Threenut wakes me up after a few hours, and I take over for the second half of the ‘night.’ It is uneventful. Boring. The only sign of life between the deepest violet of night and the brightening lilac of morning is the passing of a few of the Goenta squirrel things. They skitter by, eyeing me warily as they dance among the branches. Seeing them running, free and happy, I do feel a stab of guilt, remembering what I did to their cousin.

  It makes me wonder how big this arena really is. It’s been two or three days, as the purple changes, but I’ve only encountered two other Competitors in all that time. With 68,000 Competitors, you’d figure I’d have at least seen or heard something with my supernatural senses. Maybe Zombieman killed a whole bunch of people in this area before we got here, so we never got the chance to naturally encounter any of them. I mean, the bastard was level 24.

  “It is a high number, but not absurdly so for this stage in the tournament. There are always leaders who make names for themselves with early success.”

  Names? What, like ‘The Slasher’ or ‘The Vaporizer’ or something like that?

  “Yes.”

  That sounds almost like… who’s watching this other than the gods? Are there spectators?

  “When a Competitor wins a Tournament, their species ascends. Though I have heard the paradise transcending this reality is sublime, all of the Ascended gather to witness the next Tournament and welcome the species who will join them in the afterlife.”

  There’s betting, isn’t there?

  “I’m not entirely sure, as I’ve not experienced the upper realm.”

  There’s definitely betting. What even is the currency in the afterlife?

  “Again, I haven’t—”

  Yeah, I get it. Do they have any other impact? Can they influence the tournament?

  “Not directly. But, should we survive long enough, some will be granted the right to speak to you. If we get that opportunity, and any of the Ascended judge you worthy of conversation, it would be wise to heed their words.”

  I hope they name the bony Zombieman ‘Assless the Murderhobo’ or something stupid. Even with his fancy title and all that shit, he ambushed a bunch of people just trying to do the Stairmaster.

  “You have not done poorly yourself, Competitor. We should check our progress.”

  Our progress…? Oh. With a mental flick, I draw up my stat sheet.

  Name: Sam Foreman

  Race: Human (Common)

  Class: Singularity (Unique)

  Level: 12

  Class Evolutions: N/A

  Soul Energy: 143

  Statistics

  Strength: 2

  Agility: 4

  Toughness: 6

  Intelligence: 8

  Will: 12

  Charisma: 6

  Skills:

  Identification (Legendary, Evolutions: 4)

  Perception (Legendary, Evolutions: 4)

  Soul Expression, Gravity Aspected (Uncommon, Evolutions: 1)

  Weaken Gravity (Rare, Evolutions: 1)

  Strengthen Gravity (Rare, Evolutions: 1)

  Gravity Shift (Unique)

  Boons:

  Ravenous Soul (Legendary)

  Psychic Telos (Legendary)

  Artifacts:

  Deity’s Bauble (Rare Artifact, Toy)

  The Slippers of Queen Elia, the Bounding Princess of Thellin (Rare Artifact, Equipment)

  Level 12? That seems like a big jump. What did I really do? Make it so I can pick a target with two of my abilities?

  “Do not make light of Evolution. Your soul energy capacity has also risen precipitously.”

  I turn towards Threenut, who snores blithely in the center of the path.

  Identification: Threenut, Otachai Warrior

  Level: 11

  Strengths: Strength, Agility

  Weaknesses: Will

  The Otachai are the Competitor species of the Seventh. Known for their tenacious and fearless hearts, they defend their pride and honor with terrible and extraordinary valor.

  I passed him. Interesting. You know, I just noticed how hyperbolic that description is. ‘Terrible and extraordinary valor?’ Threenut’s great, and he’s brave, but terrible and extraordinary? I think I can gather exactly who wrote the description of his Competitor species…

  The sky brightens enough for everything to grow perfectly distinct, and I call out to Threenut. He rolls to his feet, dog stick at the ready. He gives me a nod, his brilliant eyes solemn. I smile and wave to the waiting path. I almost don’t want to think the thought, because it feels like begging the universe for a problem, but it feels like things have started to look up. Threenut turned out to be trustworthy, I’m getting a handle on my abilities, and I survived a fight that probably should have resulted in my fourth or fifth death already.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Karma is really working overtime to make up for the shit hand it dealt me earlier in life.

