The white room appears. I promptly slip and fall on my ass. Blood. The nice white floor is covered in blood, bright and red and fresh. Uh, weird. Peering back down the hallway, Dean Hannah's arm still rests quietly in the distance. This is definitely my white room, but where did all this blood come from?

  “It's yours, Competitor. When last we were here, your body was a shattered ruin. You had fewer intact bones than broken ones, and your stomach was open and actively—”

  “Okay, things like this?” I cut in, trying to shove the images Kora just evoked straight into the deep, dark corner of my brain where I put the sequel trilogy. “Too. Much. Detail. This is a time when you could have just said ‘it's yours’ and moved on.”

  “You are a strange being, Competitor.”

  “I don't think that's true, honestly,” I say, clambering to my feet. “Most of us are pretty cool not oversharing.”

  Congratulations, Competitor Foreman! You are one of 721,398 human Competitors who survived the final Proving! You can count yourself among 9,821,401 surviving Competitors for the Tournament itself! Well done!

  So we weren't the only ones who suffered in the Provings. We lost nearly 300,000 people, but the death toll all told was a significant chunk over two million spread across the sentient species competing. More than our share, but…

  My vision blurs. I taste salt. Three hundred thousand people. In… minutes? Hours? How much time has actually passed?

  I try to focus on that problem rather than the number still wavering in front of my vision. The transport to the white room and failing to pick a weapon lasted maybe ten minutes. The lion was quick, then the Boon, then Cuddles… an hour? Maybe? It feels like a lifetime.

  God, my dad is probably still wondering where I went. He might not even have left the auditorium yet. I can see him perfectly, voice cracking with desperation, demanding to know what they've done with his daughter. And Nolan… what does he think? He can't understand. I guess no one can, unless they made some sort of announcement back home. Will they ever know what happens to me? If I die in some fight on a floating island, or on the slopes of an icy mountain, will they ever know? Will it matter?

  I bite my lip to hold in a sob.

  Reward: You have gained access to your soul summary! You may now choose from a selection of Classes that have been cultivated according to your strengths, weaknesses, and fighting style. If you find that your selections are not to your liking, you are able to request another three options. That can be done once, and previous selections will no longer be available. Due to your achievements, your Class choices have been upgraded!

  The blue circles blink into being. Two of the symbols make some sort of logical sense: the rightmost circle details a figure lunging with a sword in hand, though it gives the impression the ground is… above them. The middle shows the upper body of someone with a mask tilted off their face to reveal a knowing grin. The left, though, depicts a strange insect looking creature with at least six arms. There might even be an arm growing out of the figure’s head.

  “Don't worry about the time for this decision. Now that you have Proven worthy of the Tournament, the whole process will slow.”

  Good to know. I’m about over every decision being timed like I’m running a race and I’m losing.

  “First, let’s look at your soul summary.”

  How do I do that?

  “Focus on it as you do Identification.”

  Name: Sam Foreman

  Race: Human (Common)

  Class: None

  Level: 1

  Class Evolutions: N/A

  Statistics

  Strength: 2

  Agility: 4

  Toughness: 3 (Boost Pending)

  Intelligence: 8

  Will: 10 (Boost Pending)

  Charisma: 5

  Skills:

  Identification (Legendary, Evolutions: 4)

  Perception (Legendary, Evolutions: 4)

  Soul Expression (Common, Evolution Pending)

  Boons:

  Ravenous Soul (Legendary)

  Psychic Telos (Legendary)

  What does any of this mean? I’m not in a game, right?

  “You are not. The Twelve have determined that sentient species are best able to channel their soul’s physical and magical potential if given quantifiable measures. The mysteries of how souls truly build and grow is beyond even the most enriched philosophers of the Twelve. Suffice to say, these measurements are a roughly accurate depiction of your capabilities compared to the rest of the sentient species.”

  I have a funny feeling I don’t want to know what average is.

  “Five.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  God damn it, Kora.

  “At least your Intelligence and Will are significantly above average. Your strength, as I’ve indicated, is near the bottom of the possible scores in the entire Twelve. I have Mentored many Competitors, and I’ve never seen one quite so—”

  Kora.

  “Right. Intelligence and Will.”

  Most of them are pretty intuitive, I guess. Strength is obvious, as is Agility and Toughness. Intelligence is probably reasoning and extrapolation and the like. But Will? Charisma?

  “Will is a measurement of your control over yourself and, as you grow, your ability to impose that control over the world. It is an important attribute for any who wish to grow in a Magical Class. Charisma is your ability to lead and garner followers, in all their various forms.”

  And the boost pending part?

  “As your soul grows and experiences alter your body and mind, your attributes will change. Most often, they will grow as you gain in strength and experience, but circumstances could lead to a reduction as well. If that stone lion had managed to rip your face into shreds and expose your skull to the atmosphere, your Charisma would have inevitably declined.”

  Sigh. Thanks, again, for the image. Last question for now. Why Classes? Shouldn’t we just be, I don’t know, doing our best to get better?

  “And what does that mean? Getting better?” I don’t have a real answer, especially when the best thing my brain can come up with is a dudebro slamming weights at the gym. A place I’ve only seen in videos. “That is precisely the issue. Your breathtaking ignorance would only lead to immediate and inconsequential death, which is compelling neither to you nor to the Twelve.”

