When the prisoners stepped into the chamber—each carrying their own lantern—Edge knew he was screwed. Both men radiated vitality and vigor. The aura of potency that binding a core bestowed.

  The bigger man was deeply tanned and built like a bull. He was clearly a Power build, every inch of his body covered in dense, corded muscle. He looked strong enough to punch through a wall, or straight through Edge for that matter.

  He had a buzzcut and wore some kind of elastic armor that allowed for mobility in the joints. Like all prisoners on the planet, his left arm was covered in ink. The markings indicated the big man was a D-class criminal, the lowest designation a cored convict could have.

  The other man was tall and lean, as pale as his companion was dark. His wiry strength and agile movements suggested a heavy investment in Speed and Control. He was clad in leather and as graceful as a dancer, with tattoos revealing he was D-class too.

  Edge had the impression that the tall man was even more dangerous than the big man. Fast enough that Edge had no chance of darting past or outrunning him.

  Either man could kill him with both hands tied behind their backs, even if they didn’t use a single skill. They likely had several. He was certain that at their stages, they’d be packing something better than his rank-one Slash.

  There were accounts of uncored warriors defeating cored opponents, and he knew it was possible in theory. With sufficient preparation, firepower, or numbers, trained uncored could handle enemies that were still at stage one or two. None of which applied here.

  Edge was all alone, caught by surprise, and armed with a knife that barely qualified as a weapon. His only hope was to distract them long enough for the reliquary to unseal.

  They hadn’t spotted him yet, so he ducked back below the masonry. He knew if he made a single mistake past this point, he was dead. That he would most likely die even if he didn’t.

  But Edge wasn’t going down without a fight. Not with his prize so close at hand.

  He had to do something to buy more time. They were right that he had no chance of holding his own in a brawl. Not against two regular men, let alone a pair of cored jailbirds. His best bet was to make them hesitate. Keep them talking and pray that whatever was locked inside the reliquary was powerful enough to give him a fighting chance.

  “Don’t come any closer! The entire floor is covered with traps.” Edge’s first attempt bought him seven seconds.

  “Bullshit,” the tall man said. “That’s a transparent bluff. You don’t have the stats or the skills to detect even a Basic trap, let alone something that would stop us. It’s the only reason we followed your slow ass for this long to begin with. Just give up. You can’t talk your way out of this one, tourist.”

  “Please don’t do this. I won’t last another day out there if I can’t earn a few Credits. I’ll die if I give it to you.” Four and a half minutes to go.

  “Die tomorrow or die right now,” the big man replied. “Seems like an easy choice. Stop stalling and hand everything over, or I’ll make this slow instead of fast.”

  Reluctantly, Edge stepped away from the reliquary, raising his hands as he revealed himself. He kept his posture meek and his tone defeated. Like the treasure was already inside his pack, and he was preparing to surrender his claim.

  He sighed dramatically. “I give up. You can take everything. All I ask is that you let me leave with my life.”

  “Not so fast.” The tall man smirked. “How about we play a game instead? Two rounds, winner takes all. You’ll face each of us in the contest of our choice. If you win, you get the chest and your freedom. If we win, we take the box… and your life. Now that I’ve thought about it, I want it after all.”

  “Of course.” The big man broke into a predatory grin. “If you prefer, we can murder you now instead.” Edge could sense that he had to make this fun for them. That they would end his life the moment they grew bored.

  It was common for convicts to have sadistic tendencies. That was the kind of thing that got a person sentenced here in the first place. Most prisoners had several kills to their name as well, especially after arriving on Ord. As dangerous as this world was for tourists, the survival rate for its permanent residents was even worse.

  The combined result was that many of the killers here enjoyed playing with their victims. A bad habit that Edge was counting on to buy precious seconds while he waited for the reliquary to unseal. Since there are two of them, maybe I can find a way to play one off the other.

  “Okay, I’m in.” He took off his pack and set it on the floor beside his knife, looking down at the bag longingly before turning to face the men. “What’s life without a little excitement? Who’s up first, and what are the rules?”

  Edge put everything he had into acting scared but trying not to show it. Which he supposed wasn’t acting after all, since it was exactly how he already felt. Four minutes.

  “It’s my turn to go first.” The strong man turned to the fast man. “You killed the last two before I got a round.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Fine. But make it quick. I doubt our new friend will last long enough to make this exciting anyway. His heart will stop long before the real screams begin.”

  It was around this time that Edge caught the scent of rotting meat riding the breeze. An electric tension buzzing in the air. He felt a premonition of bloodthirst rising from the ruins. A menace more primal than the jailbirds’ cruelty.

  He didn’t like it. But then again, he didn’t like anything about this situation. All he could do was deal with the problem in front of him and worry about the next when it came.

  The big man opened the front of his armor, exposing his muscular chest to the lamplight. “Bring that little knife with you, or this won’t be any fun.” Edge didn’t trust a word he was saying. But every second he could delay their wrath was one second less until the reliquary unsealed.

  He figured his best chance to drag this out was to go with the flow, since the convicts were clearly enjoying his dilemma. He bent down to pick up the blade, then slowly crossed the room.

  Edge walked up to the big man, twirling the knife in time with the pounding of his heart. He looked the jailbird straight in the eye and grinned. “If you want to play, I’m game.”

