡± Earl says, shaking his head. ¡°Like fucking Dungeons & Dragons or some shit. This is crazy.¡± ¡°It is crazy,¡± I agree. My voice is hard. ¡°But it¡¯s not a game. Even if they think it is.¡± I wave a hand, anger building inside me, because this, all of this, is so sick and twisted that it¡¯s almost comical. ¡°Don¡¯t let the numbers and the classes and everything else fool you. This is life or death. Pure survival.¡± I look at Elizabeth. ¡°What did they take from you?¡± Elizabeth turns away from me. ¡°You don¡¯t need to know that.¡± ¡°I do, actually. Consider it a trust exercise. If the three of us are going to work together, I think it¡¯s for the best if we can be honest with each other. If I know why you¡¯re why, and why you¡¯re fighting so hard to survive, I can at least understand you.¡± I smile as best as I can. ¡°I¡¯ll go first. They took my fianc¨¦e. And I¡¯m not going to stop until I get her back.¡± Elizabeth¡¯s shoulders sag. She meets my eyes, and this time, she¡¯s not cold or calculating. She¡¯s sympathetic. Maybe even conflicted. She says, ¡°They took my little sister.¡± And I mean it, then, when I say, ¡°I¡¯m going to help you get her back.¡± I¡¯ll save her sister, and I¡¯ll save Sarah, and if I can do anything else to hurt the people who have done this to us, to cause them harm, to sabotage their Games¡­then I will. I don¡¯t believe in God, so, instead, I simply swear it to myself. That¡¯ll have to be enough. ¡°Alright,¡± Earl says, stretching. ¡°Time to have a look around this castle and see what else we have. But listen, one of us needs to be up on the walls at all time. A sentry. Do laps around the perimeter. If you see anything or anyone, call out. The very last thing we want, friends, is to be taken by surprise.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stay here,¡± Elizabeth says. ¡°You two have a look around.¡± I can tell Earl still doesn¡¯t trust Elizabeth, and neither do I, but even still, we leave her there to keep lookout on the walls. We climb down the steps and stride across the courtyard, at the center of which is a single oak tree. There¡¯s also a well with an accompanying bucket, which is an immense relief because now that the adrenaline is gone and the danger is past, my thirst is hitting me like a hammer. My mouth is so dry that the discomfort is just about all I can actually think about. Together, we draw up some fresh water and drink until our bellies ache. Then, we close the front gate of the castle and lower the steel arm that acts as a lock. We enter the main tower of the castle. On the ground floor, there are three rooms. In one of them, the storage chamber Elizabeth had told us about, we find the corpses of the elves, piled up on top of it each other, their gray tunics stained red. We take a long look at them, neither of us saying anything. They look just like people, except they¡¯re paler and taller than average, and their ears are pointed. I also get the sense that, in life, they were exceptionally beautiful, but whatever beauty they had possessed is lost in death. We close the door, start up the spiralling stone steps. A heaviness settles around me. The dead goblins, the ogre, whatever it really was¡ªthey¡¯d been so monstrous that their deaths hadn¡¯t seemed real. Psychologically, it¡¯d been far easier to distance myself and detach from the violence traded with them. But these things¡ªthese elves¡ªmay as well have been actual people. Human beings. Until today, I¡¯d never seen a corpse before. Not a humanoid one. I have a feeling I¡¯ll be seeing a lot more soon. ¡°Be careful around her,¡± Earl says quietly. ¡°Probably doesn¡¯t need to be said, but just in case.¡± ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± ¡°Keep an eye on her at all times, Jack. I mean it.¡± ¡°Are you keeping an eye on me at all times?¡± Earl frowns. ¡°Do I need to?¡± I shake my head as we make it to the second floor. ¡°I¡¯m not harming either of you.¡± ¡°But at some point,¡± Earl says slowly, ¡°things are going to turn nasty. You realize that, right? One winner. That¡¯s what the Whispers told us. At the end of the day, son, only one of us is making it out of here alive.¡± I say nothing as we explore the four rooms on the second level. Two are bedrooms, wide and spacious but sparsely furnished. One is a dining hall. Another, an armory. Here, more crossbows decorate the walls, as well as spears, shields, swords, knives, and plenty of accompanying sheathes. ¡°Only one makes it out alive,¡± I finally say, ¡°assuming that we follow the rules.¡± Earl looks at me. ¡°Elaborate, son.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about you, but I have no intention of simply doing what I¡¯m told just because. Might be that there¡¯s another way.¡± ¡°I like the way you¡¯re thinking. In theory. But you gotta remind yourself, if they have the power to arrange for all of this in the first place¡­¡± Earl grimaces. ¡°Not sure there¡¯s anything we can do.¡± And maybe he¡¯s right¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t matter. I refuse to be helpless. To simply resign myself. I will find a way to make them hurt. No matter what it takes. 7 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES 7 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,873,115 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 1,235,008 We find food in the castle, the discovery of which brings me so much joy that I¡¯m nearly brought to tears. The options aren¡¯t great¡ªstale bread, strips of salted meat, potatoes that have started going bad¡ªbut the three of us are so hungry, so desperate, that it simply doesn¡¯t matter. We eat until we feel sick and wash it all down with more water from the well. Then we pick rooms, and Earl and I separate in order to get some sleep while Elizabeth takes first watch. I sleep deeply and have no dreams. When I wake, Loki is floating in front of me, a golden blur. I¡¯m not expecting the damned thing to be so close, and it gives me a fright. ¡°What do you want?¡± I say, rubbing at my bleary eyes. I am simply here to inform you that it is time for me to leave, says the Whisper. I blink. ¡°What do you mean? Leave where?¡± The purpose of the Whispers is to introduce you to the Reality Games, Loki explains. Our job is done. You have been introduced. And you must now continue on your own. I grit my teeth. ¡°But I don¡¯t feel remotely introduced. I still have a thousand questions, and what about the rest of the levels¡ª?¡± If it deemed necessary for further information to be communicated, says Loki, then it will be communicated. But until then, I have been disbanded, and in mere moments will cease to exist. I hesitate. I can¡¯t say I¡¯ll miss the thing¡ªthere¡¯s very little to miss. Aside from the fact it has no personality, isn¡¯t a person, probably isn¡¯t even sentient, there¡¯s also the simple truth that its presence is a constant reminder of where I am and what¡¯s being doing to us. Loki is a tool of the Celestan Empire. Therefore, I want nothing to do with Loki. Even still, it has been somewhat comforting knowing that I have a source of information floating around by my shoulder. At a time when everything is particularly uncertain, Loki has been a boon. ¡°So,¡± I say, ¡°you¡¯re essentially dying.¡± The comparison is not quite accurate, but¡ª and the thing pauses for the very first time as though actually taken aback. But yes. That is, I suppose, more or less the situation. I stand and salute the Whisper. ¡°Well. Thanks for all the help, I suppose.¡± And then it blinks out of existence, leaving behind nothing but a faint golden afterglow in the air. A little later, the three of us eat together as the sun rises, and we try to devise a plan. ¡°We need to find a dragon stone,¡± Earl says into the silence. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s the whole point of this level. But also¡ªwho gives a fuck about the level? The more important point is this: there are, supposedly, fucking dragons lying around here somewhere. Let¡¯s just imagine, for a second, that somebody else gets one of these stones and then starts flying around with one of those things. And while I think the very concept of dragons flying around in the first place is complete and utter bullshit, I¡¯ve seen enough in this place already to assume that it is possible, and that it would be an unpleasant experience for us. Unless we get to one first.¡± I can¡¯t argue with that, and it more or less echoes my own thoughts. There¡¯s a part of me that doesn¡¯t want to do the exact thing that our captors wants us to and yet, at the very same time, is practical enough to recognize it might be the only way to survive this ordeal. ¡°It seems like the obvious way forward,¡± Elizabeth concedes. ¡°But that brings us to the obvious question: how do we find one?¡± We all sit in silence for a while. Eventually, I say, ¡°We likely just have to keep traveling. Eventually, I¡¯m sure, we¡¯ll come across something useful. We have to remember, they don¡¯t want us wandering around pointlessly. This is for their entertainment. So, as long we¡¯re in constant motion, something is bound to happen.¡± ¡°True enough,¡± says Earl, ¡°but that something might not be in favor. I don¡¯t much like the idea of blindly stumbling into situations we can¡¯t control. We need intel.¡± ¡°Did the two of you also lose your Whispers?¡± I ask. They both nod. I sigh. ¡°Well. Guess we¡¯re on our own. Not that the damned things were particularly helpful.¡± I glance at Elizabeth. ¡°Where did you wake up when this thing started?¡± Earl stands, starts to move away. ¡°Where are you going?¡± Elizabeth asks sharply. ¡°To find something to draw on,¡± Earl calls back. ¡°And something to draw with. We need to create a map. Maybe we can figure out where the three of us started and start to get an idea of the land around us. Then, as we explore¡­¡± he gives us a toothy grin. ¡°Listen, a good, solid map might be the most valuable thing we could possibly get our hands on at this point. Don¡¯t underestimate the power of geography.¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. We spend the next ten minutes searching for materials. Eventually, in one of the spare rooms, we find ourselves standing before a bookshelf filled with a few old, dusty tomes. We pull them out at random and flick through them. They¡¯re empty, even though the spines boast titles and author names. Meaning they¡¯re nothing more but hollow set decorations. It¡¯s a sobering discovery, because although we all already understand that our present situation is little more than reality TV for the spectating aliens, this just hammers the point in to a comical level. I¡¯m filled with a sense of powerlessly that, stubbornly, I fight against. We take one of the books, deciding it¡¯ll be our Codex of Maps. And then we get lucky and find a stick of charcoal in one of the other rooms which, although clumsy, is more than good enough for us to start outlining the features we¡¯re already familiar with: the dark woods, the castle, the land surrounding the castle¡­ We roughly mark the spots where we believe we¡¯d each started. Then we start to mark the map with cardinal directions, before realizing that, as far as we know, in this place, the sun doesn¡¯t actually rise in the east and set in the west in the way we¡¯re familiar with. ¡°I think,¡± says Elizabeth, ¡°that we should stay here. At the castle. It¡¯s a solid, defensive location. There are rooms underground. There¡¯s storage. Food, even if it¡¯s shit. We have walls, obviously, and plenty of vision, so if anyone approaches from any direction, we¡¯ll see them long in advance. It¡¯s hard to imagine that if we simply go wandering, we¡¯re going to easily find a place better than this.¡± But Earl is shaking his head. ¡°No, no. Sister, this location is a deathtrap, and in a game like this, where we¡¯re all racing to progress, sitting still and stagnant is as good as simply killing ourselves.