Is that what you were trying to hide from me?
“Not hide, exactly, but…”
Why do you seem so awkward about this? I mean, shit, I don’t know how I feel about it just yet, but why would you…
Oh.
“Yes.”
How many did you kill? You know what? Nevermind. I don’t care. You were fighting for your species, same as everybody else. It doesn’t matter how many of my… ancestors? Cousins? Distant relatives?... you killed.
“Are you sure that’s how you feel?”
Uh. Honestly, I’m more concerned about how and why none of these people are higher than level four after this much time. Most of them are level two.
I take a second to look around, lingering again on the group on the other side of the glade. Their hunched shoulders, their exhaustion, their… wrinkles.
“Are they… old?” I ask, gesturing vaguely in their direction.
The beautiful people around me laugh their careless laughs. God, I feel more out of place here than I did wandering the lilac forest with Threenut.
“Yes, piccola, they are old,” Alessio says. “Positively ancient.”
“Why are they… how are they…?”
“You truly must be new to this place,” the woman says, chuckling.
“The spirits that chose the ‘warriors’ of humanity. The Mentors, yes?” Alessio shakes his head, his grin fading slightly. “They were not very good at their jobs.”
“I thought… I thought it might just be me.” I glance around again, a bit of understanding dawning. “What did you guys do before all this?”
“Most of us were influencers,” he says, shrugging without a hint of shame. “The Mentors thought that, with the number of people who followed our words, we must be mighty leaders on Earth.”
They laugh as if it is a joke they’ve heard a thousand times, yet still find funny.
“They were some of the oldest people on earth,” the blonde woman says, nodding towards the elderly group. “Their Mentors assumed that age meant power.”
“Who were you, piccola?” Alessio asks. “You don’t look much a warrior.”
“I was just a college kid,” I say, shaking my head. My stomach can’t decide whether to be sick or to burst into laughter. “At my graduation. I majored in literature.”
“So you understand,” he says, opening his arms broadly. “Welcome to the end of days.”
“Did they get anyone right?” I glance around. No one registers above level four. I get the feeling these people would be floored to know how strong I am. “From the leaderboard, at least a few people have stepped up to fight for us.”
“The hunters are out at the moment, seeking Challenges to complete,” Alessio says, pulling the woman at his side closer.
“And xenos to kill,” the blonde woman cuts in, an unpleasant smile on her face.
“They should be back at any moment,” he continues past the interruption as if it didn’t occur.
“Let me get one thing straight.” I glance between them, noting again their ease, their lack of concern. “None of you want to fight? None of you even tried? How did any of you clear the Provings if this is how you act?”
Their smiles freeze, though they remain in place. They’re influencers; they’re too used to being publicly insulted to react meaningfully, but I can see the signs. That was a sore subject.
“We do our part,” Alessio says stiffly. “None of us were made to fight. So we make sure those who are get taken care of. We’re doing our part, like the families who greeted their soldiers returned from war.”
“Think of us like the USO,” a new voice says, the accent Midwest all the way. “We keep our boys and girls happy so that they can fight at their best.”
Another man has risen from where he was lying in a tangle of limbs with a pair of model-worthy women. His handsome face is solemn, unlike the fake grins of the others, his blue eyes piercing. He’s familiar, in a maybe-I-saw-one-of-his-videos-while-doom-scrolling kind of way.
“Happy? Like… happy?”
“If that’s what they need,” he says evenly.
Consorts. Concubines. That’s what these people are. It’s why they’re half naked, why they don’t give a shit.
“But don’t any of you want to fight? Don’t you have loved ones to fight for?”
“No,” the blonde woman says with a nasty laugh. “I don’t.”
“You’d rather we go out there and die?” the blue-eyed man asks. I narrow my eyes at him.
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Identification: Brody Fenworth, Human of the United States
Level: 4 (27)
Strengths: Charisma
Weaknesses: Allergic to his own spine
That’s the second time I’ve seen someone with a level in parentheses. What does that mean?
“I’m not sure. It may mean something different every time.”
“If that’s what it takes,” I say aloud, something ugly twisting in my guts.
“There are so few of us left, and you want us to throw our lives away.” Brody looks around at the others in the glade. “This girl has been here less than five minutes, and already she judges us.” He turns back to me. “You don’t know us. You don’t know our names, or our stories. And we don’t know yours. How about we start there?”
“My name is Sam Foreman,” I say, dragging the words out through teeth I can’t seem to unclench. “And I think I know plenty enough to judge.”
“Listen, girl, you’re talking about things you don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand.” He frowns, opening his mouth, but I bull on before anyone else can speak, sudden rage trembling through my words. “Who cares if you were trained to fight? Who cares if you’re afraid? We’re facing fucking extinction. There were a million of us to start, a million people to fight for the billions back on Earth, and we’ve lost hundreds of thousands of people already. We have to win. Everyone has to fight.”
“You’re wasting your breath,” a voice calls in a thick British accent.
I turn to see a group of five crossing into the glade. They move with calm assurance and confidence, weapons slung over shoulders, dirt and grime and smoke staining their skin. The second I see them, I feel like the world tilts itself back into place. Whatever delusional shit is going on behind me, at least these people know what’s up.