  He held the convict’s gaze without looking away. By now, he was certain that they were planning to kill him no matter what happened. But he needed to act like he still had hope. Pretend he’d fallen for their ruse to buy as much time as he could.

  It must have been the right move. Because instead of lashing out then and there, the big man’s smile grew. “That’s the spirit—go out with a bang. I like you, little puppet. It’s a shame it has to be like this, but it is what it is.” The carnivorous gleam in the jailbird’s eyes revealed the lie of his words.

  “Listen up; here’s how this goes. I want you to stab me as hard as you can.” The big man pounded his chest for emphasis. “I’ll let you take one good jab at my torso, anywhere you like. Heart? Lungs? Dealer’s choice. Have a skill you can use? Go wild. If I move a muscle, you win. If I don’t, I’ll beat you to death.”

  The convict chuckled while looking Edge over, committing this moment to memory to enjoy later. “Since I was going to end you anyway, it’s a good deal for you. This way, you still have a chance. Maybe you’ll kill me, then find a way to take down Slim. Miracles happen, right?”

  “Now gather your courage and show me what you’ve got.” The prisoner spread his arms wide, causing the rippling muscles along his chest to dance. There wasn’t a single scar on his body, even though Edge was certain he’d given this speech many times before.

  Meanwhile, the tall man took his time examining the carvings along the walls, completely uninterested in whatever was about to happen. It was all the proof Edge needed to know this game was rigged. Not that he had any choice other than to play along and hope for the best.

  “Step right up, bet your life, and give it your all. It’s time to find out what you’re really made of.” Edge could sense the big man would erupt into violence if he hesitated or refused to do what he was told.

  The gears of his mind furiously turning, he raised his knife before him and prepared to activate Slash. Three and a half minutes until the reliquary unseals.

  Edge bought a few more seconds by staring at the big man’s chest, nodding as if coming to a decision as to where he wanted to strike. He brought the knife back while preparing to thrust, then sent it darting toward the prisoner’s heart.

  A bare second before steel met flesh, he whipped the blade up and concentrated, then lunged for everything he was worth. Instead of aiming for the man’s torso, Edge had been planning to slit his throat all along. If by some miracle he was able to land this blow, then he needed to make it count.

  He had never killed anyone before. But with his life on the line, he didn’t hold back. He Slashed the moment the knife was in reach of the convict’s jugular.

  Fast as thought, magic poured out of his body and into his arm, draining half his magicytes dry in an instant. In the blink of an eye, his hand sped up and the power of his blow multiplied. The simple blade went streaking for the jailbird’s throat, Edge’s prayers riding the air alongside it.

  For a single glorious second, he thought it was going to work. But half a heartbeat before the blade could sever the convict’s vein, a muscular hand moved to intercept the weapon, so fast it blurred before his eyes.

  Instead of blocking or deflecting the knife, the big man caught the point with his bare hand. The steel tip disappeared into his palm before jutting out the other side in a bright spray of blood. The stench of rotting meat was growing stronger by the second, but Edge didn’t have time to worry about it now.

  He leapt back, knowing the inmate would attack at any moment. To his surprise, the man began laughing instead. With an exaggerated motion, he pulled the knife out of his hand, holding his palm up for Edge to inspect.

  To his horror, the sundered tissue began knitting itself back together. Shorn strands of muscle and skin reached out to each other before pulling tight, leaving only a pale pink line that disappeared a few seconds later.

  “That was a smart move,” the big man said, savoring the dramatic moment. “It wouldn’t have killed me, of course. But the blood I lost before my skill could repair the damage would have slowed me down and drained my mana.”

  The prisoner’s face lit up with a wicked smile that sent a fresh cascade of adrenaline surging into Edge’s veins. “Smart, but also dumb. You broke the rules, tourist. Now it’s time to pay the price.”

  He turned and tried to run. Before he could take two steps, the prisoner was in front of him. The cored convict drove his fist into Edge’s gut so hard he threw up, spasming as pain pulsed throughout his body like broken glass in his veins.

  What followed was the most brutal beating of his life. Punches and kicks fell upon him like rain, bruising, breaking, and pummeling him in an endless flurry of blows.

  The worst part was that he knew the man was toying with him—that any of these attacks could have ended Edge’s life if that was what he wanted. Unfortunately and fortunately in different ways, the big man was enjoying torturing Edge to death instead. Three minutes.

  The next time he got hit, there was a bright flash of light, and the world turned white.

  He must have passed out for a second. Because when he came to, he was lying on his back. A leather boot was digging into his face, pressing down hard enough he thought his skull would crack like an egg.

  Edge’s vision strobed from red to black—pulse pounding as his bones began to break. “Wait,” the other prisoner spoke for the first time in what felt like ages. “That’s enough.”

  The pressure didn’t lessen, but it stopped growing stronger, preserving Edge’s life for another handful of heartbeats. “Naaa, I want to see what color his brains are. We’re so close to the good part I’m getting tingly all over.”

  “I said that’s enough.” The tall man’s tone was cold as ice, the threat of imminent violence infusing every syllable.

  The big man looked like he wanted to protest. Whatever he saw in the other man’s eyes convinced him not to. With a grunt, he took his boot off Edge’s face, then kicked to shake off some blood.

  Against the odds, Edge had survived round one, burning through several minutes along the way. But his ordeal was only half over. Now it was time for round two.