¡± This mirrors my own thoughts, and I¡¯m a little surprised that Earl so sharply echoes them. Not that I think he¡¯s stupid, far from it, but even still. ¡°What if one of us goes out and scouts the area,¡± she suggests, ¡°and the other two stay back¡ª¡± I shake my head as well. I don¡¯t need to be special forces to know splitting up is a bad idea, and I tell her so. In the end, we decide to leave the castle immediately. Earl suggests, at first, waiting until the morning¡­but I¡¯m uncomfortable with the idea of wasting another night while millions of our fellow contestants are running amok and leveling up. We need as many advantages as we can get, and there are none to be found here. # We set out from the castle, having scavenged three leather saddle bags that Earl helped adjust so that they fit us rather than a horse. In these bags, we bring as much food as we can, as well as canteens we¡¯ve filled with water from the well. Earl says that each of us has around a week¡¯s worth of supplies, so long as we really stretch them out. I think about Sarah as we cross the grassy expanse beneath a clear, sunny sky. I wonder what she was thinking in those last few moments before we were taken. I wonder what I could¡¯ve done differently. In a way, I know, it¡¯s my fault that she¡¯s involved at all¡­but I feel no guilt, no self-loathing. How could I have known? It¡¯s hardly as though I want this. So, I don¡¯t need to feel guilty, nor do I need to hate myself. As long as I get her back. If I can do that, I am absolved. If I can throw myself at this problem wholeheartedly with a willingness to sacrifice anything and everything, all so that I can save Sarah¡­I¡¯ll be redeemed. But how? That question circulates endlessly through my mind. It seems like an impossibility. Because out of ten million contestants chosen from a multitude of worlds, timelines, and realities, it seems hard to believe that I, Jack Ren, am truly the apex predator amongst them. It simply can¡¯t be true. And I can¡¯t help but feel that even Earl is proof that it¡¯s not. So, how do I win? I ponder that question as one hour drags by, then a second, then a third¡­the sun is burning the back of my neck. It¡¯s hot, even despite how light my tunic is. We ascend a small, green hill. By that point, the castle is long gone, far out of sight. We don¡¯t intend on going back. I have to admit, though, I miss the security, real or imagined, of the solid walls. Of an enclosed sleeping space. Of towers. Sure, practically speaking, three people isn¡¯t enough to hold a castle against a determined enemy, but it sure had been nice to pretend even for just one night. Earl, who is moving slightly ahead of Elizabeth and I, comes to a sudden, hard stop. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I say, but Earl just waves us forward. We join him on top of the hill. Immediately, my heart rate accelerates. I stare, amazed, more than a little afraid, at the impossible sight before us. It¡¯s a battle. An immense, chaotic battle with no sides. There are hundreds of participants, spread across a green field decorated with farm houses and ash trees. There are no ranks or formations. There¡¯s no order. Instead, many, many figures, each of them indistinct from this distance, are fighting in pairs, or small groups, or running away, or running into the conflict. Most of them are wielding weapons we¡¯re already familiar with. Swords, spears, bows, axes, that sort of thing. Others, however, are doing things I can¡¯t quite understand, not at first glance. One figure, on the closer side to where we¡¯re standing, raises both hands and shouts something that I can only just hear, the ghost of his words carried on a sudden gust of warm wind. A moment later, light collects in his palms, twin balls of flame coalescing. He shouts again and lashes out with both hands. The fireballs fly through the air, projected at high speed, and slam into the chest of a tall, four armed figure standing maybe thirty feet away. The figure erupts, their entire body set alight all at once. I hear their shriek clearly, and even catch a whiff of burning flesh as they collapse in the grass. Elsewhere, contestants are stabbing each other, punching, shooting arrows, running for cover. I see a woman kick down the door of a farmhouse. I see someone else on their knees, trying desperately to hold in their intestines. Pure chaos for as far as I can see. ¡°Well, fuck me,¡± Earl murmurs. Elizabeth grimaces. ¡°Wonder what they¡¯re all fighting over. Might be that there¡¯s something here.¡± ¡°A dragon stone?¡± I ask. ¡°Maybe,¡± Earl sounds skeptical. ¡°Not sure I wanna find out. I say, we skirt around the battle, or else change directions entirely.¡± I frown, conflicted between two urges: the first and most obvious, which is to flee, to avoid a situation that is obviously extraordinarily dangerous. And the second, which is to wade down into the battle and turn it to my advantage. Because every single person down there, I know, is becoming more powerful with every kill, advancing up the ranks while I¡ªand Sarah¡ªare left behind. ¡°I say we go around,¡± Elizabeth gestured to the edge of a patch of trees off to the side. ¡°People are retreating that way. Wounded contestants.¡± She flashes us her white teeth. ¡°We, however, are not wounded. So, I say we pick them off. Take ¡®em by surprise. If we can take out a couple of them each¡­¡± ¡°Levels,¡± I say grimly. Earl scratches his chin. He doesn¡¯t like it, I can tell. His soldierly instincts are telling him that this is a bad idea, a battle that¡¯s best avoided. But this is nothing like the warfare he¡¯s used to. The rules are entirely different, and constant, active engagement is the only way to win. Earl reaches for an arrow. ¡°Alright,¡± he says. ¡°Fine. If you two want action¡­let¡¯s go get some.¡± 8 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGONSTONES 8 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,799,991 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 1,456,111 Earl advances first, with me just a few steps behind, and Elizabeth at the rear, crossbow ready and spare knives tucked into the belt she¡¯d liberated from the castle. The battle, it seems, is louder and more chaotic than ever. With every step we take toward it, my heart beats a little harder, a little faster. This, I tell myself, is stupid¡ªbecause what am I doing near a battle? But then I remind myself that I simply don¡¯t have a choice. We¡¯re spotted by a pair of elves¡ªor at least, that¡¯s what Elizabeth called them, and that¡¯s what I¡¯m calling them, too. They, like the ones she¡¯d managed to kill, are tall, slender, and beautiful. They both have bows and are wearing leather armor, implying that they¡¯re either a higher level than us, and have been rewarded protection, or they¡¯ve simply gotten lucky and found the leathers. Either way, they don¡¯t have helmets, and Elizabeth shoots the first straight through his right eye. She does it so quickly, so coldly, that it freezes me in place. The elf, who looks so much like an ordinary person that it¡¯s unsettling, collapses bonelessly to the ground, limbs twitching as his blood turns the grass red. There¡¯s a faint, golden shimmer around Elizabeth that I now know means she¡¯s just leveled up again. That¡¯s good. The bad part is that leveling up seems to have distracted her. The remaining elf shoots back at us, and her arrow¡ªI think this one is a she¡ªcuts through the air between Earl and me and grazes Elizabeth¡¯s cheek, summoning forth a wave of blood. Elizabeth flinches. Earl misses his shot¡ªor, rather, the elf evades it, throwing herself forward into a graceful roll, coming up in one smooth movement, drawing another arrow and¡ª And her arrow is coming straight for me. I can see it, almost in slow motion, as it warps and quivers and slightly spins, the sharpened metal point aimed for the spot right between my eyes. I surprise myself when I slap it out of the air. There¡¯s a bright, stinging pain, and when I look at my palm, I see that the tip has cut me, but not badly. The arrow is lying harmlessly in the grass. The elf is wearing an expression of mild surprise, as is Earl, but surprise swiftly turns to determination as she throws her bow aside and draws a short sword from the sheathe at her hip. The elf runs at me. I run at her. I can see the overhand swing coming from a mile away, much the same as how I can see a punch coming. Unarmed or armed, some of the basic principles of fighting are the same, and it¡¯s a trivial matter to shoot forward, into such close range that the blade can¡¯t yet harm me. Instinctually, I throw a hard, left elbow, and feel the abrupt point of connection. The elf¡¯s head snaps to the side. I grab her, throw her across my hip, and land so that I¡¯m on top of her. Immediately, I hear my coach¡¯s voice in my head¡ªground and pound, baby!¡ªand I¡¯m raining down punches until the elf is quite obviously unconscious. Except¡ªno. She¡¯s not unconscious. She¡¯s dead. And I¡¯ve been hitting her way harder than I¡¯d meant to. Than I¡¯d ever hit anyone. The elf¡¯s face is a bloody, ruined mess. I think I¡¯ve shattered her skull. I rise, shocked, nauseous, my arms bloody all the way to my elbows. I hadn¡¯t meant to do that. I¡¯d just wanted to put her out, to win, not to kill. Earl places a hand on my shoulder, steadies me. His voice tickles my ear: ¡°You¡¯re alright, brother. You¡¯re alright. You did well. Just follow me. We have to keep moving and we have to move now, okay?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± I whisper. And we¡¯re off, bent low, moving fast. Distantly, I think about the fact that killing the elf didn¡¯t level me up. Numbly, I suppose that the gap between each level widens. That is typically how it works in games, isn¡¯t it? Each level requires more experience or whatever to reach. And since the sick fucks in charge of this place, in charge of The Reality Games, seem to have modelled the rules just like a game, I¡¯m forced to conclude that¡¯s how it works. There are goblins ahead, and just that mere thought alone is so ridiculous that I almost laugh¡ªalthough there¡¯s a part of me that also wants to cry. Earl comes to a stop, draws an arrow. The goblins have seen us and here they come, six of them, spreading out and advancing slowly. They¡¯re all armed with various weapons. None of them are armored, except for one, the biggest of the lot clad in what looks like steel plate, the sort of thing you¡¯d expect a medieval knight to be wearing. It gives me pause, because how the fuck is anyone even meant to get through that? The thing is even wearing a helmet, its bright, yellow eyes shining through the narrow slit of its visor. I don¡¯t want to fight them. I don¡¯t want to kill anymore. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The goblins continue to spread out until they form a rough half-circle around us. They lick their lips with long, forked tongues. One of them, with braided, red hair, starts to chant under her breath, moving her hands around in slow circles. I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s doing, but I don''t like it. I like it even less when the air starts to blur around her, when bright lights start to twinkle around her taloned fingers. Evidently, Elizabeth doesn¡¯t like what she¡¯s seeing either. She shoots the goblin in the head with her crossbow, and as the goblin topples back, silent now, the others charge forward with wicked cries. I meet the closest goblin, ducking beneath the swing of a brutal-looking ax, and ripping to the body with a right hook to the liver that¡¯d disable even the toughest fighters. It does a whole lot more than that, though. I can feel the extra strength behind it, and as my fist makes contact with the thing¡¯s armored abdomen, blue light flares around my knuckles, and I remember the golden words that¡¯d floated in the air earlier, when I¡¯d leveled up: Devastating Blow, it had said. And the effect is devastating. The goblin folds in half and drops to his knees, and as he drops, I throw up a knee with all my strength. I feel bone shatter. I hear cartilage crunch. The goblin hits the ground and doesn¡¯t move. But there¡¯s another right next to me, and it¡¯s howling, eyes narrowed. This one is unarmed. A brawler, maybe, like myself, and this is confirmed a second later when it slams a fist into my stomach, knocking the air out of me, then following up with a kick that deadens my leg and lets me know I¡¯ll be limping for the rest of the day. The thing is fast, and despite how much bigger I am than the bastard, it¡¯s totally fearless, walking me down as though every advantage is in its favor. Meanwhile, around us, Earl and Elizabeth are fighting the other goblins. I¡¯m too focused on the one in front of me to pay any attention to their struggle. I just hope they¡¯re winning, because if they¡¯re not¡­ The goblin leaps and swings an overhand right, aiming for my head. It¡¯s hard for the thing to reach me, since I¡¯m so much taller than it, and the blow is overall clumsy, so it¡¯s easy for me to get out of the way and return fire with a four-piece combination that leaves the goblin reeling. Then, without even thinking, I see my chance and spin, throwing a wheel kick with all my weight behind it. My booted heel makes contact with the goblin¡¯s temple. A knockout blow. Except, instead of knocking the thing out, I cave in the side of its head, blood spraying. I stare down at my palms. I¡¯m so much stronger now than I¡¯d realized. It unsettles me. Golden words float in front of my face. You have leveled up! Name: Jack Ren Contestant level: Four Current rank: 447,135 Reward: New skill Choose from one of the following: Advanced Acrobatics Stone Hands ¡°Stone hands,¡± I immediately say through gritted teeth, because I¡¯m in the middle of a fucking fight and don¡¯t have to think, to consider what they might mean. It¡¯s hardly as though they¡¯re giving me any real information to work with, anyway. I feel the difference immediately, just as before: the extra strength, the speed, the power that flows through my body. And when I step forward and hit another goblin, this one so busy with Earl that it doesn¡¯t even notice me, my fist goes straight through. I stare down in shock. My hand is in the goblin¡¯s torso, having exploded through the leather armor and buried itself deep in the creature¡¯s side. Blood pools. I feel the wet, warm insides of the thing. It starts to shriek and, panicking, I rip my fist out, which kills the goblin. Viscera coats my knuckles and I whirl away, nausea disabling me, unable to stop myself from splashing the grass with vomit. This is too much. I can¡¯t do this. By the time I recover enough composure to straighten up and wipe my mouth, Earl and Elizabeth have dispatched the others. They both inform me that they¡¯ve leveled up. Earl¡¯s at level three now and with a wide grin, he tells me that he chose Warrior as his class. He holds up an immense sword that¡¯s appeared out of thin air, looking very proud of the thing. Elizabeth, meanwhile, is fixing her hair. She looks totally unbothered by the carnage around us. All three of us are covered in blood. Calmly, she states that she¡¯s now at level six, but provides no further information about what, exactly, that entails. Which bothers me, because it feels like she¡¯s deliberately withholding information. Is it because she doesn¡¯t want us to know exactly what she can do? In case things ever sour between us? I don¡¯t know. But I don¡¯t like it. I open my mouth to say something, I¡¯m not even sure what. But Earl¡¯s pointing across the field. His eyes are wide. His earlier confidence has totally vanished. ¡°Uh¡­¡± he says. ¡°Maybe we ought to run.