  After about an hour of walking through the endless trees, sticking to the left fork at every opportunity, a muffled whump, felt more than heard, echoes from ahead. There is a scream, a clash of arms. Threenut and I exchange questioning glances. I give him a shrug, and he nods, slowing our pace. If we were the assholeish types, we’d be excited to get in on this action, third partying the hell out of some random skirmish. But we aren’t, and we don’t.

  The sounds continue for a few minutes, explosions and tortured metal intermixed with what sounds like panicked voices and bellowed commands. Eventually, the noises subside, but Threenut and I wait for a few minutes before we pick our way warily ahead. The path doesn’t deviate or fork before a clearing opens up ahead. The trees fall away to either side, yet grow closer and denser at the same time. Probably some kind of arena…

  Challenge! This is a severe Combat Challenge! Your goal is to survive against a challenging adversary. Victory conditions include surviving the required duration or, with uncommon skill or strength, defeating your enemy.

  Addendum! As there are two Competitors working in concert to overcome this Challenge, adversary quality has been upgraded.

  I frown at the words of the Challenge. They don't sound like something Dickhead would say. More of an automated message. I guess that isn’t particularly surprising. The gods must have expected some of us to work together at least.

  “Generally, peoples of the same species,” Kora returns drily.

  Fair.

  “On your toes, Competitor.”

  We don’t have time for more. The trees disappear behind another wall of white. Clean light glows into being from nowhere, shining down into the center of the clearing. Something begins to take shape inside of it, something thin but growing wider by the second. Threenut drops into a fighting crouch. He looks ready for anything, like he could guard or dodge or spring in an instant.

  Frowning, I let my arms flap a bit in the air. I have no idea how to fight. If humanity depended on me throwing a halfway decent punch, I’d put the odds somewhere between probable and certain that extinction would shortly follow my attempt. The light keeps growing, though, so I at least back away until my back comes into contact with the barrier bordering the arena.

  The light takes on a vaguely humanoid silhouette, resolving into armored ridges and darkening into black and gray metal. Twelve feet tall if an inch, the light finally dies to reveal a suit of armor straight out of a demon’s dream of what hell should be. Horrible ice blue eyes ignite in a helmet stylized after some exotic skull. The titanic creature twists its head with unnatural precision, then draws a sword taller than I am from a sheath on its hip. That armor, that sword, the runes carved in glowing light… it all looks remarkably like…

  Identification: Iskari Warbreaker

  Level: 41

  Strengths: Strength, Agility, Toughness

  Weaknesses: Intelligence

  The Iskari Empire was rarely challenged in the latter eras of Ekinor history, and their Warbreakers were a significant reason why. Crafted of necromantic energy and the best parts of their strongest warriors, these constructs were the Empire’s solution to rebellion. The only solution they needed.

  Holy shit. Level fucking what now?

  Addendum! Though it pains me to lose one of mine, he’s proven to be a traitor to his species anyway. He should have killed you when I asked him to.

  Asked him?

  “You spineless piece of shit,” I say aloud, acutely feeling the impervious barrier at my back. Threenut’s head snaps towards me, his eyes wide with fear. They’re not afraid enough. Not nearly enough. Not with what we’re facing. The familiar crystal blue appears in the edge of my vision, showing two minutes even. Another small eternity. Meeting Threenut’s glowing green gaze, I keep talking, gritting the words out between clenched teeth. “You’re punishing him for living up to the honor you made him with? You gutless bastard.”

  “You’re wasting time,” Kora snaps, her tone cracking like a whip. I blink and straighten unconsciously. “The Seventh has already been Censured for his actions against us. He wouldn’t dare step over the line so soon, especially not to target you. I’m sure he chose an enemy that pushed the allowed limits, but the Challenge was labeled ‘severe’ for a reason. Think. You don’t have to slay this foe. You merely have to survive.”

