His voice is an avalanche, his breath like breaking rock. The look of rage, righteous, blinding rage on his face makes me wince even though it isn’t directed at me. Silence falls on the square, everyone pausing in their dealings and deviousness to watch the drama unfold. Or at least, appearing to. More covert nonsense flickers in my peripheral vision, though I can’t look away from the towering Gorinar beating his chest.

  Identification: Gromak, Gorinar Warchief

  Level: 17

  Strengths: Strength, Toughness, Agility

  Weaknesses: Intelligence

  The rest is the generic paragraph about the Gorinar I got from outside the gate. I stand on tiptoe to get a view of who has so directly pissed him off.

  Across the impromptu ring, an Ekinor half his size stands facing him. It has a hood up, though a few wisps of stringy, half-rotted hair peek out to drift listlessly on the breeze. Part of me thinks it is, or once was, female, though the only gender reference I have is Assless the Deathlord. This one’s eyes burn violet deep in the shadows of its hood.

  Identification: Weri Burnivar, Ekinor Heartseeker

  Level: 23

  Strengths: Intelligence, Will

  Weaknesses: Toughness

  “Bear in mind, pig, that I am not complaining,” the Ekinor answers in a voice like a violin ripped across fraying strings. “But why do you single me out, over any other?”

  “It is you! You take wife! You take pups!” The Gorinar is working himself into an even deeper rage, pounding his chest with a fist the size of a watermelon. “I am Gromak, Warchief of the Gromak!”

  “Ah,” the undead woman says, leaning back as if to take him in again. “Your tribe lived in my lands, didn’t they? Good stock. I think I remember your wife and children. They were… delicious.”

  “Fight!” the warrior shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. “Fight! Fight! Their spirits must rest! Fight!”

  “I relish the chance to savor once again one of your line,” the Ekinor says simply. “Of course, I accept.”

  Immediately, crystal blue lettering appears over our heads, counting down from a minute. The warchief stomps back and forth, his powerful feet slamming on the smooth stone of the street with force enough that I can feel its vibrations. His massive hands clench and unclench around the haft of his club. The Ekinor, for her part, doesn’t move.

  Motion flurries above us, and I finally tear my gaze away. The Qellis descend on the crowd, their chime-like voices tinkling. One hovers nearby, a male with a pen sheathed across his back like a sword. When he notices me, he smiles a salesman’s smile, lips with no teeth, and hovers closer.

  Identification: Vurin, Qellis Overwriter

  Level: 19

  Strengths: Intelligence, Charisma

  Weaknesses: Strength, Toughness

  The Qellis are the Competitor species of the Fifth. A species built upon a strict and immensely confusing system of honor, the Qellis believe that promises made and words spoken must always be truthful. That doesn’t prevent them from being some of the least trustworthy entities to ever compete in the Tournament.

  The Qellis’s wings bear a silver tracery that glitters in the blue light of the floating words. His face is handsome, if a bit on the small side. His bare chest and ornate loincloth make him look like a miniature Greek statue come to life. His size has the strange effect of rendering his beauty cute rather than attractive.

  “Care to place a bet, human?” he asks in a voice like music, British and proper.

  “What are we even betting with?” I ask, frowning towards the enraged warrior working himself into a frenzy. The fairy’s eyes light up at my words like he’s seen a meal he particularly enjoys. His grin broadens to show his teeth, small and sharp and crimson. I shudder. So much for thinking the little fucker is cute. That smile is straight out of a nightmare.

  “New to Haven?” he asks, trying, and failing, to hide his eagerness. “A rarity, these days. In regards to what it is you could bet, we accept information on the Arena, information on other Competitors, or Artifacts won through the Challenges.”

  “Oh? And who gets to determine the value of random shit like that?” His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes glint with an unpleasant light. I fight a smile of my own. Not reacting how you expected, am I? “Who is doing the payout?”

  “We do, and we are,” he says, and places a hand over his heart. “We have an ironclad system that all other Competitor species have come to trust, for the Qellis always honor our word. Always.”

  “Says every asshole running a scam,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Go peddle your bullshit somewhere else.”

  “You dare?” he says. His nice guy demeanor disappears, and his eyes flare red. “I am the prince of the Royal House of Neyanmar. My word is my—”

  “Shh,” I say, shooing him away. “I want to watch this.”

  I don’t want to watch the fight, but I turn away from the faerie deliberately. He floats silently for a moment before soaring skyward with a sharp flick of his wings.

  I hate scammers and grifters with a passion. I’ve seen the damage they can do firsthand. My grandfather, rest his sad soul, believed wholeheartedly that he was going to marry Catherine Zeta Jones. Their relationship was exclusively online, of course, and he was told to keep it between them. The rest is tragically obvious. Savings, retirement, everything… gone.

