21

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,161,101

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 51 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 315,001

  “This is it,” Earl says, gesturing.

  The three of us come to a stop. Earl’s been leading us through the labyrinth that is the citadel for at least twenty minutes now. We’ve gone up a thousand flights of stairs, walked down a hundred hallways. Earl seems perfectly at ease in the citadel, entirely unconcerned about how many turns we’ve taken, as though fully confident that he can find his way back even with his eyes closed. Just has a good sense of direction, I suppose. I have to remind myself that he is—or was—special forces.

  We’re in a massive, vaulted chamber, where every surface is made from gleaming, polished marble. Pillars line either side of the chamber, resembling Roman columns. Tapestries hang from the walls depicting epic battles and angelic figures radiating light like miniature suns.

  I examine the entrance to the supposed dungeon.

  The size of it is the first thing that strikes me. It’s ten feet high and almost just as wide, a grand, double-door entrance set into an archway of marble. The doors themselves are constructed from thick, heavy wood, and reinforced with iron. Currently, they’re slightly open, parted so that an inch or two of darkness from beyond threatens us.

  “How long ago did he go down there?” Cole asks skeptically.

  Earl hums to himself while he thinks. “Um, maybe an hour? Possibly a bit more than that. Couldn’t possibly tell you how long he expects to be down there.”

  “It’s worth the risk, even still,” Cole murmurs. “If we can eliminate him now…”

  I shake my head. “I agree with you, Cole, but look around—how are we supposed to meaningfully block this off? Compared to us, he’s more or less a god at this point. I imagine he can just smash his way through whatever damage we’re able to do.”

  The three of us ponder the matter for several moments, our brains ticking away, trying desperately to figure out a solution. Sweat trickles down my brow. I’m painfully aware of the fact that he could emerge at any moment, confronted with the sight of the three of us standing around and planning his downfall. I doubt that’ll go down well.

  “We collapse the interior of the dungeon tunnel,” Cole finally says. “We’re all decently powerful. And I know how hard you can hit now, Jack. We smash the supports, crack the stone. I can apply some heat with the thing. We send the whole thing crashing down. Tonnes of stone. Doubt he’ll be digging his way out of that.”

  “Dumbest plan I’ve ever heard,” Earl says, shaking his head. “I promise you, a few tonnes of stone aren’t going to stop that man. He’ll dig his way out with his bare hands. And that’s assuming there aren’t other exits. I’m not sure that there aren’t.”

  “Shit,” Cole hisses. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “We don’t do anything. Not yet. Until we know we can actually take him out. If we blow our load too early, we’re just risking our own lives needlessly.” I look at Earl. “I hate to say this, brother, but I think you ought to stick with the man a little longer. Cole and I will regroup with the others and get far away from here. You stay by David’s side. Cultivate his trust. And try to figure out if he has any weaknesses.”

  Earl yawns. “I mean, that’s what I was doing already. So, yeah, I can do that. I don’t mind the man, honestly. He’s an evil shit but he’s also decent company. A lot more personable than you’d expect.” He eyes Cole. “And more pleasant than some others I know.”

  Cole scowls. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Likewise, pal.”

  I hold up my hands. “Alright. We’ll be on our way, then. Earl—take care of yourself, okay? We’ll see each other again. Hopefully soon.”

  Earl nods. “Don’t get yourself killed, Jack. You and I were together at the very start of this. As far as I’m concerned, that makes us brothers. From the beginning to the end.”

  I grasp Earl’s hand. “Brothers,” I agree.

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  #

  A little later, Cole and I meet up with the others and fill them in. A bunch of them are pissed off that we’ve returned mostly empty-handed, but when they hear that David is close, that he’s beyond the walls, they’re more than happy to start moving again. And so we do. And soon the sun is setting and it’s time to set up camp again, which we do in a small clearing of oak trees.

  One of the guys, Jason, goes hunting. Supposedly, he used to hunt a lot and is a monster with a bow. This, he proves to us when he returns less than an hour later with a deer slung over one shoulder, a triumphant grin written across his face. That night, we all love Jason. Throwing caution to the wind, we light a big fire and eat plentiful amounts of deer, sitting in a tight circle and telling stories about our former lives.

  We have a few ex-military folk, as it turns out, as well as an FBI agent, a Ukrainian heavyweight boxer, and two Brazilian brothers who don’t talk much, and certainly not at all about their backgrounds. But they’re both heavily tattooed, speak no English, and constantly wear mean expressions, leaving me to guess that they’re likely gangsters.

