16

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,294,103

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 55 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 473,892

  Time seems to slow as we drag ourselves through the storm, and with each step we take, I become more and more convinced that we’re going to die. Again, lightning strikes close to where we’re moving, throwing us both to the ground and leaving us temporarily blind. By the time we get back to our feet, we’ve lost our senses and are forced to reorient ourselves. We’re at risk of being completely lost amidst the storm. The only things guiding us are the distant mountains, which take the form of immense, imposing shadows outlined against the charcoal clouds.

  It’s not long before I’m completely soaked. The rain and the wind conspire to chill me to my bones, leaving me violently trembling as we push onward. Cole, I see, isn’t faring much better, although at least his cloak is providing him with slightly more protection.

  “Jack!” Cole is pointing, shouting as loud as he can. “The pass!”

  I stagger forward and see what he’s seen.

  There, indeed, is the mountain pass. Our scouting target.

  It’s hard to make out much from where we’re standing, positioned at the top of one hill. The air is filled with ceaseless, relentless rain, and not too far away, more lightning completely ruins our distance vision. Even still, there’s no denying that we’ve made it.

  The irony, of course, is that the weather is so bad that it’s impossible to do any valuable scouting.

  Unless we get closer.

  Unless we go down into the pass itself.

  Which, I can tell, is Cole’s intention, because a moment later, he’s staggering down the hill, toward the pass, his body bent and huddled against the wind. I hesitate for a moment, remembering the original reason why we couldn’t make it through the pass. It’s filled with monsters, Cole had said, strange, winged creatures that were working together to hold the pass. If they’re still down there, I can’t imagine we’re going to fare too well. But what’s the alternative? At least in the pass, we might find some cover, and more than likely the creatures holding it are taking shelter also. It isn’t as though we can simply remain out in the open…we’ll either freeze to death or eventually be hit directly by lightning.

  And so, lacking options, I follow Cole.

  Perhaps an hour later, we’re standing in the shadow of the mountains. Here, the grass has given way to dirt and small, loose stones that crunch underfoot. The ground is slippery, muddy, the rocks and boulders littering the way forward slick with rain. From here on, we need to move slowly, carefully.

  “Cole…” I squint, peering through the rain, through the grayness. Dark shapes are up ahead, scattered across the ground. The pass, I can see, is relatively narrow, perhaps a hundred feet or so across, and several hundred deep. Along both sides of the pass are ridges carved into the sides of the mountains, and I can’t help but eye them suspiciously. A particularly cunning foe might hope to lure others into the passage, waiting up on those ridges, and then rain down arrows upon their unsuspecting victims.

  But I doubt that’s going to happen now, considering the rain. I doubt it’d be possible to shoot an arrow in this weather.

  But then again, I don’t know anything about arrows or archery. I laugh quietly, almost madly. I should’ve studied harder in history class, or I should’ve read that book about medieval warfare that my brother bought me for Christmas three years ago. Or, at the very least, listened to that podcast about weapons that a friend had recommended. But of course, I’d blown all of those off, because why did I need to know about old wars and battles and weapons? I was always focused on the present and the future.

  Well, my bad.

  We edge closer now, creeping forward through the rain, through the wind, which howls malevolently into our ears. I approach the closest of the dark objects scattered across the ground, bending down to inspect it.

  It’s a body.

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  The body of something inhuman. Its flesh is smooth and black like obsidian, threaded through with thin white veins. Wings protrude from its back, now folded up and twisted beneath its contorted corpse. Blood stains the rocks around it, though much of it has been washed out and diluted by the rain. The cause of death takes the form of an immense gash across the creature’s chest, exposing shattered ribs and destroyed lungs. There is, I see, a great vacancy within, an emptiness where the heart should be.

  I see it a moment later, the heart, laying a few feet away, delicately perched upon a boulder and glistening in the rain.

  Someone—or something—has torn out the creature’s heart.

  A chill goes down my spine. It’s the deliberate mutilation that bothers me the most. This isn’t just a kill made in self-defense or for some pragmatic goal. It’s savage. A display of raw power and violence.

