While we keep drinking hot cocoa, one by one, the challengers drop out of the trial. I still can’t remember what the trial was all about, but Hunter seems content, so I’m sure it’s going well. The people who drop out get to recuperate in an armchair of their own, with their personal choice of hot drink. After half an hour or so, only Gecko and one other guy remains. Hmm…

Simon? Could you bring up their stats?

{::w::}/!

Europe Server

Username: BackBreakerJoe

Soul Progress: 11,2%

Agility: 13 (+24%)

Strength: 34 (+46%)

Stamina: 18 (+29%)

Magic Power: 4 (+24%)>

So, pretty standard overall, I guess? Weirdly enough, his username is more fitting than his real name. He’s a bit of a beef mountain, so being called ‘Back-Breaker’ must make his self-image pretty solid.

And then, as for Gecko…

Africa Server

Username: GeckomancerOfYore

Soul Progress: 11,2%

Agility: 18 (+75%)

Strength: 17 (+42%)

Stamina: 14 (+57%)

Magic Power: 87 (+104%)>

Right, so, her base stats are mostly lower, but her magical power is… Um… Mildly insane?

…Now that I think about it, I still don’t know what magical power means. I’m supposed to have enough divinity to have an angel, but I also have lower magic power than Gecko. Not to mention that according to the second-to-last wish I made, I’m not supposed to have magic power at all. Or, I suppose, I do have it, I just…

…But that’s beside the point.

“Come on Gecko, you can do it!” I cheer on.

“Stay strong, Joe!” one of Joe’s teammates shouts. “Shoot for the A!”

I still have no idea what the actual challenge here is supposed to be, but after a few more minutes, Joe gives in. Grunting, he staggers to his feet, only barely caught by one of his teammates. “Damn, close one,” he says, weakly. He grins at Gecko. “I’ll get you next time, witch!”

“Sh—shut up,” she growls, trembling in every limb. Joe shakes his head sympathetically. And, stunningly enough, she lasts a whole minute longer! Only then does she give up, to the cheering of everyone else. Once she brings herself to her feet, I hand her a cup of hot chocolate. She leans onto me, but accepts the cup. “Thanks,” she groans. Hands shaking, she brings the cup to her lips, scalding herself. Exhibiting her incredible willpower, she keeps drinking anyways, taking whole mouthfuls of steaming cocoa. “Oh, man, I needed that,” she huffs. Her eyes settle on some undetermined spot in front of her eyes. “Oh. Would you look at that? Just got another level in burn resistance.”

“Nice!” I say. “Really useful one.”

Hunter approaches us. “Good work! Does everyone feel ready for the final challenge?”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

All eight of us share glances. We turn to him as one.

Joe speaks for the rest of us. “Um, yeah, no.”

The guy holding him up—that Henry guy I checked out earlier—speaks up as well, taking the side of righteousness. “Could we have a few moments to relax? Sure, some of us have been relaxing for a while now, but others…”

I nod empathetically. “I agree with Henry. Listen, Hunter… Gecko’s still shaking. You really want to force her and everyone else to take the trial in this state? They won’t be able to do their best, and you know it.”

Henry furrows his brows at me. “How did you know my—”

“Irrelevant!” Hunter says, almost triumphantly. “This is a trial of teamwork. And a team must work, no matter their physical state. However, and I’m certain you will be happy to hear this—they always are—but the following trial will not be physical in nature.”

Suspicion rears within me, and a single glance at the others informs me that this feeling is mutual. Somehow, we can all tell that the final trial being non-physically threatening is not necessarily a good thing. I frown at Hunter. “So, what’s the—”

“All in due time! Now, if you’ll please form a circle, holding hands, everything will soon begin to make sense.”

We exchange several uncertain glances. Slowly, people begin to shuffle closer to one another. Before doing anything else, I check to make sure that Gecko can stand on her own. She can, so I move a step or two away from her, holding one hand. It’s a bit clammy. Although far from eager, everyone slowly comes together into a circle, holding hands. It almost feels as though we’re about to start dancing and singing about little frogs, but that can only happen if the circle is completed, which it isn’t.

Henry has found himself next to me, and he is beyond reluctant to take my hand.

I hold out my hand.

He winces as though physically pained.

I waggle my fingers, urging him to take my hand.

