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—but 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 stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  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—otherwise, 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—but 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—or 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—explosiveness 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—”

  “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—”

  “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—”

  “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—even 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—”

  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?”