  Fuck scammers. If the Qellis represent a whole race of them, I don’t want them in my party.

  Putting the asshole fairy from my mind, I frown as I take in the two fighters. Human, mundane reason says the big Gorinar is going to shatter the thin Ekinor woman in the first seconds of the fight, but that’s old logic. I don’t know what the hell a Heartseeker is, and the system gave her a higher level than he has. It may not matter; I imagine a level zero with a sword could cut off my head and I’d die. It also may matter quite a bit.

  The timer drops to zero. With a roar that rattles my chest, the berserker hefts his club above his head and charges.

  Or tries to.

  He makes it a step. Staggers into another. His eyes go wide, the rage leaving them, confusion taking its place. His club drops to the ground with a clatter that is loud in the sudden silence. He drops to a knee, hands clutching at his chest. Futilely.

  The Ekinor steps forward, one hand raised, a lurid crimson light glowing on her palm. The remnants of her flesh and bone are painted the color of the blood she might once have had. She steps forward again, into the reach of the massive warrior.

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  Come on, big guy. Punch her. Grab her.

  He doesn’t. Eyes glassy, he doesn’t respond at all, not to my silent exhortation, and not to her proximity. Even kneeling, his massive chest heaves above her head. She lifts her hand. The red light touches the Gorinar’s skin.

  Now, he responds. By screaming. His skin swells and splits, red light chasing his veins in a spiraling pattern throughout his body. His screams, deep and low, shake through his body, but the horrific magic apparently holds him in place. Inch by inch, moment by moment, more of him glows in ghastly scarlet light. His roars fade, not because he stops screaming, but because his lungs and throat fail him.

  After what feels like an eternity, the dead Warchief drops, cold and silent, his titan’s body hidden behind the onlookers. A victory message appears overhead, though no one needs it to determine the outcome. Almost immediately, the crowd begins to break up, whispering fiercely to one another. Several, probably those who just lost their ass betting, shout angrily at the Qellis as they fly up into the sky again. The faeries mock them with tinkling laughter. As the spectators move, a quirk of fate opens a window, briefly, to the fallen warrior.

  The Ekinor leans over him, her back to me. But I see something. A shimmer. A piece of golden light, bright and true. It moves, twisting in the air, towards her. Is she… drinking? Eating? Is that his soul?

  Identification: Weri Burnivar, Ekinor Heartseeker

  Level: 27

  Strengths: Intelligence, Will

  Weaknesses: Toughness

  Four levels? What was she doing to him?

  “I believe we have discovered how the Ekinor advance so quickly. Their race must have some ability to consume the souls of others for power.”

  Isn’t that what we all do? That whole ‘you’ve absorbed soul energy’ bullshit?

  “To a lesser extent. That looked like his soul proper. I may be mistaken. I hope I am. But, if a soul is consumed fully…”

  Yeah. It’s just like the Skill I got when my energy went too low. The warning if I went to zero.

  True death. Nothingness.

  Oblivion.

  Holy shit.

  “We should get off the street,” Zara rasps at my side.

  “Why, legs?” Burl asks. “We just got here.”

  “Our leader has managed to antagonize the Qellis,” she answers, lifting a pair of limbs towards the sky. I glance up to see the royal scam artist glaring daggers at us, a pair of winged attendants floating at his side. Judging by the look on their faces, they’re about ready to cut me open and use my bones for interior decoration. “Best we allow them to forget us. Or at least not associate us with her.”

  “But—”

  “She’s right,” I say, meeting the Qellis’s glare. “You guys should find us a place, and distance yourself from me for a bit. Something tells me I’m about to get challenged.”

  “You don’t have to accept while in Haven,” Zara says, already moving into the crowd.

  “Oh, I don’t plan on it.” Threenut gives me a concerned look, but I shoo him away. “Don’t worry, Three. I won’t get into any trouble. I just want to learn what I can.”

  Threenut hesitates, but finally follows after Zara as she leads them towards a grouping of what looks like futuristic apartments. I find myself blinking to try to clear the dissonant mirage from my eyes. After being surrounded by strange geometric trees and soft purple light for so long, the clean lines and sharp angles of this small city make my head hurt. Shaking my head, I dive into the crowd, making for the glowing screens on the opposite end of the plaza.

  I can feel the eyes of the angry fae floating over my head, so I glance up and give them a cheery wave. The girl at the royal’s side starts to dive, snarling, but her companion throws an arm around her chest and drags her upright. The pair snap at one another, then separate, leaving only the royal dude to glare. Grinning, I turn my eyes back to the busy square.

