19

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,173,945

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 52 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 491,204

  In the few, brief moments during which I’d been distracted by the bed, Cole has wandered off into one of the other rooms. I’m not surprised by this—I expect him to slip off when he can, to be sneaky, to be on the lookout for something, anything, that might give him an advantage.

  Instead, it seems like he’s found trouble. Go figure.

  I burst into the next room, sliding into a fighting stance, fists up, taking long, deep breaths in order to calm myself and my racing heart—although even still, adrenaline is already shooting through me, and at my very center, the rage is slowly heating up.

  The room I now found myself in is clearly a study, with all sorts of strange, archaic instruments lying around. I recognize an astrolabe, only because I remember watching some historical drama that had one in a scene. There’s an immense desk covered in random papers, and several high bookshelves absolutely stuffed with dusty tomes.

  And then there’s Cole, sword drawn and held up in a defensive position.

  A few feet away from him is an elf.

  The elf is almost seven feet tall, a slim, yet graceful giant. He’s clad in strange, elegant armor that glimmers like it’s made out of pure crystal. His hair is long, blond, and flows around his shoulders. He has a sword in hand, long, slightly curved, and his eyes are fixated on Cole. The two are circling each other, neither willing to be the first to strike.

  “Ah, a friend,” says the elf, scowling at me.

  At first, I’m shocked that it can speak English—until, a moment later, I remember what Loki had told me about the arena and its ability to automatically translate languages, a fact which I’m suddenly grateful for, because maybe we still have a chance to de-escalate.

  Assuming that I even want to de-escalate. It’s difficult not to see encounters like this as an opportunity to level up. But I hate that. Hate the idea of viewing real, living beings as nothing more than stepping stones on the path of my own ascension.

  “This doesn’t have to end in blood,” I say, slowly stepping forward, hands up. Unarmed as far as the elf can tell, assuming he doesn’t realize that my fists are my weapons.

  The elf smiles at us. “Doesn’t it? But, my friends, that’s exactly why we’re here. To spill blood. And so…shall we get to it?”

  “Wait, wait!” I say. “Listen. Eventually, yeah, we’re going to have to deal with each other. But we don’t have to fight now. Five million people get to move on to level two—”

  “Oh, quit it, Jack,” Cole says, not taking his eyes off the elf. “The bastard wants to fight, so let’s just fight. Means another level for us.”

  The elf laughs. “So confident. So foolish.” He steps forward, twirling his sword around. It moves through the air so fast that the blade becomes a silver blur. He raises his other hand, his free hand, and a small ball of blue fire appears cupped in his palm. “The two of you aren’t the first humans I’ve come across. All of you are so…so arrogant. I don’t know what it is—something to do with the human spirit. Something that refuses to know its place in the universe.” And then, without warning, the elf threw the ball of blue light straight at Cole.

  Cole tries to get out of the way—but he’s too slow. The ball explodes against his right shoulder. There’s a brilliant flash of light, like lightning contained within the room, and then Cole is flying backward. He slams into the stone wall behind him, an oof as the air is knocked from his lungs. Blood trickles out of his nose. His eyes roll around, glassy and dazed, as he tries, and fails, to get back to his feet.

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  Leaving me alone against the elf, who now advances with his sword held low.

  “Drop to your knees,” the elf hisses, “and I’ll make it quick and clean. A slice across the throat. You’ll be dead in seconds. No pain. Or almost no pain. Fight back, however, and—”

  I lunge forward while the bastard is still talking, shooting in for a takedown.

  The elf, however, is even faster, and reacts by darting back and slicing down with his sword.

  I bail on the takedown and try to retreat, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the sword from slicing across my arm. I wince, glancing at the long, red wound as it oozes fresh blood.

  I have a bad feeling about the outcome of this fight.

  Cole is standing now, swaying slightly from side to side. I know a concussion when I see one. Possibly he’s broken a bone or two as well. My instincts tell me that he’d been hit with enough force to instantly kill a normal human—our levels are providing us with extra endurance, a resilience to wounds and injury that scales with our increasing power.