¡± And then I see what he¡¯s pointing at. There¡¯s a giant wading across the field. Not a literal giant. He¡¯s maybe seven foot tall, but his aura is such that he exudes immensity. He¡¯s clad head to toe in black, steel armor, which is covered in jagged, spiked points. The spikes are so vicious that there are pieces of flesh, the remains of goblins and other things, impaled upon them. And in the man¡¯s hands is a sword. It¡¯s as long as I am. It¡¯s black, like his armor, except the blade is on fire. The flames are a deep, mesmerizing blue, ethereal azure, and they dance and coil as the giant swings his sword, which cuts an elf in half with no resistance at all. Golden light flickers around the giant, signalling another level, and very briefly, we all catch sight of the ghostly numbers moving around. Seventeen. This person, this thing, is level seventeen. The figure stops and catches a human by the throat. He lifts the human, who is twisting, struggling, screaming for help. The hand around the human¡¯s throat squeezes. The human¡¯s neck collapses. Now the figure¡¯s head turns. Slowly as he, or it, scans the field for a new victim. And then it stops. Its gaze finds us. And it charges. 9 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGONSTONES 9 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,655,184 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 59 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 447,135 Earl doesn¡¯t need to scream, ¡®Run!¡¯ but he does it anyway. Elizabeth¡¯s way ahead of us, has already turned tail and is sprinting toward the nearest copse of trees, maybe figuring it¡¯ll be easier to lose this colossus in the undergrowth. She¡¯s probably right¡ªassuming we can make it there before we¡¯re caught. There¡¯s a little voice in my head that¡¯s tempted to call my two friends to action and take a stand against the giant chasing us. Level seventeen is, obviously, a serious fucking problem, but there are three of us, and it isn¡¯t impossible, I think, that we could find a way to win¡­and just how great would the reward be if we did? But I¡¯m being a fool. The colossus would tear us to pieces, I know it would. And so I run. As I run, I deliberately infuse each of my steps with a small amount of bounce. The Spring Boots do the rest, and I find myself almost gliding across the grassy field, overtaking both Earl and Elizabeth, the wind in my hair and whipping at my face. Others, I can see, are similarly scattering; humans, goblins, elves, and other species¡¯ that, at a glance, I can scarcely make sense of. I risk a glance over my shoulder. The giant in black armor is close. Closer than I¡¯d thought. And now I can see enough of the face showing beneath the helmet to see that it¡¯s not an it at all. There¡¯s a man underneath all that armor. A human man. A thousand questions slide through my mind. How has he advanced so quickly? Who is he? Is there any chance that we could talk to him, reason with him, even find a way to work together? But the giant, flaming sword in his hands is answer enough. I feel the heat of it scorching the back of my neck. My heart pounds harder and my breath emerges as a dry rasp. Clad in so much armor, how can that motherfucker even move so fast? Thunder drowns out my thoughts, a low and not-so-distant rumble. Then I realize that it isn¡¯t thunder. It¡¯s the laughter of the man chasing us. My lungs and legs are burning, but even still, I press in. I¡¯m suffering from adrenaline dump now, my limbs becoming leaden, bone-deep exhaustion seeping into my very core. But slowing down isn''t an option. We crash through the undergrowth, branches tearing at our clothes, leaves brushing across our flesh. Smoke fills the air, and I realize that our hunter¡¯s sword has just set the greenery around us ablaze. I don¡¯t know how long I run for. I can see Elizabeth, in front of me the whole time, and all I do is focus on her back, following her wherever she goes, mirroring her movements as trees blur past. There¡¯s movement elsewhere throughout the woods¡ªother contestants sprinting¡ªbut, as though by unspoken agreement, we all leave each other alone, deciding that the man in black armor is too much of a threat for us to worry about anything else. And eventually we become aware that the heat is no longer at our back, and that the thunderous crashing of the giant wading through the undergrowth has been replaced by a deep silence. By then, the sun is starting to set, plunging the world into a state of deepened-shadows and chirping cicadas. I slow to a stop, bend over, panting and gasping for breath. Elizabeth stops in front of me. It takes us ten minutes or more to gather our breath enough to actually speak. At which point I say, ¡°Where¡¯s Earl?¡± We whirl around and call out his name, but there¡¯s no sign of the man, and behind us, the direction we¡¯d come from, there¡¯s no sound, no sign of any movement. It¡¯s as though Earl has simply vanished. I cover my hands with my face, take another deep breath. Fuck this place. Fuck these games. Fuck it all. ¡°We have to keep moving,¡± Elizabeth tugs at my sleeve. ¡°We can¡¯t leave him.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°He¡¯s probably fine,¡± Elizabeth grunts, but I don¡¯t think she really believes that. ¡°What do you mean he¡¯s probably fine?¡± I snap. ¡°We left him back there with that fucking monster. That man. He¡¯s probably dead!¡± ¡°And if that¡¯s the case,¡± Elizabeth says, now perfectly calm, ¡°then there¡¯s absolutely nothing we can do about it. So, we keep moving. And if he is still alive¡­then he¡¯ll be fine. What did he say he was? Delta force? He¡¯ll find a way.¡± It sounds cold, but I know she¡¯s probably right. If we go back and cross paths with the armored man again, there¡¯ll be absolutely nothing we can do except die. And while I hate to leave Earl behind¡ªEarl, who I already consider a friend¡ªif it¡¯s between him or Sarah, it¡¯s going to be Sarah every single time. So, we keep moving. We walk for an hour or so. The trees continue to spread out around us, with more and more space between each of them. The ground becomes uneven and hilly, and when I look up, I see we¡¯re headed toward a range of mountains outlined darkly against the sky. ¡°We need to stop,¡± Elizabeth declares, ¡°and set up camp.¡± I don¡¯t like the idea of stopping. I don¡¯t feel as though we¡¯re safe yet. We¡¯re only an hour or two away from where the battle was being held, and I¡¯m quite sure that we¡¯re not the only ones to get away. It stands to reason, then, that they¡¯ll be people in the vicinity. Hunters searching for the weak and the wounded, ready to take out the opposition now that they¡¯re vulnerable. But then, walking onward, through the night, is hardly a better alternative, and I¡¯m so sore and hungry that I need to rest, ¡®else I¡¯ll just collapse entirely. We set up amongst a series of large rocks jutting out of the ground. The rocks cover us from most directions and, at the very least, if we¡¯re surrounded in the night, they¡¯ll serve as obstacles. It isn¡¯t very comforting, but it¡¯s something. Already, I find myself missing Earl. I miss his confidence. His knowledge. The sense that I didn¡¯t have to worry, because at least I had someone as experienced as he was to guide me. And while Elizabeth also strikes me as being extremely competent in her own way, it¡¯s not quite the same, and I don¡¯t trust her anywhere near as much. I can¡¯t forget that she was an assassin. That she¡¯s almost certainly murdered in cold blood for her own profit. I can¡¯t help myself. As we¡¯re setting up, I ask her about it. ¡°So,¡± I say, as she sits down with her back against a rock, tearing at a piece of stale bread. ¡°You used to kill people.¡± ¡°Still do, as it turns out.¡± I acknowledge that with a nod. We¡¯re all killers now. It¡¯s what the Games make us be. ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± She stares at me with narrowed eyes. ¡°Why do you think?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking.¡± ¡°Why do you beat people up for a living?¡± ¡°Money, mostly,¡± I say. ¡°Plus, I¡¯m good at it. And most of the time, I enjoy it.¡± ¡°Money,¡± she echoes. ¡°Well, there you go.¡± ¡°Difference is,¡± I continue, ¡°when I beat people up, they were trying to beat me up, and they wanted to be there. We¡¯re all professionals. There¡¯s an understanding. Killing folk, on the other hand¡­¡± ¡°What is this?¡± She asks. ¡°The judgement circle? Why the fuck are you asking?¡± I let out a breath, realize that I¡¯ve clenched my fists and they¡¯ve remained clenched. I relax them. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to get to know you better. Especially now that it¡¯s just the two of us. I don¡¯t know about you, but I reckon it¡¯d be a lot easier to get through this ordeal with friends rather than alone.¡± ¡°Friends is a dangerous concept in a game where only one person can win.¡± ¡°I figure we cross that bridge when we get to it.¡± Elizabeth shrugs. ¡°If you say so. And for what it¡¯s worth, the sort of people I kill, you wouldn¡¯t shed many tears for. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m out there shooting children and kittens.¡± ¡°How¡¯d you get into it?¡± Elizabeth scowls. ¡°Family.¡± ¡°Like, as in your family are also assassins?¡± ¡°Not quite. My father was involved in some things. Had connections. Then he passed. Then my brothers took up the mantle. Then I decided I wanted to get involved. Figured out I had some certain skills.¡± ¡°Murdering you mean?¡± I hold up my hands. ¡°Sorry, that wasn¡¯t meant to come across as judgemental as it did.¡± Although I am judging her a little, of course. ¡°No,¡± she says blandly. ¡°I¡¯m more talking about the ability to go completely cold. To shut certain parts of one¡¯s mind off.¡± I shiver. ¡°And how does a person do that?¡± ¡°Listen,¡± Elizabeth says, ¡°if we must talk, can we talk about something else? What about you? How¡¯d you get into fighting?¡± I lean back against the rock opposite her. ¡°I was fourteen. Fat. Covered in acne. Bullied mercilessly by just about everyone. And I thought, fuck it. So, I convinced my dad to sign me up for a local boxing club. Boxed exclusively for two years, liked it a lot, but didn¡¯t like the idea that your average MMA guy would fuck me up. They¡¯d fuck any boxer up, no matter how good. Grappling. Leg kicks. All the rest. And, you know, at the time, I wasn¡¯t doing it for sport reasons. It was about self-esteem. About feeling like I could handle myself; and that no one could push me around. So, I switched to an MMA club and never looked back. Rack up enough wins on the ammy circuit¡ªamateur¡ªand you¡¯re eventually pressured into going pro.¡± I yawn. ¡°Never had any aspirations of being a champ. But I just kept winning, so¡­¡± ¡°Good problem to have.¡± I grunt. ¡°And you don¡¯t worry about the effect?¡± She asks. ¡°Like, brain damage?¡± I wince. I get that question a lot, and never enjoy answering it. Sarah used to bring it up all the time. In the beginning, she hated the idea of me fighting, used to ask me to retire and find something else. Eventually, I convinced her that it wouldn¡¯t be forever; just a few more years, a few more fights, and then I¡¯d get out. Truth is, I do worry about the damage. I¡¯ve had symptoms, and will probably have even worse ones as time goes on, assuming I get out of this arena. But in later years of my life, I¡¯ve come to realize something. There¡¯s something great about being great. And greatness always comes with a price. 