  I don’t know why I’m antagonizing them. They really can kill me if they want to, and it’s kinda against my ethos in the tournament so far. But something about that self-righteous scam artist pisses me off, especially since it seems like that’s how his entire species is. It’s not like they’re going to let me live if we encounter each other in the wild anyway.

  After a few annoying minutes fighting the press—and nearly stumbling straight into one of those slimes—I finally make progress when I slip in behind a Gorinar shoving his way through. I ride his wake until I can slide into the group surrounding the first screen. ‘The First’ glows at the top, beneath those words a series of names accompanied by varying amounts of information about them.

  The name at the top is a collection of letters I couldn’t pronounce with a phonetic dictionary. It would probably take another throat or a gizzard or something.

  Trmclugtgouplpak, Laranya Gloomweaver Estimated Level: 35+

  Observed Skills: Stealth, Precision, Assassination

  My mouth falls open at the ‘estimated level.’ I don’t think I’ve been doing too bad, and I’m only 16. 35?

  The Skills are everything an edgy teenage boy fresh to Dungeons and Dragons could dream of. The rest of the Laranya on the list are a mix in the lower teens, the names no less comprehensible, the abilities more sketchy and vague the farther down you go. Rumor, more than fact. The assassin dude at the top clearly has a reputation, and the rest of the First don’t. Some of them don’t even look to be Laranya anymore, with a bunch of weird ‘hybrid’ or ‘indeterminate’ tags next to the species name.

  Assless the Murderhobo is, predictably, at the top of the Second’s list.

  Irda Zelnar, Ekinor Deathlord  Estimated Level: 40

  Observed Skills: Consumption, Swordsmanship, Speed Boost, Strength Boost, Indestructibility, Time Manipulation

  Indestructibility? Time Manipulation? What the hell? He didn’t have those things when we faced him, at least not that I could see, but that was a while ago. And 40? Clearly, he’s been happily murdering as many fellow Competitors as he can. Even as I scan the list, a name floats upward from the eighth spot to the fifth: Weri Burnivar, the evil chick who won the duel so easily a few minutes ago. Her estimated level is inaccurately reported as 30. Interesting. I guess no one else has evolved Identification high enough to get an accurate reading.

  The rest of the lists are fairly similar. The ‘leaders’ of the various species are estimated mostly in the mid to high 20’s, dwindling down until the list ends in the mid to high teens. Vesyla comes in fifth for the Drelni. My cheeks flush and my breath shortens at the sight of her name. I scowl inwardly.

  You saw her once for like two minutes, Sam. You’re better than that.

  “Are you?”

  Hush, Kora.

  I hurry past most of the lists, the information overload already giving me a headache. If there is a moment of peace in all this insanity, I might take a moment to learn the abilities of my potential enemies. Studying them and what they’re capable of might well save my life. But not now. There’s just too much to hope to remember.

  The Seventh leaderboard has several low 20’s at the top, a mixture of warriors and natural magic users. I almost turn away, but something catches my eye low on the list.

  Threenut, Otachai Fighter?  Estimated Level: 15 (old)

  Observed Skills: Speed Boost, Strength Boost, Agility

  Crazy. Who even reported this? The only interaction we’ve had with someone who walked away was Assless, and he didn’t feel like the type to share information. Then again, maybe the rewards are good enough that it makes it worthwhile. My head starts to spin. Competitors are supplying this information, and it is being displayed for everyone to see. Is the tournament itself rewarding them, or is it all the Qellis?

  If it was the Deathlord reporting, he was terrible at estimating Threenut’s strength. We weren’t even close to 15 at the time. Three still hasn’t made it there.

  The Ninth’s list is, appropriately, empty. There are a bunch of question marks and shot-in-the-dark guesses about their origin, but the rest of the collective species seem to have no idea what they are or what they’re capable of. Or even where they are.

  The Tenth’s list is also blank. Completely. It’s as if they don’t exist, or no one has encountered them whatsoever.

  I finally reach the list at the end of the line. The human list.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Our list looks like any other, the level ranges the same.

  George Wellington, Hybrid Longstriker Estimated Level: 28

  Observed Skills: Stealth, Projectile Mastery, Enhanced Perception

  Huh. Some kind of sniper or something. There are a bunch of other names, their various abilities as strange and overwhelming as the rest. The final name on the list is listed as level 15, some guy unfortunately named Melvin. Man, am I really strong enough that I’m in the top ten? If that’s the case, we’re pretty fu…

  The light shimmers. Melvin’s name disappears. And, in its place…

  Sam Foreman, Human Gravity Wizard Estimated Level: 16

  Observed Skills: Gravity Manipulation, Physical Regeneration