  “Before you kill me,” I say calmly, stepping back, “I want to ask you a question.”

  The elf, not falling for my desperate attempt to buy myself more time, prowls toward me, closing the distance. “Ask your final question.”

  “What are you?”

  “We are the Aeln,” he says calmly, sword rising, eyes following my every movement. “The children of long-gone gods. Ancient. Proud. Powerful.”

  “And now forced to fight for the amusement of an even greater force.”

  “Ha!” The elf grins at me. “Are you trying to make me angry, little human?”

  “I’m curious.” I glance at Cole, who has regained enough composure to appear at my side.

  Another ball of blue light appears in the elf’s hand. I have a feeling this one is coming for me.

  I won’t let it.

  I run at the elf, and Cole, his mind clear enough to know now is the time to strike, follows right behind.

  A lot of things happen all at once.

  The Aeln whips at me with his sword, a fast, vicious flick of the wrist. It cuts through my chest, digging deep, scraping across bone. I realize that I’ve made a mistake, a profound miscalculation that will result in our deaths. Adrenaline floods me. My heart spasms. Cole twists his ring and an immense tongue of fire sprays outward, but the air flickers around the Aeln, the ghost of a shimmering blue forcefield that disperses the fire across its surface. I see the shock written plainly across Cole, as well as the despair; that’d been his last, desperate gambit, the ace up his sleeve. Now he, too, is realizing that we’re fucked.

  So, I turn around, and I try to run.

  I slip, stagger, spilling blood all over the place. Thinking of Sarah. Conjuring her face in my mind. Because, I tell myself, I can’t win this fight, but maybe I can escape, maybe I can survive to fight another day—for her.

  The Aeln is laughing as he dances after us. Cole is running as well. We crash back into the bedroom, trailing blood, knocking furniture over in our wake. The door looms up ahead. I need to make it through, no matter the cost—and that, I tell myself, means slamming it shut and locking it on Cole. To buy myself a little more time. I hate the thought—but what other choice do I have?

  There’s a flicker of blue light. The door slams shut of its own accord.

  And locks from the outside.

  The Aeln laughs again. I come to a sudden stop, mouth dry, heart thundering.

  We’re done.

  “I’ll do anything,” I say, hands raised. “Let me go. I’ll give you everything I have.”

  The Aeln shakes his head. “Begging is pathetic. And far below even you. Besides, the one thing I want cannot be taken without also taking your life.” He twirls the sword. “So. It’s time now.”

  I let out a breath. I tried. No one can say otherwise.

  And I’ll keep trying, even if it’s doomed. That’s just who I am.

  One of my worst MMA losses was against a guy I should’ve beaten easily. He was a last minute placement. I was such a heavy favorite over him that even I started to believe he was no threat to me. And then he beat the piss out of me for five long, bloody rounds, twenty-five minutes of pain and misery. He shattered my nose in the first minute. Call it luck, call it skill, whatever, I could hardly breathe through all that blood. I shattered a hand in the next round and took so many kicks to my lead leg I could hardly walk. At the time, while it was all happening, I knew I was fucked.

  But I kept going. Kept throwing back, right until the buzzer. And at the very, very end, it was me walking that motherfucker down, it was me stalking him—and I rocked him in the final minute.

  Still lost, but I never gave up.

  That’s just who I am.

  I’m a stubborn bastard. Sarah always said so.

  “Hey, look over here, you damned twink,” a Texan voice drawls.

  The Aeln spins around. I hear a click, then a thwack.

  A heavy crossbow bolt thuds into the Aeln’s chest and tears out through his back. Blood splashes across my face.

  The Aeln grunts, surges forward at whoever’s just shot him, but I leap forward and grab him from behind, hauling him back, and at that moment see Earl, grinning, wearing a stetson, and wielding the heaviest, meanest looking crossbow I’ve ever seen in my life.

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