10 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES 10 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,601,006 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 58 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 613,118 We wake, eat a small amount of our stashed food, drink as much water as we dare to drink, and then come to the conclusion that we¡¯re probably not going to see Earl again. It¡¯s sobering, and immediately puts me in a black mood. With him, things had felt a little more possible, a little easier. His confidence and competence had been rubbing off on me. Now, with just the two of us, it¡¯s hard not to feel as though we¡¯re doomed. Even still, we resolve to keep moving. The goal is the same: to find a dragon stone. How we¡¯re going to do that, we have no idea. But the plan is this: we¡¯ll keep going until we find a clue, a sign, anything at all that promises to offer us an advantage in this Hellhole. We move toward the mountains, an uphill march that leaves our legs burning. Elizabeth, as it turns out, has no outdoor skills. I don¡¯t know why, but I¡¯d imagined that she did. An assassin, I¡¯d figured, ought to know a thing or two about rugged survival. But in reality, she wasn¡¯t the glamorous, Hollywood-style of assassin. She didn¡¯t fire high-powered, silenced sniper rifles from tall buildings. She wasn¡¯t ex-military. She didn¡¯t take out high-profile targets. She¡¯s a real assassin, an urban killer, and what that actually involves is dirty, grimy murder, a brutal knifing in a dark alley late at night, or a house set on fire while its occupants slept, or a shot to the back of the head while the victim was walking home. We spend three, maybe four hours in silence. It¡¯s a gray day, with a sky that threatens to storm, which is the very last thing I want, because the idea of being caught out in the middle of a storm without even a tent is frightening¡ªespecially when there¡¯s no way to know just how bad storms might get in this fake-world. The terrain becomes increasingly rough, with thin, scraggly trees jutting out of the soil alongside boulders. We¡¯re following a rough, serpentine path that we hope will lead through the mountains, guiding us to whatever might be beyond. Going up into the mountains at all is a risk, since, aside from how inherently dangerous the terrain itself might be, there¡¯s no telling what other nasty surprises might be waiting for us. But at the same time, we figure that there¡¯s also a decent chance there could be treasures up here, or clues linking us to the dragon stones. The key, I think to myself, is to think from the perspective of the bastard who set this game. Because, realistically, I find it unlikely that there¡¯s going to be much of value hidden amongst the barren, rolling plains. It¡¯s too basic. Too easy. No, if there are treasures, or weapons, or dragon stones to be had, they¡¯re going to be in difficult, dangerous zones. Because, after all, it¡¯s all about the entertainment. So, they¡¯ll force us into situations that they might find entertaining by providing the incentives that¡¯ll keep us alive. It makes so much sense that I feel absolutely confident this is the correct way forward. The smartest thing for any contestant to do is to push for the riskiest zones as early in the Game as possible, before anyone else has the same idea, and before those other people have had a chance to exceed you in levels. I could be completely off the mark. I have no idea. I have nothing to go off of except for my intuition. Which is partly what makes this situation so difficult. We¡¯re totally blind, totally clueless. ¡°We should rest,¡± Elizabeth grunts. Really, what she means is, I need to rest because I¡¯m fucking tired. But so am I, so we rest amongst several large stones, the two of us quietly eyeing the increasingly violent sky, neither of us liking what we¡¯re seeing. There¡¯s a faint, scraping sound from somewhere behind, like a shoe scuffing across gravel. My stomach drops. I spin around. Too late. Seven individuals have fanned out around us, penning us in. All seven are human; four men, three women. They carry a mixture of weapons, amongst which are two bows, one trained on me, one on Elizabeth, who quickly notices that something is wrong and glances over her shoulder¡ªonly to go completely still when she realizes, as I have, how completely fucked we are. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Slowly, I raise my hands, showing that they¡¯re empty. ¡°Peace,¡± I say. ¡°Peace.¡± ¡°Peace,¡± echoes one of the men. He¡¯s middle-aged with short, graying hair. He has an Australian accent. Dressed in leather armor and with a broad, black sword resting across one shoulder. His green eyes are narrowed in my direction. ¡°No such thing as peace in this place, son. That¡¯s not why we¡¯re here.¡± I lick my lips. ¡°We¡¯re like you. So, there¡¯s no need for us to fight. Not right now. We¡¯re in the same boat. Why not work together?¡± ¡°To a certain extent, that¡¯s a good point,¡± says the man. ¡°But seeing as how only fifty per-cent of us are making it through this first level, there¡¯s a limit to how many of us can be friends. You hear what I¡¯m saying?¡± ¡°I hear you,¡± I say. ¡°But that¡¯s still five million contestants.¡± ¡°Aye, it is,¡± he says. His eyes flicker across to the two with the bows. They lower the weapons slightly, and I let out a breath. ¡°Here¡¯s how this is going to work. The two of you are going to have your weapons over, and then you¡¯re going to consent to having your wrists tied. After that, we¡¯re going to lead you back to our leader, so to speak, and he¡¯s going to decide exactly what we¡¯re going to do about you. Until that decision is made, there¡¯s to be no talking, no resisting, no bullshit. Understood?¡± I nod slowly. I don¡¯t like it, because once our wrists are tied, we¡¯re totally at their mercy. But then, we are anyway, and this, at least, is an alternative to being killed on the spot. Sometimes you have to take what you¡¯re given. Even if you¡¯re given something shitty. ¡°No,¡± Elizabeth says immediately. ¡°No way. You can take him. But let me walk. I¡¯ll go in the opposite direction and you won¡¯t have to worry about me. But I¡¯m not having my wrists tied.¡± ¡°The alternative,¡± says the man, ¡°is that we shoot you right now with a nice sharp arrow and leave you to bleed out on the ground. Which is not something any of us really want to do, but¡­well, it¡¯s not like any of us want to be here at all, is it?¡± It¡¯s funny, I thought, how seemingly normal people, living normal lives in the normal world, can so quickly flick a switch under the right circumstances and become something entirely other. # With our hands bound, we¡¯re led up into the mountains. It isn¡¯t easy. Bound as we are, we¡¯re denied any of our usual balance, so when the path becomes narrow and the way forward is increasingly steep, we stagger and stumble and nearly fall on multiple occasions. At one point, the drop to our right is so steep that I¡¯m sure an actual fall would result in my swift death¡ªbut one of our captors, evidently thinking the same thing, places a hand on my shoulder and steers me onward. I find myself impressed by their composure. The crazy thing is, these people are clearly members of an even larger group. And it¡¯s only the third day of the Reality Games, meaning that, in such a short span of time, they¡¯ve managed to organize themselves into an actual, functioning faction. And they¡¯re quiet, disciplined. There¡¯s a certain seriousness about them. A sense that these people aren¡¯t fucking around. It¡¯s more than a little intimidating, but, at the very same time, promising. Because if we can convince them to let us join them, we¡¯ll be safe. Or at least, safer than we currently are. We¡¯ll be a part of something. And my chances of getting to Sarah will increase dramatically. Assuming, of course, these people don¡¯t just slit our throats, take our levels, and steal all of our shit. And I have to admit, that¡¯s a very real possibility. While we hike upward, my legs aching, my lungs burning, I try to figure out a plan, an alternative in case things go sour and it turns out that they¡¯re not looking for any new members. I test the rope binding my wrists together, pulling gently at it. Thanks to my recently acquired levels, I¡¯m strong. Stronger than I¡¯ve ever been. And maybe these people haven¡¯t leveled up as much as I have and don¡¯t quite understand how much of a difference it makes, because I find myself feeling pretty certain that, if it came to it, I could break free. But then what? Can I fight my way through all of them and rescue Elizabeth in the process? I don¡¯t know. What I do know is that there¡¯s nothing I won¡¯t do, or try, to save Sarah. If anyone gets in my way, then woe to them. The sun sets, orange smears of light fading, the moon revealing itself amongst the sea of soft, gray clouds, a perfect, glowing circle high above, a cyclopean eye bearing witness to the Games below. We¡¯re led along a narrow mountain pass, jagged, black rock to either side of us. Our footfalls echo. We¡¯re all breathing hard, and in fact, Elizabeth and I are holding up better than some of our captors, which almost makes me laugh. The urge to laugh dies once we reach the mouth of an immense cave, within which torches provide a soft, warm glow. Figures are seated upon wooden crates, engaged in quiet conversation which ceases the moment they see us coming. They rise to their feet. Humans, all of them, at least a dozen more. Although it¡¯s only day three in the arena, they all look rough and grizzled, as though months of hardship have been condensed into the span of less than seventy-two hours. Even worse, as they see us and exchange glances with one another, they instinctively begin to reach for their weapons. And I can¡¯t help but think that they look as though they want to kill us. 11 - LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES 11 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,551,999 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 57 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 717,578 Elizabeth and I are made to stand up against the wall of the cave, arms by our sides. Our bindings are removed, which is something, but not much, because they were hardly necessary; our weapons have been confiscated and we¡¯re vastly outnumbered by armed and watchful men and women. If they want us dead, we¡¯re dead; a little rope around our wrists will hardly make a difference. The leader of the group introduces himself to us. He¡¯s around the same height as me, a little broader, with the physique of a powerlifter. His head is shaved; dark stubble clings to his jawline. His arms, decorated in green and blue tattoos, are as wide as my thighs. ¡°My name is Cole,¡± he says pleasantly, standing before us with his arms crossed. ¡°Cole Adams. Used to be a cop. Favorite color is red. My star sign is Virgo¡­I think. Don¡¯t quote me on that. So, now you¡¯ve gotten to know me, why don¡¯t the two of you have a turn?¡± Elizabeth goes first, and she blatantly lies to their faces. The only thing she keeps true is her name¡ªother than that, she tells them some bullshit story about how she used to be a teacher. Although, I suppose, for all I know, she had been a teacher at some point. Then it¡¯s my turn. And pretty much as soon as I say my name, Cole recognizes me. ¡°Oh! God damn.¡± He grins. ¡°I thought you looked familiar. Now I know for sure. That¡¯s fucking crazy. The Jack Ren, huh? Guess it makes sense that you ended up here. Pound-for-pound number one, right?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I say, plastering on a false smile. Better to go along with it. To be as charismatic as possible. Not that I¡¯m very good at that sort of thing. Sarah always said I¡¯m personable once you get to know me, but when it comes to strangers, I¡¯m distant at best, abrasive at worst. I¡¯m not surprised Cole knows me. A man who looks like he does has a pretty high chance of being an MMA fan. Men like him are the bane of my existence. The tough guys. Big, strong men who are drawn to the sport because it¡¯s masculine and because, deep down, they harbor fantasies of themselves being fighters. They would, they tell themselves, step into the octagon¡ªexcept it doesn¡¯t pay enough, or they¡¯re worried about brain damage, and so on and so forth, an endless array of excuses that, really, amount to one, simple truth: they¡¯re not actually fighters. Either that, or they simply don¡¯t have the balls. Not that I¡¯d ever say any of that to these people. I prefer to act blandly nice, all smiles and waves, because it¡¯s simply the easier option. ¡°So, here¡¯s the thing,¡± says Cole. ¡°I want you two to join us. Of course I do. The more of us, the better¡ªat least for now. I mean, five million of us can make it to the next level. That¡¯s plenty. The problem, friends, is that it¡¯s a little difficult to trust people under the current circumstances.