  The timer drops to 1:59. In the center of the glade, the construct’s ice blue eyes lock on Threenut. It crouches, then rockets forward, soil flying in an arc behind it. Threenut shifts aside an instant before the earth explodes beneath the titanic blade.

  God help me, nothing that big should be that fast. Hissing, Threenut skitters aside, holding his stick in one arm. The other flops limply at his side, noticeably paler than it was before. Some kind of death magic?

  “Cold. Even a near miss could stop your heart.”

  Grand. The construct recovers, turning with mechanical precision to follow the Otachai warrior. I’m not its focus, not yet at least, but if it gets Three, the remainder of my life will be short and painful. But what can I do? Level 41? I’d probably use half my soul just to hold it for an instant, if I can affect it at all.

  Kora, can you take control like you did with the lion? Help me dodge?

  “No. As I said before, your Psychic Telos rejects outside influence, even mine.”

  Any ideas, then?

  “Do your best to keep the rodent alive.”

  How?

  Shockwaves pummel my chest in rapid succession as the construct hammers the ground in a lethal whack-a-mole rhythm. Threenut stays just ahead of the blade, his face tight with concentration. Color seems to be returning to his arm, though it still dangles uselessly at his side. I throw a few tentative fields of purple light over the battle, widening and shrinking them to fit the chaotic melee, but not activating any Skill yet. I don’t know how much I can influence the Warbreaker, but it isn’t the only target in the arena. For now, though, Threenut’s agility matches the construct’s. Thirty seconds have already passed. The armored giant, however powerful, isn’t the brightest. If it’s going to continue pounding away at the uncaring earth, then maybe…

  The giant stops. Shifts its stance.

  Sam, you idiot. Why did you let that thought escape?

  The shimmering blue blade cuts across in a low sweep. Threenut leaps into a spinning flip, clearing it easily. Too easily. The giant steps forward, armored hand clenched into a fist larger than the Otachai. Caught in the air, unable to redirect his momentum, Threenut can only watch as the blow hurtles towards his chest.

  Gravity Shift.

  Strengthen Gravity.

  Like an invisible fishing hook catches in his chest, Threenut lurches sideways in midair. The giant’s fist crashes through the field, wholly unaffected by my power. The Otachai falls parallel to the ground for a dozen yards, picking up speed, form blurring. I cancel the effect, but… shit. I used too much power. He’s already built too much momentum. Now he’s just falling and racing towards the impervious white barrier of the arena.

  Weaken Gravity.

  He stops falling towards the ground, but he doesn’t really slow. Of course. Damn it. The force that accelerated him is not pointed in that direction any more. Think, Sam. If I Gravity Shift the other way, but Weaken, then maybe I can…

  Threenut spins in the air like a cat. He rolls with the impact, feet and hands pumping, bleeding momentum until he drops to the ground, unharmed. I blink, my desperate plan fading.

  I really have to remember how capable the little weasel is. I’ve seen him do a dozen absurd feats of strength and agility, but part of me can’t seem to overcome the human reflex to believe small things are adorable and helpless. If I—

  “‘Ware, Competitor!”

  I drop to the ground. Gracelessly. My back hits first, and the breath explodes from my lungs. An impression of glowing blue steel blurs across my vision. Cold. Impossible, immediate cold. My face stiffens, my skin aches. I feel snowflakes forming in my blood, feel my heart slow, shudder, stop…

  My soul explodes from the center of my chest. Heat overwhelms the cold. My entire body ignites, my skin a sea of pain.

  Nope. Nope. Dissociate. Focus on something else.

  Ah. My soul energy. Let’s watch it drop.

  It began the fight at 143. I used 42 of that to save Threenut. Now that Psychic Telos has kicked in—again—to save my life, we’ve reached 81 in short order. The number’s descent has slowed though. Probably because it saved my heart and organs first, then restored my veins, and now it is merely repairing frozen skin cells. Let’s guess. When the pain ends… 77? 75?

  71! Wow. More than I thought. But then again, isn’t skin supposed to be our largest organ?

  The lilac sky darkens. Twin flames of blue frame a blocky head. A sword, glowing even brighter, shines over its shoulder. Well, that can’t be good. To quote my best friend: crush me nuts.