Identification: George Wellington, Unseen Sniper
Level: 29
Strengths: Agility, Will, Intelligence
Weaknesses: Charisma
The group around him all register over level 20. A pair of women who look almost like sisters bear matching swords balanced carelessly on their shoulders, Ellie and Sarah. Long brown hair, way long. Horse girl status. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they really are sisters. Even their classes are close, a Bladebatterer and a Swordbreaker. If their swords once had sheathes, there’s no evidence of them now.
A big brute of a man towers over either of them, a hammer with a head bigger than my torso grounded at his feet. Miguel, a Bastion. Probably something defensive.
The last is a slender man with wiry muscle and a twitchy look about him, his fingers constantly moving like he’s playing an invisible piano.
Identification: Azo, Human Boltcaster
Level: 27
Strengths: Intelligence, Will
Weaknesses: Strength, Charisma
Boltcaster? Is he a lightning wizard?
The group stares at me for a moment, something fierce in their eyes. They look fresh from a battle, something green smearing the side of the big man’s hammer. From its color, I imagine it’s Otachai blood. My stomach tightens uneasily.
“And who might you be?” Wellington says, the only one among the group apparently unarmed. He has a pale English face and a furrowed brow that practically hides his eyes behind a perpetual squint. He can’t be a day under fifty, though his hair remains dark. His accent is thick enough that I think the translation power might be kicking in to make it intelligible. “I’ve not seen you before.”
“Sam Foreman,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “And you’re George Wellington.”
“The talk of the town,” he says, his lips twisting like he doesn’t like the taste of the words. “The mysterious stranger. You know, they’ve had you somewhere on our leaderboard since the beginning, until recently. Why is that?”
“I didn’t know that, no. This is my first full day in Haven.” I fold my arms across my chest, for some reason feeling reluctant to share anything with this man. Come on, Sam, this is the strongest human here. If there’s anyone you should share things with, it’s him. “But as to why, I had a run in with Assless, that Ekinor Deathlord at the top of their chart, back when he was only in his 20’s. We kind of ended in a stalemate, so I’d guess that got passed along.”
The giant man, Miguel, shifts his stance and flicks his eyes up and down my doubtlessly unimpressive form.
“Assless? You mean Zelnar?” His voice carries a faint accent, South American somewhere. I’m not familiar enough to pick it out. “How?”
“My particular Class gave me some advantages,” I say vaguely.
“Is the leaderboard true?” Ellie cuts in, her voice Texas all the way down. “You have some kinda gravity Class?”
“Yes,” I say, struggling to keep the bitterness out of the word. She studies my expression and shakes her head.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, princess. They’ve got profiles on all of us at this point, and us on them.”
“No one but Assless has seen me fight,” I say, scowling. “But the information… leaked.”
“Qellis gull you good, did they?” Azo says suddenly, grinning.
“Basically,” I sigh, fighting my frown. Not me, per se, but something in my heart and in his face is begging me not to tell him about the ‘xenos’ I’ve made friends with. “I just got here, so I didn’t realize how the game is played.”
“Aye, they’re right twits, those faeries,” Miguel rumbles, his powerful arms tightening on the handle of his hammer. His accent is similar to Wellington’s, but rougher. “Wish they’d come down so we could thank them proper.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say lamely, unsure if I agree, even for the Qellis.
“Competitor, why are you reluctant to share what you know? These are your people. This is your hope, not the companions you’re showing illogical loyalty to. Do you not think they are having this very conversation with species of their own?”
I know. You’re right. Probably. Maybe.
“How can you even say that? Weren’t you just attacking—rightfully, I might add—the craven of your people for cowering behind the safety of the Haven? Wasn’t your own argument that this fight is about the survival of your species?”
How are those ideas mutually exclusive?
“Because they are. Clearly. Without a doubt. Beyond question. One species survives.”
You’re probably right.
“I don’t like one of those words.”
“Well, my bones are aching,” Wellington groans, stretching. “Let’s wash up and get off our feet. Sam, a pleasure. We’ll talk soon. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to this whole time, since this is the first I’ve seen you outside the leaderboard.”
“Absolutely.”
I step carefully aside so the group can pass. Sarah ignores me entirely. Not sure what I did to deserve that. Ellie gives me an apologetic shrug, and Miguel gives me a warm smile. The last of the party, the twitchy fellow, meets my eye and grins. I shiver when he looks away.
The group heads to the left, exchanging greetings with the beautiful, useless lounging crew. As they pass, Wellington puts his hand on the shoulder of one of the elderly fellows, who looks up and offers him half a smile. Half, because the rest of his face struggles to respond. A stroke, probably. As they move off, the people watch them go, light and life in their eyes.
It is abundantly obvious. Wellington is the leader here. He is their hope, their last and best hope. While I’m not entirely sure I appreciate the way he’s structured things, he’s done a better job than I ever would have. It’s good that humanity is united. A bit bloodthirsty, maybe, but united.
“Competitor…”
Yeah, yeah. I know. We’re supposed to be bloodthirsty.
Regardless, it’s time to meet. I move towards the exit, feeling my dress swishing about my knees. The dress made from the space jumpsuit of a dead elf man and sewn by a sentient spider lady. My life sure has gotten strange.
Nerves make my stomach tight. Kora is probably right. I am most likely the only idiot still coming to this meeting. Burl will have found a new Corp to join, Zara will have found harmony with her people, and Threenut will have regained his celebrity status as the largest of the Otachai. They don’t need me or each other, not anymore.
And I don’t need them.