¡± He sucks at his teeth. ¡°For example, just last night, we had some real prick take a bunch of our supplies and just¡­run.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°We chased him down, got the stuff back¡­but the point is, we have to be careful. Because what if we let someone in and then, while we¡¯re sleeping, they slit our throats just so that they can level up?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not like that,¡± I say, and as far as I¡¯m concerned, that¡¯s true, but I realize I¡¯m not quite sure about Elizabeth. I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s like. Right now, she¡¯s staring at Cole with pure ice in her gaze. A killer¡¯s stare. I want to tell her to quit it, it¡¯s not helping us, but maybe some people can¡¯t be helped. ¡°May I ask what level you are?¡± ¡°Four,¡± I say immediately. I see no point in lying. Elizabeth answers too, and then, not breaking eye contact, asks, ¡°And what about you?¡± Cole smiles at us. ¡°Six, I don¡¯t mind saying. But, full disclosure, it¡¯s not all about the levels.¡± He raises his left hand. On his index finger is a golden ring inscribed with tiny, complex symbols. The moment I see the ring, I can feel that it¡¯s special; it radiates power. ¡°What does it do?¡± I ask, in a friendly, casual tone. ¡°Secret,¡± Cole says with a grin. ¡°But it¡¯s good. And it¡¯s why I¡¯m the leader of this little group. I got lucky, honestly. Woke up in a tower when this whole thing began. Me and one other dude in the same room. And there was a chest between us. We both knew there was something good in there. Something we needed. So, we talked about it for a while, tried to hash the situation out in the most peaceful and fair way possible, but when it came down to it¡­¡± he grimaces. ¡°We both knew that the matter could be settled only one way.¡± He looks down at his fists. ¡°So, yeah, I was lucky. But also unlucky. Because I didn¡¯t relish bashing his brains out against the floor. In fact, it¡¯s been three days, and it¡¯s all I can bloody well think about.¡± I say nothing, struggling to get a proper read on the man. I both want to like him and hate him all at once. He¡¯s either a decent man who¡¯s been forced to be a savage just like the rest of it, or he¡¯s actually a savage, a person like Earl, or Elizabeth, with the instincts of a killer. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Okay,¡± he says. ¡°A few more questions. Why don¡¯t you tell me all about what the two of you have been through. Start at the beginning of this nightmare and continue until we reach this present moment.¡± He glances over his shoulder, at the rest of his group. They¡¯ll all watching, listening without saying a word. ¡°We¡¯re all very curious about your story thus far.¡± And so, we tell them everything. I do most of the talking, although I imagine that, if Earl had still been with us, he would¡¯ve happily recounted the whole thing. Sadly, Earl¡¯s gone, and it feels increasingly unlikely that we¡¯re going to see him again. By the time I¡¯m done, Cole looks much more relaxed, like I¡¯ve said all the right things. He scratches his jaw, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and says, ¡°Alright. And that man you saw¡ªthe man in the black armor, during the battle¡ªdid he do anything else? Say anything?¡± I frown. ¡°No. I don¡¯t believe so. Why?¡± Cole winces. ¡°We know him. His name is David. He was with us on day one. We got lucky, you know¡ªwithin twenty-four hours of these games starting, we had a group of one hundred humans all willing to work together. Soon as I found the ring, I was the leader. But we had David. And David didn¡¯t like that I was the leader. We never learned much about him because he wasn¡¯t exactly an open book, although he mentioned something about working for the British government. Anyway, none of us really liked him. He was¡­odd. And then, in the middle of the night, he killed a bunch of us. And when I say a bunch¡­¡± Cole looks away. His face is distraught. ¡°Thirty-six of us, Jack. He killed thirty-six people on day one while we fucking slept, and after thirty-six, we finally woke up and realized what was happening. We chased him. He got away. And now I know exactly where he is.¡± ¡°Still alive, unfortunately,¡± a woman behind him throws in. ¡°Unfortunately,¡± Cole agrees. I let out a breath. It¡¯s an uncomfortable mental image. What sort of person could even do that? It¡¯s not just the fact that he killed so many people¡­it¡¯s the fact that he did it on the same day. That, in less than twenty-four hours, he went from our normal, modern world, our rigid society, to this impossible game, and adjusted seemingly instantly. ¡°He sounds like a sociopath,¡± I say. ¡°Like a fucking psycho.¡± ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t disagree with that description. Anyway, the two of you don¡¯t need to stand like that anymore. I¡¯m willing to trust you.¡± His eyes shift to Elizabeth. It¡¯s clear it¡¯s mostly me he¡¯s talking about, but since she¡¯s with me, she gets to be included. I have a feeling they¡¯re going to keep a close eye on her, and I¡¯m glad for it. There¡¯s no harm in a little caution, Cole quickly introduces the two of us to the rest of the group. There are nineteen of them in total, twenty-one including Elizabeth and myself. There¡¯d been more of them, we¡¯re told, even beyond those killed by David, but a bunch of them had decided to split off into their own group. Cole doesn¡¯t tell us why, and for now, I don¡¯t question it, but I make a note to myself to bring it up later. ¡°So,¡± I say, hands on my hips. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± They exchange looks. Eventually, a woman named Mary says, ¡°We have a map.¡± I wait for her to elaborate. ¡°A map to a dragonstone,¡± Cole finally says. At that, I come to full attention. ¡°Well, shit. Where¡¯d you find it?¡± ¡°On the other side of the mountains,¡± Cole says, ¡°there¡¯s a city. The Golden City. It¡¯s fuckin¡¯ massive, man. And empty. Just tons and tons of buildings, houses, towers, palaces. But no one lives there. We think that a whole bunch of us were dropped in around it¡­the goal, from the perspective of the Game organizers, was to have this city, which could act as a battlefield, right in the middle of all these contestants, and then we¡¯d have to go in and fight over it.¡± Cole offers us a humorless smile. ¡°We spent a day in there. Let me tell you, we weren¡¯t the only ones. We¡¯re pretty sure thousands of players were in there on the second day. A lot of people, and, shit, monsters, died. We got out before it got too intense, and we brought with us a map, which, when we found it¡­we had no idea what it was for.¡± Mary steps forward. She isn¡¯t much shorter than Cole. She¡¯s lean, strong, maybe in her early thirties. She has a thick, French accent, a reminder that we¡¯ve been pulled from every corner of the world¡ªand, supposedly, from other timelines and realities. ¡°Cole talks a lot,¡± Mary says. ¡°Let me be more concise. We have the map. And according to the map, there¡¯s a dragonstone around fifty kilometers from here. That¡¯s around thirty miles for you Americans. I probably don¡¯t need to tell you that it¡¯s quite possible to walk thirty miles in a single day.¡± ¡°The problem,¡± Cole says, ¡°is that it¡¯s thirty miles east.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°And what¡¯s wrong with going east?¡± Mary grimaces. ¡°East is¡­dangerous.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a group,¡± Cole says. ¡°We don¡¯t know what they are. They sure as fuck aren¡¯t human. They¡¯re tall, with big, black eyes. And¡ª¡± ¡°And they have wings,¡± says someone else, a young man surely no older than twenty. ¡°And they have God damned fangs. And they can see just fine in the dark. So what I¡¯m saying is, they¡¯re basically vampires.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what Ben has been calling them,¡± Cole says, sounding somewhat impatient, as though this is a topic they¡¯ve argued about many times before. ¡°Personally, I don¡¯t really feel like calling them vampires, because A, they don¡¯t even look like vampires, B, we don¡¯t know if they drink blood¡ª¡± Mary sighs. ¡°The point, gentlemen, is that, whatever they are, there are a lot of them. A group of at least one hundred. And from what we¡¯ve seen, they¡¯re sticking together.¡± ¡°Contestants?¡± I ask. ¡°Right,¡± Cole says. ¡°They¡¯re contestants. I mean, as far as we know, and according to our Whispers, which have promptly fucked off, everything in here is a contestant.¡± ¡°East is rather broad,¡± Elizabeth drawls. ¡°And you say there are only one hundred of them. Why can¡¯t we simply go around them?¡± ¡°Because there¡¯s a range of impassable mountains cutting us off from the east,¡± says Mary. ¡°With a single, narrow passage. A funnel. And it¡¯s this funnel that the vampires¡ªor whatever you want to call them¡ªare occupying. I don¡¯t think they know there¡¯s a stone on the other side, otherwise they¡¯d go get it, but they¡¯ve obviously figured it¡¯s a nice spot for them to camp out in.¡± ¡°They¡¯re farming anyone who tries to get through,¡± says the young man. ¡°You know, like in a game, when you farm NPCs¡ª¡± ¡°Liam?¡± Cole says. ¡°Boss?¡± ¡°Please, stop with the game analogies.¡± Liam frowns. ¡°We¡¯re in a game, man. That¡¯s the truth, like it or not.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t a game,¡± Cole snaps. ¡°It¡¯s real fucking life, no matter what you say.¡± He lets out a breath and meets my eyes. ¡°So, yeah. That¡¯s why we¡¯re here, anyway. We want the stone. But we don¡¯t know how to get through that pass without those things tearing us to pieces.¡± After that, there¡¯s a prolonged period of silence. The mood declines rapidly, and soon enough, people are arguing. I sit there, listening quietly. Planning. Because I¡¯m going to get that fucking stone. 12 - LEVEL ONE: The Dragon Stones 12 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,499,748 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 56 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 919,918 I¡¯m thinking about Sarah. Specifically, I¡¯m thinking about the first time we met. I¡¯d been an amateur fighter at the time, undefeated, but young and untested, fighting in dark, dingy establishments for no money and no fame¡ªjust a love for the sport and a distant dream that maybe one day I could make it, maybe I wouldn¡¯t need to work some bullshit job for the rest of my life. And I had been. Working a bullshit job, I mean. Stocking shelves at a supermarket, which, to this day, is the most mindless and soul-crushing thing I¡¯ve ever had to do. I did it for years. Still spotted with acne at the time, and without the developed physique I¡¯d one day boast. I was, despite my height, an awkward, quiet kid. Didn¡¯t have many friends. Didn¡¯t know how to talk to girls. Training MMA helped me feel a little more confident, but not when it came to women. It was my eighth amateur fight. My last one, in fact, before I turned pro. The venue was a small, cramped warehouse that smelled of stale beer and sweat. I was fighting at middleweight; over the next year or two, I¡¯d put on a lot more mass. My opponent was bigger than me by a wide margin, and that¡¯s why he was the favorite, and I the sacrificial lamb. He¡ªhis name was Martin¡ªwas well-known on the local scene, and it was expected that he¡¯d go pro soon and make a name for himself. People were already whispering that he¡¯d be fast-tracked to the MFC. Well. He wasn¡¯t. Because I beat his ass. I beat it badly. He had a good chin and refused to be knocked out, but I hit him so many times, and so hard, that the ref stepped in and called it for his own good. Martin left on a stretcher. Afterward, a bunch of guys bought me beer. I got drunk. There was a girl there, bright-eyed, pretty, wearing a dress. She¡¯d been dragged along by her boyfriend, a meathead named Austin. Austin, she¡¯d later tell me, was an abusive loser who she was planning on dumping; it was just a matter of finding the right time, since she was worried he wouldn¡¯t take it well. Anyway. I saw her. Sarah. She saw me. We smiled at each other from across the venue and, a little later, started chatting. Her boyfriend didn¡¯t like that. He grabbed her arm, dragged her outside. I followed¡ªwhat can I say? I felt as though I¡¯d already fallen in love; I hadn¡¯t, not yet, but I was young and naive and, honestly, a little lonely. I fancied myself the knight in shining armor, as cringeworthy as I might find that now. I laugh when I think back on it. Sarah laughs too. She doesn¡¯t think it was cringeworthy, though. She says it was cute. I caught Austin pulling Sarah roughly to their car, grabbing her arm so roughly that, later, it¡¯d badly bruise. I called out. Austin, alpha tough guy that he fancied himself as, couldn¡¯t back down. We fought. I