He grumbles, mutters something I daren’t repeat, and takes my hand in his.

Someone across the circle chuckles. “So, is this when we start singing kumbaya?”

A tentative laughter spreads through the circle.

“Nope!” Hunter puts a hand on my shoulder, and another on Henry’s. “This is when the fun begins.”

And in a flash, we’re somewhere else entirely. I reel a little from the sudden teleportation, and a few others in the circle seem positively nauseous. Even Henry, who by all means should be fine, is swaying a bit on his feet. I hold his hand tighter. “You okay, man?”

Apparently, seeing my face did nothing for his nausea, as he turns somehow even paler. Impressive, for what I think is a true-born Brit. Luckily for him, though, his knees buckling from down under him actually just brings him right into the seat of a cozy-looking chair. His descent does, however, drag down myself as well, allowing me to find a chair beneath me, too. This effect spreads like a ripple across the group, and in only a few seconds, everyone is seated. There’s a round table between us. The room itself is small, with the general decor reminding me of the kinds of rooms people would be murdered inside during those high-class British murder mystery shows. The crystal chandelier in the roof and the admittedly charming lamps around the edges certainly cement the whole bourgeoise feel of the place.

Which, of course, clashes with the actual items atop the table.

Suitably enough, the girl sitting across from me is kind enough to name it.

“Monopoly?”

The guy sitting next to her blinks comically. “No fucking way we’re playing monopoly. I refuse to—”

“Do so if you wish,” Hunter cruelly says, appearing out of nowhere. “However, forfeiting before the game has even begun will net you an automatic F. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Henry rises to his feet in the defense of the guy. “You can’t be serious! How is this a challenge? Playing monopoly with friends is hardly worthy of being called the final trial.”

The girl who spoke first—Lisa according to Simon—pipes up again. “I’ll have to agree. Shouldn’t this trial be something difficult, something that separates the cream from the crop?”

“That is what this does, My friend. In earlier versions, We asked challengers to play classic pebble skip three, but none of you knew the rules, so it wasn’t fair. After some trial and error and interviewing numerous challengers, we’ve arrived at this. So, have no fear! We know exactly what We’re doing. With that all said, whoever wishes to skip out is free to do so—just raise your hand and I’ll whisk you away from this horrible, terrible nightmare.” Nobody raises their hand. “No? What a shame! Well, there are eight player pieces, and eight of you. Perfect! Go ahead, pick any piece you’d like. Once everyone has chosen, the game can begin!”

Everyone’s looking at everyone. Suspicious gazes, shared like tokens. We’re all on the same page, but at different lines. In the middle of the table stands the eight pieces. Lisa reaches out and plucks the thimble. She curiously tries putting it on her finger, only to find it too small. Henry grabs the tophat, and Joe goes for the battleship. Gecko takes the dog, and in the final skirmish, the wheelbarrow, old shoe, and old car are all snatched. In the end, only the clothes iron remains. Silently, defeated, I reach out and take it. The very worst piece. The last-picked. It truly is the one most fit for me.

I place it in front of me. It doesn’t even feel nice to pick up. Well, such is my lot in life.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Gecko watching me. I turn to her and try to give a brave expression. She isn’t having it. Silently, without so much as asking, she steals my clothes iron, and slides over the dog to me. My mouth flounders open. Shaking my head, I try to return the dog—the very best piece—to her. But her hand is in the way. When I look at her face for explanation, she simply smiles and shrugs her head. Slowly, reluctantly, I return the dog to my side. Smiling gratefully, I nod, and mouth a simple ‘thanks.’

I lift the dog. It feels nice in my hand. But I’m smiling at it with doubled mirth—because, not only is it the unequivocally best piece, it’s also a gift. And that makes it even better.

“Alright, looks like everyone has chosen their pieces! Now, I assume you all know the rules, but I’ve gone ahead and left you a handy-dandy rulebook, just in case. Feel free to use it at any time. As for Me… I won’t bother you. No, you won’t see Me at all. If you want to quit, just say so, and I’ll get you out of here. However, other than that, I won’t be present at all. Just do your thing, and I’ll do Mine. For the sake of simplicity, I’ve set a timer for three hours. Good luck to you all, and have fun with the game!”

And just like that, Hunter disappeared, and we’re left alone.

The game can begin.