  It’s an odd assortment of people, and as the night progresses, I get to know a little bit about all of them. Nikolai, the Ukrainian, tells us in broken English about how he’d volunteered for the war two years ago, about how, since then, he’d been fighting in trenches reminiscent of the First World War—until, a little more than a week ago, he’d been dragged through a portal and thrown into this place. I like Nikolai. It’s clear that he’s seen some shit, yet when he speaks, he’s relentlessly positive.

  Then there’s Adrian, the FBI agent, who’s painfully vague about what his job had actually been, as though, even here, with his world turned upside down, he still very much cares about adhering to whatever NDA’s he’d signed. He’s an odd one. Quiet. His every word is measured. I can tell he doesn’t like the Brazilians, Gilbert and Alexandre, that he doesn’t trust them one bit.

  At one point, I sit next to the brothers and introduce myself. I speak a decent amount of Portuguese—I spent two years living in Rio focusing on my BJJ. It’s the only linguistic accolade I possess.

  “Tell me about yourselves,” I say.

  They exchange a look, clearly not expecting me to actually speak to them. Alexandre says, “See that guy?” And he points at Adrian. “Tell him to quit looking at us like that. Or I’ll slit his fucking throat.”

  “No,” I say pleasantly, “you won’t. Because we’re not going to be like that. We take care of each other.” I lean in. “There are currently over nine million contestants in this game that would gladly slit his throat for you. And your throats too, for that matter.”

  They don’t have much to say to me after that.

  In the morning, we set out for the Spire.

  We immediately get lucky when we come across a well. We fetch water with the bucket and drink so much that our bellies ache. We fill our canteens, our moods boosted, everyone smiling, laughing, like we’re not contestants in a game that’s going to end with all of us except one dead. For just a little, as we crowd around the well before the blazing sun, the sky perfectly pleasant and clear, we’re happy. Even Alexandre and Gilbert are joking with each other in Portuguese.

  But something pulls at the edge of my awareness. A discomfort. I stare at the well. It makes sense, I suppose, that the people who constructed the level would have these scattered about. After all, I highly doubt that vast swathes of contestants dying from dehydration and starvation is going to provide the trillion views of the Celestan Empire all that much entertainment.

  Even still, something is bothering me.

  Cole and Mary are sitting beneath a sycamore. Before us, grassy hills and fields stretch off into the distance. I can see a very faint shape outlined against the horizon—perhaps the Spire. At least, I hope it is. Maybe it’s too much to hope for, but if we can get our hands on the Dragon Stone, maybe we’ll have a chance.

  Of course, there are problems with that—such as who amongst us will be the one to control it. Cole, I know, will want to get his hands on it first. But so do I. I have a feeling that, when we reach the Stone, one of us is going to die.

  And it’s going to have to be him.

  But that’s not something I want to think about yet. I tell myself that we’ll get closer and then, once I know for sure that we’re approaching the Stone, I’ll figure out a plan.

  We’re getting ready to set off when, abruptly, my stomach cramps.

  I let out a low groan. Sweat drips into my eyes. My heart is beating hard and fast. The water, I immediately think.

  Something is wrong with the water.

  I look up. Elizabeth is looking right back at me, also holding her stomach. And now I see Adrian sitting down, grunting. Mary, looking very uncomfortable, is spitting out water—but it’s too late. Of course it’s too late. We’ve all already filled our bellies with the stuff. We’ve drunk so much water that we’re fucked, every single one of us.

  Despair sweeps over me. Stupid. Absolutely stupid. A well, out in the open, in a game like this—and we trusted it so blindly.

  Maybe the Celestans had put it there for us to use, to help keep us alive.

  But that doesn’t mean another contestant hasn’t come along and poisoned it.

  I close my eyes. Such a stupid way to die.

  Another awful cramp seizes me. I bend over and vomit. I see I’m not the first to do so. All around the well, the members of our group are being violently ill.

  I tell myself, even as the cramps get worse, as I throw up more and more, that we’re going to be fine. We’re sick, yes, but all we need to do is find a place to hide and wait out whatever is currently wrecking our intestines.

  Assuming, of course, that the poison or the illness or whatever it is isn’t lethal.

  But then I hear voices.

  Figures begin to emerge from all around us, stepping out from behind trees.

  Dozens of them.

  Humans, but they don’t look friendly. Far from it, in fact.

  They draw their weapons and advance, ready to finish us off.

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