Dane fidgeted with the small hatchet the test proctor gave him. It was dulled for the show events later, but the trials that preceded them were very real and deadly. He looked down and saw the number 20 painted in white on the stone floor.

  His Father never liked watching sports. Said it was a waste of time when they could be training. He always wanted to see the Cowboys play, but knew better than to push his luck. His mind wandered to thoughts of whether his father was still alive. If anyone was built for the apocalypse, it was him. Daniel McAllister was mean, rugged, and always prepared.

  He'd spent his youth on a ranch raising cattle with Dane's grandfather. Never spoke fondly of it, though. And he always shut down when people asked him the kind of questions naive kids ask about the military. Dane remembered that glazed-over look he got when his friends would ask if he'd ever killed someone. Most of what he knew came from his mother before she left. His dad joined the military right after turning eighteen and cut all ties with that part of the family, so Dane didn't know much about them.

  Daniel McAllister – Tutorial, Unknown Realm

  Blood dripped into Dan’s eyes, hot and sticky, matting his graying hair to his forehead. He didn’t wipe it away. There was no time. Not anymore.

  He stood at the edge of the shattered field, breath ragged, hammer slick in his grip. Behind him, the last dozen survivors from his team struggled to stay on their feet. They were kids, most of them were young, scared, and not built for this kind of war. But they'd followed him anyway. Through the trials. Through the mud. Through the blood.

  He still remembered the taste of apple-flavored whiskey. One minute, he was putting the kids to bed back on Earth, thinking he’d earned a quiet night in his rocking chair. The next, he woke up with sand in his mouth, strangers at his side, and some smug metal bastard with one eye telling him he’d been chosen. A Champion, whatever the hell that meant.

  He used to laugh at games like this. Watched the younger guys in his unit obsess over skill trees and power rankings as if it were gospel. Now, here he was living it. A world that ran on XP and tiers, like God had outsourced to an algorithm.

  The viper loomed ahead. Thirty feet of coiled muscle and scaled fury, its body shimmering with corrupted energy. A B-rank beast. Dan had only just hit C. First Earthbound to do it, they said. Got a shiny title and everything. It did him no good now.

  He tightened his grip on the hammer. He’d traded his guns for it on the first night, thinking he needed something with weight. 'Bullets would probably just bounce off the scales anyway,' he thought. The snake lashed out.

  Pain exploded through his side as its fangs sank in, the hammer slipped from his fingers, falling with a dull clank to the dirt. He hit the ground hard. The breath left his lungs. The world narrowed.

  This was it.

  He’d failed.

  Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, swallowing light, swallowing thought. And then...

  [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

  Would you like to name a successor? Y/N

  A broken laugh rasped past his lips. Of course. Even dying came with a prompt.

  “It’s your turn, kiddo,” Dan whispered.

  A viewport opened, flickering to life in the corner of his eye. He saw him.

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  Older now. Almost a man. Taller than Dan remembered, stronger too. He was marching in line with a guard walking beside him. Dane was unaware of the blood-soaked image watching from afar.

  Dan blinked, and a tear slipped free. He almost forgot.

  “Happy birthday, son.”

  Then everything went black.

  **Dane McAllister – Combat Test, Proving Grounds

  "Number 605, come to the stand to start your match."

  Dane stepped into the center of the field. Twenty feet away stood a stone platform and an iron cage. As he reached the disk, it lit up with a blue glow. Inside the cage, two yellow eyes stared at him through slitted, feral eyes, likely those of a wild cat. They paced restlessly.

  The gate clicked. The crowd erupted in cheers. He tightened his grip on the faux-leather handle of the borrowed ax. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose. The bars clanged open. Shadows spilled from the cage, swallowing the arena in darkness.

  Dane lost sight of the creature, and the shadows distorted his hearing. He heard footsteps behind him, but claws raked at his chest. It was like being underwater. Every sound reverberated, and it was impossible to know if the creature was in front, behind, or beside him.

  Another swipe hit his back, knocking him to one knee. He knew that he had to get up. Give a monster your neck, and it'll always take the kill. This had to be a shadow cat. He remembered the entry in the bestiary. Below level five, they could only maintain the shadow field for ten minutes.

  Plenty of time to tear him apart. He moved. Instinct took over. The hairs on his neck rose. He swung hard to the left and heard a furious yowl as the blunt ax bit into the monster. For a split second, the shadows peeled back. The ax was buried in the cat's hind leg. It stared at him, burning with hatred. Then the darkness surged again.

  "Great job, Dane, you just pissed it off," He muttered.

  More bristling. This time, on his left arm. So he rolled to the right. A blur passed where he had just stood.

  New passive skill unlocked: Danger Sense.

  "Hey, System, can you explain the skill? I can't stop to read it."

  "No."

  "What do you mean, no?"

  "My name isn't System anymore."

  "Fine. Babysitter, can you read me new skill descriptions during combat?"

  "Sure thing, Dane."

  "...Are you going to tell me what Danger Sense does?"

  "Danger Sense (Rare) is a passive skill that scales with Dexterity and Willpower. Your hair will bristle in areas under imminent threat. Note: This only works for physical attacks that can be dodged or blocked."

  "Thanks."

  A Spidey sense. Awesome. Except... "can be dodged" was the catch. The cat moved in closer. One strike tore open his neck.

  "Babysitter, what's my HP?"

  "2 out of 10."

  One more hit and he was done.

  But just as Dane was about to give up, the shadows began to recede. The cat was now barely visible. It lunged. He sidestepped and swung upward. His axe cleaved through its middle. Its torso and legs landed on either side of him. Dane's body felt weightless. The crowd roared. Then he fell forward with one more HP missing from the blood loss.

  When he woke, he was sore everywhere. But his body was completely mark-free. He tried to sit up, but was pushed gently back down by a beautiful elf with glowing yellow hands. She chanted in the mage's tongue, the language spellcasters learned only after they awakened their mana.

  "Can I sit up now?" He asked.

  "No. You'll reopen your stomach wound. I sutured it temporarily so I could focus on more life-threatening injuries," she said.

  "What's your name? I'd like to know who saved my life."

  "Marjorie," she said coldly. "And you don't owe me your life. I'm just doing my job. Why else would I waste my time on a casteless Earthbound like you?"

  "Not the angel I thought I'd woken up to."

  "What was that?" she snapped.

  "I just said that without your help, I wouldn't have woken up. Thank you."

  "Try to get up again and you'll tear your stitches," she warned.

  "I'll take my chances," He said, rising. Dane left the med bay and searched for his pack near the coliseum entrance.

  It was trampled, and his health potion was destroyed, and the hilt was gone. He clenched his fists, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He squeezed the remaining liquid into his mouth, ringing the raggity leather pack out for every last drop. It burned all the way down.

  Babysitter: HP restored to 8/10.

  "Babysitter, can I have a visual of my resource pools in my vision?"

  "Of course, Dane."

  Health, mana, and stamina appeared in the top right corner of his view.

  "I should probably ask others how they set up their HUDs... when I get the chance," he muttered.