beat a man bloody for the second time that night. Broke his nose, tore up his legs so that he¡¯d be limping for a month afterward, and left his right eye swollen. I offered to drive Sarah home. We ended up getting a drink together. She¡¯d been smiling all night, completely unbothered by everything that had happened. I joked, then, that she was a little psycho¡ªand she¡¯d just winked at me. That¡¯s what I think about now as I sit up, the first orange rays of daylight pouring into the cave. I barely got any sleep. One of the others had given me their cloak to use as a sort of makeshift bedroll, but it hadn¡¯t quite been enough to mitigate the discomfort of the solid rock floor. My back is aching like mad, and all I can think about how is to get through that mountain pass, how to get the dragonstone, how to win this fucking game. I remember calling Sarah a psycho, and I think, that¡¯s funny, because now I feel like a psycho. Death. Killing. Violence. Right now, I feel ambivalent toward those things. I feel manic. I truly would do anything and everything to get Sarah back. I already knew that, but now, the thought comes with so much conviction that I¡¯m afraid of myself¡ªof what I might do. I think, they made a mistake by choosing me for this game. Because I¡¯m going to make them pay. I¡¯m going to make them suffer. Big words, though, from someone in not such a big position, tired and laying on the rocky floor of a cave without a single clue of how to proceed. # Once everyone else is up, Cole holds a meeting. Elizabeth and I gladly sit in, the whole group forming a rough circle at the widest part of the cave while Cole stands in the middle and addresses us all. He tells us that we need more supplies, that our position is not tenable, and that we¡¯re wasting too much time sitting around. I agree with him. My mind flashes back to David, clad in that immense, black armor, with a sword made of pure death. I don¡¯t even know if he¡¯s rank 1. I hope he is, because the thought that there might be others out there, even more powerful and dangerous than David, is terrifying. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°We need the stone, and we all know that,¡± Cole says. ¡°But we can¡¯t get through the pass. Okay. Why can¡¯t we get through? It seems to me, in this game, how many people we have is not as important as how many levels we possess amongst us. So what I¡¯m thinking is, instead of right now worrying about how we get through that pass, we worry about how we can level up. Become, individually, much more powerful. And then breaking through those things, those vampires, as some of us have taken to calling them, won¡¯t be so difficult.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Mary says, rolling her eyes. ¡°But how, exactly, do you propose we gain these levels?¡± ¡°And that, my friends, is where I¡¯d like to open up the conversation,¡± Cole says. But he doesn¡¯t need to. Because now I do, actually, have an idea. An idea that one against leaves me wondering if I was the psycho all along, not Sarah. ¡°We set a trap,¡± I say, speaking loudly to the whole group. ¡°Every contestant in here is going to be feeling the same desperation as us. We all want to level up, find supplies, and equip ourselves with new weapons and armor. In essence, we¡¯re all greedy. Most people¡¯s first instinct is going to be to pursue the first thing they see of value. So, it seems to me, setting a trap should be easy.¡± I look at Cole. At his ring. ¡°Here¡¯s an example. We have Cole position himself out in the open somewhere with that ring of us. We find a way to draw attention to him. We wait, then, for other contestants to show up, hoping to outnumber him and take the ring. The rest of us will be hiding closeby. Once they¡¯re close enough¡­we spring the trap.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°What do you all think?¡± No one has any better ideas, as it turns out, and although a small argument follows, during which Mary and several others express their preference to simply lie low, my plan ultimately wins out. When it does, Cole flashes me a look, frowns. I wonder privately if he¡¯s worried about the fact that I¡¯ve already exerted influence over his group. Is he already viewing me as a challenge to his authority? I have to be careful. I like Cole, but I don¡¯t trust him. I don¡¯t trust anyone. I remind myself that I only have me. That I am a team of one, and that if I¡¯m joined to this group, it¡¯s only temporary, an alliance that lasts for as long as it benefits me, and no longer. More discussion follows. We decide that there¡¯s no point in wasting time¡ªwe¡¯ll set the trap today and see what comes of it. # Elizabeth and I are crouched side-by-side in the undergrowth. It¡¯s midday, and about a hundred paces away, Cole and Mary are sitting on a large boulder atop a grassy hill. They¡¯ll be visible from a distance, and, thanks to the fact that Mary has her spear in hand and is subtly turning it from side to side so that the sun is reflecting off the steel head, they should stick out like a sore thumb to anyone who might be looking in their direction. The question is, will anyone take the bait? And whoever does take it¡ªwill we be able to take them? Because that¡¯s the big risk here. It should be easy enough to get someone to notice them and decide to approach, but there¡¯s no guarantee that we¡¯ll be able to beat them, even with the element of surprise on our side. If David appears, for example, I have a feeling that there¡¯s very little we¡¯d be able to do to stop him. I can¡¯t even imagine what we could do against that armor of his. Cole and Mary are chatting idly to each other, shielding their eyes from the sun and pointing in different directions, acting the part of two lost contestants trying to figure out where to go. I don¡¯t think either one of them are particularly good actors, but I appreciate the effort. I let out a breath. We¡¯ve been hiding for a good half hour or so now. I¡¯m worried that nothing will happen, no one will come, and we¡¯ll waste the day simply waiting, and thus allow ourselves to fall even further behind. The further we fall behind, the further away Sarah gets. I push aside the thought, anxiety gnawing at me. I hate this. I hate all of this. ¡°Hear that?¡± Elizabeth grunts. I frown, shake my head, tilting it to one side as I listen out for whatever¡¯s grabbed her attention. At first, I catch nothing. And then, after several long moments¡­ A distant pounding. A little like thunder. I squint toward the distance. A cloud of dust is making its way toward Cole and Mary, barely visible from our angle. Someone has taken the bait already. But who? Or what? The anxiety worsens. I curl my hands into fists, power flowing through my body. My own strength alleviates the anxiety, at least a little bit. I feel good. I feel competent. Like I can handle myself against anything that might be on its way. But I know that¡¯s just an illusion. ¡°Are those¡­¡± Elizabeth¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Oh.¡± I try to see what Elizabeth¡¯s seen. At first, I can¡¯t. And then, after a moment, individual shapes become clearer at the center of the incoming storm of dust. Horses. A dozen riders, men and women both, all human, and all astride great, muscular warhorses. They¡¯re coming fast, holding lances, swords, axes, and gleaming shields. And I wonder, suddenly, if we¡¯ve just made a huge mistake. 13 - LEVEL ONE: The Dragon Stones 13 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,317,224 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 56 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 996,458 Thinking fast, I assess my options, and the odds of our survival. We outnumber them, but they have horses, and although I don¡¯t know much, I do know that cavalry is a serious advantage. As a teenager, I¡¯d had a phase when I¡¯d been obsessed with military history, and I remember reading about countless battles where an outnumbered force won because of a decisive cavalry action. But here, there are other factors to consider. Levels, for example. I¡¯m a four. Elizabeth is even higher. Cole, higher still. The three of us could make a big difference. Assuming that they aren¡¯t also high-level contestants. Really, there¡¯s no way to know from this distance. Certain armor or weapons might give them away, but even then, that¡¯s no guarantee. So. As to the options. We either stay and fight, or we run. As far as running is concerned, I¡¯m sure that Cole intends to stand his ground. Not that he has much of a choice. The cavalry is bearing down upon him now, and even if he turned and sprinted, they¡¯d catch him easily and cut him down from behind. Where he is now, he has a slight advantage; the cavalry has to ride uphill. Alternatively, I can run. Elizabeth and I. We could abandon the others. But no. I¡¯d do it if it was literally the only way to survive, but I don¡¯t know that¡¯s true, and right now, as far as the wider Game is concerned, we have an advantage by being part of a larger group. If we head out on our own, I have a feeling we¡¯d just been putting ourselves in an even worse situation. Which means I¡¯m going to fight. ¡°Fuck,¡± I hiss, clenching my fists. My heart is pounding, as it has every time before a fight. I wonder if there¡¯s a certain threshold, an amount of violence, at which point I¡¯ll be totally inoculated to the fear. I doubt it. Elizabeth met my gaze and seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. ¡°Should we run?¡± She whispered. I shake my head slowly. ¡°Let¡¯s fight. Running away will get us nowhere.¡± Elizabeth nods. The cavalry are now nearing the very top of the hill. Cole has his sword out and has fallen into a defensive stance. A part of me is excited to see what that ring of his can do. Mary, next to him, has a spear, which she¡¯s twirling around in a frantic pattern. I feel a sense of urgency. I don¡¯t know how good these two are, but there¡¯s a very solid chance that they¡¯ll take out some of the cavalry before we get there. That means more levels for them, higher rankings, a better standing in the game. I need to be there. I need to get ahead. If I don¡¯t, I¡¯m fucked. Sarah is fucked. It has to be. I explode out of the undergrowth, breaking our cover, bounding up the side of the hill and cutting my way toward the left flank of the cavalry. There was meant to be a signal, a sign for us to move, but I¡¯m moving anyway. It¡¯s a risk, and if we survive, Cole won¡¯t be happy with me. Unless, of course, it works well. And I intend for it to work. The others, hidden in place, see my movement, and it forces them to act. The seven hidden contestants near Elizabeth and I spring into motion, advancing; one person fires an arrow into the air, signaling for the other flank to charge. We¡¯re lucky, I think, because this plan, hitting them from both sides while they reach the top of the hill, will be especially effective against cavalry. It counters their one, primary advantage: the charge. It¡¯s a stroke of luck that I¡¯m not willing to linger on, since luck is a fickle thing, and I know it¡¯s only a matter of time before it turns against me. Now that I¡¯m running, closing the distance between myself and the riders, I can see them more clearly. They¡¯re all tall, strong, with long, braided beards and faces painted red and blue. There¡¯s something about them. Something primal and unfamiliar. They might be human, but they¡¯re not like me. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. One turns in the saddle, sees me coming, raises his ax and calls out to the others. He does so in a language that sounds, to my uneducated ears, Scandinavian¡ªand I wonder, then, if these might be actual, genuine Vikings. I remember what Loki had told me before it¡¯d dissipated¡ªthat we¡¯d been brought here from a multitude of timelines and realities. It strikes me properly, for the first time, just how bizarre the situation is, that right now I might be coming up against warriors from a thousand years in the past. The Vikings know we¡¯re coming now, and the front riders begin to turn their horses, wheeling them around to deal with the threats coming from the flanks. At the same time, Cole and Mary sprint down the hill toward them, weapons ready. I¡¯m running faster than I ever have, teeth gritted, snarling, spitting. Turning into an animal. Because all I can think of is Sarah. I will get her back. I will win this fucking game. I jump as hard and high as I can, and my Spring Boots do the rest. I fly through the air. The rider I¡¯m going for widens his eyes in surprise, not ready for me to launch myself through the air like a human projectile. All he can do is raise his shield, desperate to protect himself¡ªand then I¡¯m on him, tackling him off the horse, slamming him into the hard soil. The horse, now riderless, whinnies and comes to a stop. I¡¯m on top of the Viking, and I don¡¯t hesitate. I rain down punches, three, four, smashing his head into the ground. I shatter his skull. The bones in his face. He¡¯s dead in seconds. I stare at my hands. Red. Dripping. I¡¯ve become a monster. I rise, still growling, and try to make sense of the chaos around me. A melee has broken out between the Vikings and Cole¡¯s group. The fighting is intense, impossible to follow¡ªthere¡¯s movement everywhere, accompanied by screaming, grunting, pleading. Someone is laughing, I¡¯m not sure who, and the sound of it chills me to my bones. In my periphery, I see Cole swinging his sword at the legs of a horse, chopping through them, causing the animal to stagger and scream. The rider vaults down with complete grace and stalks Cole with an ax held low¡ªbut Cole simply raises his other hand, the hand with the ring, which begins to glow with an inner light. And a moment later, tongues of fire emerge from the ring, so bright that they almost blind me and imprint their brilliance upon my retinas. The Viking, consumed by fire, falls to his knees, shrieking madly. The air around Cole shimmers as he acquires another level. Something hits me in the side. I stagger, try to turn to face my attacker, but the butt of a spear snaps into my face and crushes my nose. Blood gushes down my face and covers my lips¡ªthe metallic tang of it fills my mouth and leaves me feeling nauseous. A Viking is walking me down. Massive, scarred, separated from his horse. The spear he¡¯s holding is covered in someone else¡¯s blood. He says something to me, lips curling, revealing yellowed teeth, but whatever words emerge from him do so in an archaic language I can¡¯t even begin to understand. We face off against each other, circling, two duellists at the center of an increasingly violent struggle. The rest of the battle fades into the background. Nothing matters except for him and me. He lunges forward, stabbing at me with his spear, and as he does so, golden light encircles the spearhead. It comes at me fast, but my reflexes have never been so good, and I dance easily out of the way. We go back to circling each other. I wonder, absently, what level he is, what class he¡¯s chosen, and what abilities he possesses. That¡¯s one of the big problems with fighting in this game. In an octagon, under MMA rules, I always knew what my opponent could and couldn¡¯t do. I could predict their movements, could at least understand what they were attempting¡­but here, there was no telling what this man was capable of. It was impossible to calculate, to plan¡­I had to rely entirely on my instincts and reflexes. The Viking spins his spear, the spearhead still trailing golden light, so that as the weapon completes its rapid arc, a glowing circle is left imprinted upon the air. The Viking steps back and then punches through the center of the circle. And immediately, a ball of golden light shoots toward me. It flies through the air impossibly fast; there¡¯s nothing I can do except brace myself. The light hits me in the middle of my chest. I fly through the air, the breath knocked out of my lungs, gasping and heaving as I slam into the ground. There¡¯s more blood in my mouth. I can smell burning¡ªmy own roasted flesh. When I glance at my chest, I can see that the gray tunic has been badly singed, revealing my blackened skin just beneath. It hurts. It hurts so much that I nearly cry out. Instead, I force myself up. Up, up, up, I tell myself. Get up for Sarah. Get up, you motherfucker, and win. I growl like an animal and run at the Viking, who appears mildly surprised that I¡¯m still alive. He steps forward and thrusts his spear toward my stomach, intending, I think, on impaling me straight through. I jump, my Spring Boots giving me air, and then rapidly descend like a furious meteor. My right fist slams into the Viking¡¯s skull with the force of a righteous god. My hand shatters bone and ruptures flesh. I feel the impact of the blow through my shoulder and then the entirety of my body. The Viking wobbles, falls to his knees, and dies without a sound. Immediately, golden words coalesce in the air, dominating my vision. You have leveled up! Name: Jack Ren Contestant level: Five Current rank: 701,101 Reward: New skill Choose from one of the following: Berserker Rage Cosmic Serenity I stare at the words for several long moments, heart racing, chest rising and falling as I take big, gulping breaths. Another level. This time, it feels satisfying. Level five. Five out of how many? I don¡¯t know, but I intend on finding out, on pushing on, on rising up, up, to the highest possible point, so that when I come for Sarah, and when I come for the bastards who have done this to all of us, they will regret giving me these powers, these new skills. The choice now, of course, is obvious. Because there¡¯s a growing fury inside of me that can¡¯t be denied. ¡°Berserker Rage,¡± I growl. The effect is immediate. Pure and utter wrath. The intensity of a storm contained within my body. The battle is still raging. Men and women are still struggling. I crack my knuckles. But not for long. 14 - LEVEL ONE: The Dragon Stones 14 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,301,202 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 56 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 701,101 I shoot a takedown against the nearest Viking, who¡¯s busy chopping one of Cole¡¯s boys into pieces. We hit the ground together, and immediately I¡¯m all over him, slamming elbows into the side of his armored head, denting the metal, smashing it into his skull until helmet and head are indistinguishable, a bloody mess of flesh and iron. I kill him without hesitation, without thought, and inside me, there¡¯s that new rage, not so different from the old rage¡ªbut brighter, hotter, more intense, and endlessly hungry. Someone is shouting my name. Someone else is screaming for their mother. I wade forward, and the sea of bodies parts before me. I grab a Viking by his throat, catching him by surprise, and lift him in the air. He swings a desperate fist at my head and I allow it to make contact. I grin at him when the blow fails to do anything substantial, and I show him my teeth, red with my own blood. My hand closes. I crush his throat, inhuman strength coursing through me, and drop his body, which flops lifelessly. An arrow spins through the air, aimed at my face. I watch it come, catch it effortlessly out of the air, and throw it back¡ªwhich in my mind is a cool and powerful thing to do, a move that¡¯d cause even the bravest warrior to shit himself, but in reality, arrows and physics don¡¯t quite work that way, and in effect, I simply throw the arrow at the ground. But it doesn¡¯t matter. I can see the bastard that just shot at me, and despite my small fail, he¡¯s not smiling. He doesn¡¯t seem to think any of this is funny. Even still, as I come for him, I start to laugh. In truth, it¡¯s a calculated laugh. It¡¯s the laugh of a madman, yes, of a true berserker, but I¡¯m not quite that far gone. Instead, I laugh because I know it will terrify him, because it will terrify all of them, not just the Vikings, but even Cole and the others. And that¡¯s what I want. I want to be feared. I want to be respected. It¡¯s a decision I make in the moment, instantaneous, more of an instinct than a well-thought out and rational plan. I just know it will help me, will bring me closer to Sarah. And so it must be done. As must this. I reach the archer, who by then has drawn his sword and is running at me. I commend him for that¡ªhe could¡¯ve just as easily turned on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction. Instead, he¡¯s decided to die like a warrior. And he does, grunting and swinging that sword of his even after I¡¯ve kicked his legs so many times that he can barely stand, and even after I hit him with a body shot that ruptures something inside him and leaves him vomiting blood. At last, I take him down, wrap my arms around his neck, and squeeze. In three seconds, he¡¯s unconscious from the lack of blood supplied to his brain. I consider leaving him like that. Every part of me wants to leave him. That¡¯s how it¡¯s always been for me. In training, even in a fight, once you submit someone, choke them out, you let them go. But such rules no longer apply. We¡¯re all animals now. So, instead, I punch him in the throat hard enough to crush his windpipe. Then I turn away from him, intent on rejoining the battle. But it¡¯s over. Three Vikings remain and they¡¯re riding hard and fast in the opposite direction, bent low over the heads of their horses, hooves pounding the soil. I bare my teeth. Seeing them run, there¡¯s a feral part of me that wants to chase them, wants to sprint in pursuit and run them down until I can tear them apart with my bare hands¡ª I realize I¡¯m growling, spit flecking my lips, shoulders heaving, a moment before Elizabeth appears in front of me, a concerned expression written plainly across her face. ¡°Jack?¡± She raises her eyebrows. ¡°Jack, are you alright?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I blink, refocusing my eyes, and look down at my hands. Completely red and smeared with gore. I let out a long, slow breath, the rage fading, an exhausting settling into my bones and weighing me down. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. What¡¯s wrong with me? I lost control. Completely and utterly. I went insane. And now I¡¯m back to my usual self, to the old me, but¡­ I miss it already. The burning fury. The power. The ability to simply¡­destroy. I swallow hard and force a smile that I know must look more like a grimace than anything else. ¡°Jack¡­¡± Elizabeth still looks concerned. ¡°You, ah¡­you got something¡­¡± and she gestures to my face. Surprised, I wipe something off my cheek. When I glance down to see what it was, a piece of brain matter is clinging to my fingers. I flick it off, disgusted, and immediately wrestle with a deep sense of shame. This isn¡¯t right. This isn¡¯t me. I shouldn¡¯t be like this. I¡¯d never been this way before, not in all my years of fighting and training. And yet. Here I am. And what if, I ask myself, this is the only way to save Sarah? What if I have no choice but to embrace whatever demon it is lurking inside me? Cole strides toward me, grinning, arms out. ¡°Jack, you mad bastard! What the fuck was that? Hey, don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t see you! We all saw you. You went bananas. Absolutely bananas. It scared me a little, I have to say.¡± ¡°A little?¡± Mary grunts. ¡°More like a lot.¡± ¡°I just¡­fought,¡± I choke out. ¡°Same as any of you.¡± ¡°No way,¡± Cole says. ¡°That wasn¡¯t fighting. That was god damned butchery. I¡¯ve never seen someone so¡­so primal.¡± And as he says this, I see straight through his good humor. I see the deep concern etched into his features, the glimmer of fear in his eyes. I¡¯m not sure whether he¡¯s afraid of me on a personal, man against man level, or because I now possibly represent a threat to his authority. I¡¯m level five now, close to six, I¡¯m sure, and right now, I imagine Cole is wondering what happens when one of us overtakes him. I see him playing with that golden ring of his, twisting it around his finger, and I wonder what he¡¯ll do. There¡¯s a good chance he¡¯ll try to take me out before I become even more of a threat. And with that ring of his, it might not be such a difficult thing for him. I see, in my mind, a great gout of fire exploding forth and consuming the poor Viking in its path. I can still smell burning flesh, which causes my stomach to spasm with hunger. What would it feel like to burn to death? ¡°How many did we lose?¡± Cole calls out, turning to face Elias. Elias, who as far as I can tell is Cole¡¯s right-hand man, and one of the fellows who originally captured Elizabeth and I, is a short, slim man with the eyes of a shark. He¡¯s always twitching, always looking around, never remaining still. He¡¯s the shiftiest person I¡¯ve ever met and I trust him even less than I trust Cole. ¡°Five,¡± Elias says, and then he lists the names of the dead, doing so in a cold, bland voice, as though simply reading out the local weather report. Cole winces. ¡°Five. That¡¯s painful.¡± ¡°More painful for them than for you,¡± Mary mutters. ¡°Mary, can you just¡­¡± Cole closes his eyes. Sighs. ¡°Alright.¡± He raises his voice so that the others, now gathering around us, can all hear him. ¡°Let¡¯s go through the bodies. You know the drill. Take everything of value. Looks like we got ourselves a horse or two now which, I have to think, is going to be pretty convenient. Let¡¯s sort through the weapons, the armor, all the rest of it¡­but be quick. We made a lot of noise. For the best that we get away from here as soon as we can.