  I glance up and meet Cole’s eyes. He’s frowning, concern written all over his face, and I imagine that I must look the same.

  We approach the other shapes. They’re all corpses. Dozens of them. A hundred of them. The entire group that had troubled Cole so much, that had been preventing us from crossing the mountains, is now dead. And many of them, we see, were wearing armor or carrying weapons when they were destroyed.

  With every step forward we take, we’re exposed to even worse sights. One body has been ripped in half, entrails decorating the rocks. Many have been decapitated, their heads lying several feet away or just entirely missing. Severed limbs are everywhere, as are organs, bone fragments, and even several eyeballs, peering up at us sightlessly through the increasingly heavy rain. I’m forced to stop more than once to close my eyes and suck in a deep breath of air, fighting the urge to throw up.

  So, whatever force has swept through here is even greater. Even more deadly.

  And although I don’t know much about corpses, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that this was done relatively recently. The bodies are in good condition, relatively speaking, not too stiff and not yet picked at by insects and carrion feeders. Perhaps the massacre happened only a few hours ago.

  Meaning that whoever carried it might still be very close indeed.

  “We should go back!” I shout at Cole. Actually, that probably isn’t the smartest thing to do, but in the moment, all I can think about is getting as far away from here as possible. Proximity to so many corpses is making me increasingly uncomfortable, and my imagination is continually conjuring images of a foe dangerous and terrifying enough to take out a hundred enemies.

  Cole shakes his head, pointing up toward the ridges of the pass, where overhanging rock offers shelter against the wind and rain. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know what he’s suggesting. We need cover more than anything else—the weather can and will kill us if we give it the chance.

  Reluctantly, we begin to climb the slippery rock face. At first, I’m worried I won’t even be able to manage it, because I’m no great climber and hate heights. It turns out, however, that my current level makes the task trivially easy. My hands are so much stronger than they’ve ever been, allowing me to find purchase in the most narrow of cracks.

  So, I haul myself up upon the ridge, offering Cole a hand, which he promptly refuses. A few minutes later, we’re both huddled beneath the overhanging rock, finally out of the rain, but so thoroughly soaked and chilled that we’re violently shaking.

  I’d kill for a fire. For warm, dry clothes.

  And maybe once I’d have thought that to myself but not really meant it. I’m not a killer.

  Or at least, I didn’t use to be.

  A lot has changed in a very short span of time.

  “Jack.”

  I don’t like Cole’s tone. I look at him and see that he’s pointing toward the other side of the mountain pass.

  I squint, trying to see whatever it is that’s caught his attention.

  It takes me a moment, but then I make out the distant, dark shape.

  A well-timed lightning strike briefly lights up the world, and for a single, white moment, David is lit up with perfect, brilliant clarity.

  David in his massive, hulking black armor, an immense and burning sword resting against one shoulder. The blue flames dancing along the sword’s edge defy the rain’s attempts at quenching them. He’s bigger than the last time I saw him, a twelve-foot high titan. His armor is decorated with…something.

  With intestines, I realize. And with bones.

  And then I realize: he’s the one who did this.

  Another burst of lighting and now David turns so that he’s facing us. He’s wearing a helmet, more black metal with a face plate of bone, so it’s impossible to know what expression he’s wearing. But I can feel his gaze. The piercing glare of a predator.

  He raises his sword. And I think, then, that he salutes us with it.

  The glow of the lightning fades, and David is swallowed by the darkness of night.

  Cole and I look at each other, exchanging an unspoken question: Should we run?

  But we don’t. We’re too cold. Too tired. Too reluctant to enter the storm.

  Besides, David doesn’t reappear. For some reason, he’s decided to let us live.

  Neither Cole nor I say anything for the rest of the night. We’re both scared, but neither of us wants to express it.

  We find nooks within which to curl up. We don’t bother with setting a sentry. We need as much rest as we can get, and, besides, we don’t trust each other, that much is apparent. I can’t help but keep looking at that ring of his. I find myself wondering how I’d gameplan a fight against him. What his weakness might be, and how to expose it.

  I have a feeling he’s pondering similar questions about me.

  And I know for a fact that one day, one of us will kill the other.

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