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—but 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—which 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—he 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—

  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.

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  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—looting, 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—my 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—all 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.

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