  Compelling. Not exactly the word I’d use…

  “The Classes serve as an initial path to guide your mind and body into intentional uses of the energy your soul gathers, either from experiential growth or through absorbing the untethered souls of your fallen foes. You will have the ability to utilize your soul energy in meaningful ways through your Class. Now, let’s see what you have been offered.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I focus on the first image.

  Identification: Insect God (Evolution Class, Mythic)

  An Insect God gains the evolutionary adaptability of insects across the Twelve Worlds. Every challenge will provoke a new adaptation that will make you better able to tackle the next. The limitless potential of the Insect God Class is only inhibited by the creativity and will of the soul possessing it.

  Strengths: None (Unlimited Potential)

  Weaknesses: None (Unlimited Potential)

  “By the Twelve,” Kora whispers in awe. “A Mythic Class. I don’t know what the other options are, but we should probably choose this one.”

  We haven’t even seen the others yet.

  “And I’ve never seen a Mythic class. Unlimited potential is rare on the magnitude of black hole survival.”

  Okay, sure. That sounds really great, I guess. But let’s look at the others first, okay?

  “Very well.”

  I turn my focus to the symbol of the partially masked figure.

  Identification: Faceless Deceiver (Magical Class, Rare)

  A Faceless Deceiver gains the ability to adopt the persona of any living creature she can accurately imagine. At later levels, she gains some of the physical attributes and martial or magical ability of the adopted persona. This Class requires forethought and empathy on the part of the soul possessing it to reach its full potential.

  Strengths: Charisma (Adaptability)

  Weaknesses: Strength, Agility, Toughness

  Being offered this Class makes me feel a bit strange. I guess I'm feeling ‘uncomfortably seen.’ Molly always said that the whole mask thing isn’t a personality trait, but something I crafted as a coping mechanism. Seeing this… was she wrong? If the gods can see into who we are at our core, is this Class the best representation of me? It doesn't feel like it, not really, but maybe, and that's a maybe I'm not totally comfortable with.

  Kora doesn't comment. It's still a little hard to tell how much she really gets of my thoughts. It's something between everything and most things.

  “The latter. Much of what I read is emotion and surface intention, though clear thoughts come through quite strongly.” She pauses, but continues when I don't answer. “There is value in this Class. It would make you extraordinarily adaptable, though never as powerful as you could be.”

  I don't think this option is going to work. I don't know why, but…

  “Let's see the final choice.”

  Identification: Weightless Duelist (Martial Class, Legendary)

  A martial duelist gains proficiency in dueling weapons and the ability to change how gravity impacts their own personal space. Known for acrobatic feats and impossible attacks beyond anything physics would normally allow, Competitors with this class rely on Agility and Will to power them to victory.

  Strengths: Agility, Will

  Weaknesses: Toughness

  “This may be it!” Kora says excitedly. “Though I am loath to abandon a Mythic Class, this Class fits our circumstances perfectly. I can train you in the art of the sword, and your innate connection to gravitational forces will only aid our ascent!”

  Hold your horses. There's something I've been picking up on when you talk. You’re pretty confident of your abilities, and of your ability to teach them to me. Yes?

  “Yes, naturally. I was a Finalist myself, and I have Mentored a dozen more.”

  Sure, sure. I'm super lucky to have you, and that wasn't sarcasm. You've saved my life three times now, and I imagine most of the Mentors aren't quite so capable. So let me ask you: what's in it for you guys?

  She's silent for a moment, and her reluctance to answer is practically oozing through the space in my mind where she… lives? Exists? Okay, that's a weird thought. Don't particularly want to go down that exact line of questioning. Questions like where Kora is, how is she communicating with me, and… Yeah, it's just oozing. The reluctance. From somewhere.

  “If we Mentor the victor, there is great prestige,” she says slowly.

  That’s a lie, my girl. Or a half truth.

  “Yes, it is.” She is silent for another long beat. “We get to… we get to ascend.”

  “Like, heaven?” I ask, surprised enough I say it out loud.

  “The species who wins the Tournament ascends to another plane of existence, which, yes, would be vaguely analogous to Earth’s version of heaven. But, if your species doesn't win, Finalists still have a chance to ascend if they Mentor a champion.”

  “Alone?” Of course, alone. What kind of inane question is that?

  “Yes. But it is all I… we… have.”

  That's pretty fucked up. They wipe out everyone you've ever known and then make you watch it happen over and over to other species? And your only reward is to go to heaven by your fucking self? Do they make you forget or something? Because I don't think I could do it.

  “No. I have not forgotten.”

  There's no response to that. I want to keep asking questions, but there's no way I'd want someone to keep prying at my existential trauma. If she wants to talk to me about it, that's on her. The more I learn about this tournament, the more I want to find these gods and strangle them. As absurd as the thought is.

  “So, uh, Classes,” I say awkwardly. “I'm with you, at least part of the way, on the swordy one. I’m not going to become a bug, even if it's supposed to be best. I bet Dickhead knew that and offered me this crazy crap on purpose. And the masky one feels…”

  I trail off as a fourth blue circle blinks into being. What the hell? A fourth choice?

  Reward! “Confidently idiotic or idiotically confident!” For surviving the Provings without choosing a weapon or possessing a scrap of martial skill.

  Addendum! Never say I don't honor my word. Even to insects.