¡± # We spend around fifteen minutes looting the corpses. I catch myself thinking that word¡ªlooting, and I feel a surge of disgust. Looting and pillaging, like we¡¯re the Vikings, as though we¡¯re not all human beings from the 21st century, men and women who¡¯d held down jobs, paid bills, shopped at supermarkets. The bounty, all in all, is good. We strip enough armor from the Vikings to outfit the few remaining members of Cole¡¯s group who hadn¡¯t possessed their own. Elizabeth even gets some leathers, as well as more arrows, a gilded knife that she tucks into her belt, and another travel bag that she slings over one shoulder. As for me, Cole¡¯s crew tells me I can take my pick. They all seem to both like, fear, and respect me¡ªmy actions during the battle, although brief, had made a big impression on them. They look at me now like I¡¯m some great warrior. Like I know what the fuck I¡¯m doing. I don¡¯t. But, I guess for now, that¡¯s my little secret. I don¡¯t bother looking at the weapons. I don¡¯t want any. I have my fists. My elbows. My legs. My body is, and always has been, the only weapon I need. The class I¡¯ve chosen, and the skills granted to me, seem to confirm that this is a viable path. Maybe something will change at some point, during this level or the next, but until then, I¡¯m content to go unarmed. After all, I have no idea how to use a sword. But I know how to throw a punch. I do take armor, though, tough leathers just like Elizabeth, even though one of the boys offers me iron plate. But I figure moving well in iron is going to be much more difficult. I want to be capable of kicking high, moving fast, shooting takedowns¡ªall of those things will be hindered by the addition of several pounds of metal strapped to my body. Afterward, we return to the cave, and Cole decides a fire is worth the risk. Elizabeth half-heartedly disagrees, insisting that we¡¯re not ready for another fight, if worst comes to worst, but in the end, all of us are desperate for some warmth and comfort, and we gladly huddle around the fire as the night grows dark and cold and the sky fills with glittering stars. I stare up at them and wonder if they¡¯re even real. I wonder where we are and what the true nature of the Celestan Empire is. I find myself genuinely and deeply curious. I want to understand my enemy. I want to know everything I can, as though by acquiring knowledge, I might edge closer to figuring out a way to win. Later, when we all curl up in the dark and attempt to seek refuge in sleep, screams begin to echo from somewhere close by. They¡¯re the screams of the dying, pained, shrieking, and horribly drawn out. I shut my eyes tight and try to block them out. And then I dream of violence. 15 - LEVEL ONE: The Dragon Stones 15 LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,299,114 TIME UNTIL CULLING: 55 days NAME: JACK REN CURRENT RANK: 473,882 The next day, Cole decides that it¡¯s time to scout out the pass serving as the only way through the eastern mountains. We¡¯re not ready to take on the creatures guarding it, of that, we all agree, but at this point, Cole explains, we¡¯re running on information that¡¯s almost three days old, and we need to know how things have changed. I agree with him, though others don¡¯t. I can tell, however, that the only reason they disagree is because they¡¯re risk-averse. A scouting mission means getting close to the enemy¡ªand that, of course, is dangerous. But I¡¯ve already decided that being risk-averse is a fast track to losing this contest, and Cole seems to be in full agreement, and so the two of us decide to head out together, since no one else is interested. Elizabeth volunteers to come, but Cole says that we only need two people. In truth, I suspect he¡¯s concerned about the two of us accompanying him¡ªhe¡¯s wondering, in the back of his head, if we might try to ambush him once we¡¯re far away enough from the others. But I have no intention of doing that, and I have my own concerns¡ªwhen it¡¯s just Cole and I out in the wild, what¡¯s to stop him from using that golden ring of his against me? Regardless of whether or not I pose a threat to him, I¡¯m level five now, and that means that by killing me, he¡¯d almost certainly level up at least once, if not twice. So, there¡¯s a palpable sense of tension between us as we set out. ¡°So, Jack,¡± he says, glancing across at me as we trek uphill. ¡°This woman of yours. Sarah. The one they¡¯re holding captive. Tell me about her.¡± At first, I say nothing. I don¡¯t particularly want to tell a man who might be an enemy about Sarah. But opening up like this, I reason with myself, could be a good way to form a friendship with the man¡ªand that is very much in my best interests. ¡°What do you want to know about her?¡± ¡°How long were the two of you together?¡± I grit my teeth at the usage of past tense there. The implication that we are no longer together, that we no longer can be together. It¡¯s a small, innocent slip of the tongue, an unconscious choice, and yet it spawns within me a flicker of primal rage. ¡°A few years,¡± I say. ¡°We were engaged. Well. She proposed right before she was taken.¡± ¡°She proposed, huh? Interesting. Pretty, was she?¡± ¡°Is she.¡± ¡°Is, yes, of course, I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡± I wave a hand. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°What did she do? For work?¡± ¡°She was a video game designer,¡± I say. ¡°Worked on a lot of big studio stuff. Games you¡¯d definitely know. She also wrote novels.¡± I smile a little ruefully. ¡°Fantasy. Horror. That sort of thing. She wasn¡¯t published or anything, not yet, but she was good, and it was only a matter of time, I think, before she broke out.¡± ¡°Geeze, Jack, and now you¡¯re using past tense.¡± I flinch at that, suddenly hating myself, and rapidly divert by asking, ¡°What about you? You got a partner?¡± ¡°Sure I do. A wife. Elena. Lovely lady, although, to be completely honest, our marriage was having some struggles. I¡¯ve wondered a couple of times now if she might actually be relieved I¡¯ve vanished. It¡¯d sure result in a lot less frustration for her. I mean, throughout the course of us being together, she¡¯s probably prayed for me to just disappear at least a hundred times. And now it¡¯s finally happened. And, god damn, do I want to get back to her.¡± ¡°And may I ask¡­what did they take from you? What are they holding captive?¡± Cole purses his lips. ¡°You know, Jack, I¡¯d really rather not say.¡± Which I can understand, because it¡¯s a vulnerable thing to reveal. Perhaps the most vulnerable. But it still bothers me that he won¡¯t answer the question, especially because he knows what they took from me, and because he¡¯s the one insisting on asking all these questions. ¡°Anyway,¡± Cole says. ¡°It doesn¡¯t really matter. We¡¯re not going to win. Not you, not me. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m not trying to be a pessimistic jackass. But let¡¯s be real with ourselves. Ten million of the very best killers in all of existence? And we¡¯re really supposed to think we stand a chance? Naw. I don¡¯t think so. There are some mean motherfuckers out there. Non-humans. Or humans from another age. We¡¯re five days in and I¡¯ve seen some shit. Hell, even take David for example. That guy is unhinged, and dangerous, and he¡¯s crushing it. And guess what?¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°What?¡± I can¡¯t help but ask. ¡°He¡¯s only ranked six.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°How do you even know that?¡± Cole grins. ¡°Seems like you have a lot to figure out.¡± Then he looks straight ahead and says, ¡°What is the current rank of Jack Ren?¡± And immediately, golden words float in front of Cole, displaying my name and rank. ¡°See?¡± Cole says. ¡°It makes sense, when you think about it. They give us access to a good amount of information because that information helps drive their game. It¡¯s all about what makes things the most entertaining. But back to my point. David¡­well, you saw him. He¡¯d kill us all at once if we ran across him. And yet there are five others out there right now even more dangerous. What does that tell you?¡± I say nothing. I refuse to lose hope. I refuse to be like Cole, already spiritually defeated. I have to believe that I can win. That I am the most dangerous individual in this arena. Maybe I¡¯m delusional. But you have to be delusional if you want to be great. My father said that to me once, and I¡¯ve never forgotten it. It¡¯s probably the only wise thing that drunken bastard ever said to me. His one gift of knowledge, and it¡¯s guided me throughout most of my life. We continue in silence for a while, setting a hard and relentless pace. We¡¯re mostly out in the open, crossing grassy hills decorated with boulders and scraggly trees. We stick to cover as much as we can, bent low, using the curves of the hills to our advantage, and praying that no one is looking in our direction. The sky is darkening, gray storm clouds gathering high above. They¡¯re the most colossal, imposing clouds I¡¯ve ever seen, impossibly vast, impossibly deep, a sea of slowly drifting smoke that soon blots out the sun. I can smell rain. Just our luck. I have a particularly bad feeling about the storm that¡¯s coming. This isn¡¯t going to be a regular, Earth-bound storm. It¡¯s going to be apocalyptic. Cole catches me staring up at the clouds and winces. ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t like the look of that either.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have long before those things open up,¡± I reckon. ¡°You¡¯re probably right.¡± He winces again. ¡°But it¡¯s not as though we have a whole lot of cover.¡± ¡°Should we turn back?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Probably won¡¯t make it in time anyway. And we¡¯ll need to scout soon regardless. Plus, there¡¯s no telling how long the storm might rage for¡­¡± Cole sighs. ¡°I think it¡¯s better to reach the mountain pass, see what we can see, hopefully find some shelter, and then return with info.¡± I¡¯m not sure I entirely agree, but for now, I¡¯m content to go along with his plan. Around an hour later, it starts to rain. Cold, fat drops that explode against my face, stinging my cool flesh. I suddenly and desperately wish I had a cloak¡ªsuch as the one Cole is wearing now, and which he raises the hood of, protecting his face from the worst of the rain. The wind howls. The few trees around us bend precariously, and I instinctively move away from them, concerned they''ll snap in half and crush me. Dirt and dust, caught in the wind, whip at my face. But the one good thing is that we¡¯ve made ample progress. The mountains aren¡¯t so far away. Another hour or two and we might have a view of the pass. Or at least, we would, if it weren¡¯t for the intensity of the rain and the fact that, increasingly, it¡¯s harder and harder to see more than ten feet ahead of us. A flicker of lightning illuminates the heavens, followed by thunder so loud that it hurts my ears and seems to echo throughout my bones. I feel a burst of fear. I¡¯ve fully accepted that everything that happens here is directly orchestrated for the amusement of the Celestan Empire. And that, I have to assume, includes the weather. Which just reinforces my suspicion that this is going to be one hell of a storm. ¡°We need to find shelter!¡± I bellow, voice drowned out by the wind and the rain. ¡°What?¡± Cole roars. ¡°What did you say?¡± ¡°Shelter, Cole!¡± Cole shakes his head. ¡°There is none! We have to keep going!¡± I grit my teeth. And then the world goes white. Force punches me squarely in the chest, and I stagger backward. My ears are ringing. I blink, confused, disorientated, brilliant white smears imprinted across my retinas. I realize I¡¯m on my hands and knees now, palms covered in mud, and drag myself back to my feet, fighting to stabilize against the wind trying so very hard to drag me back down and pin me. I see, then, that up ahead, a large tree has been struck by lightning. Very little of it remains except for the jagged and blackened remnants of the trunk. Branches and large splinters of wood have been scattered in a wide arc around it. Smoke rises from the stump, quickly extinguished by the rain. I¡¯ve never been so close to a lightning strike before. The sheer force and power of nature on full display is enough to make my insides knot in fear. If that lightning had struck a little closer, if it had struck one of us, or the earth around us¡­ I swallow hard. We need to find cover as soon as possible, because this isn¡¯t a normal lightning storm. My instincts tell me that this is a deliberate and targeted event. It¡¯s meant to be dangerous. It¡¯s meant to hurt us. They¡¯re culling us. Threatening anyone foolish enough to be caught out in the open. I meet Cole¡¯s eyes, which are a little glassy in the wake of the strike. I¡¯m sure I have that same, dazed expression. Instead of speaking¡ªand it¡¯s raining even more heavily now, so I doubt I could hear him anyway¡ªhe simply points east, toward the mountains. The message is clear. Let¡¯s keep going. Another flash of white. Another burst of thunder. I don¡¯t want to keep going. I don¡¯t want to wade any deeper into this storm. But then I think, Sarah, I¡¯m coming. I grit my teeth, nod at Cole. And continue forward.