A deal with the devil.

Bo wanted to smack himself in the head with a tire iron. That was the phrase he couldn’t remember while he was bleeding out. His old man had always told him to be careful never to agree to a deal with the devil.

And he’d just made one.

The pitmaster knew he shouldn’t be so hard on himself. He’d had one heck of a day, and any man could be forgiven for making a bargain to save his life while staring up at alien stars and confronting his own untimely demise.

Still, it stung to know he’d fallen for the devil’s trick. And Bo would definitely do everything in his power to unscrew this situation at the first opportunity.

You are hurting my feelings. I saved your life at the cost of my own. My power will even give you those chicken legs back.

“I do not have chicken legs,” Bo said.

Not anymore, you don’t. My legs were magnificent. You should have seen them. Glorious muscles, a reverse knee configuration for springing and bounding. If I try, perhaps I could make your legs look more like mine.

“Do not,” Bo said. “I want my old legs back.”

Suit yourself. It will take some time for them to heal. Perhaps we should get better acquainted. My name is Baelzeburbaculungothishorankollis—

“Too long,” Bo said. “By a lot. I’ll call you Baelzebarbecue. Barbie for short.”

You will not call me that.

“Look, Barbie,” Bo said. “I’ll call you whatever I please. You’re just an annoying stray thought. The sooner I get rid of you, the better.”

Do not be a fool. I saved your life. We need each other.

“I get you need me for my sexy body, but why the hell would I want you around? Bo asked. He was feeling much better after the possession, which led to a clearer mind. A clearer mind, however, led him to the unpleasant realization that he’d probably made a huge mistake.

You are a Grail System Champion. That is the greatest thing your primitive people could ever aspire to. Do not doubt the reality of your greatest achievement, human. The deck in your possession marks you as one of the few defenders of this succulent world. Working with you gives me a chance to find a body for myself.

“Whatever you say, Barbie,” Bo said. “But the first chance I get, I’m signing up for a DIY Exorcism class.”

So ungrateful. Look at what I did to your leg.

The pitmaster stared down at the charred stumps where his legs had once been. The edges of his basketball shorts were a blackened fringe melted into his skin just above the ends of his legs. Bo’s left leg was a charred mess, but a thin, white twig tipped by wiggling buds had emerged into the moonlight from his right stump.

Isn’t it cute? That regrowth is courtesy of my possession. It only works once, I’m afraid, but it saved your life. And you must admit, it looks like a chicken bone growing out of your thigh.

Bo did not want to admit that, but the devil was right. It did look a bit like a chicken bone had sprouted from his leg.

He needed a distraction from his bizarre healing, and he needed it now.

“What’s this business about harvesters?” Bo asked. If more enemies were out there, he wanted to know as much about them as possible before the shooting started.

You really don’t know the first thing about how terribly screwed this world is, do you?

“Could you just answer the question?” Bo was exhausted. He wanted to get back to camp and rest for a few years. Unfortunately, until he had legs, that couldn’t happen.

Very well. I will do my best to explain the basics of the tragedy that will befall your world in the next thirty days. You are aware of mana, yes?

“I played some games of Magic: The Gathering in high school,” Bo said.

That is similar, I suppose. Mana is a source of power for magic, hexnology, techniques, and accelerated growth and evolution. It is a precious substance known by many names throughout the multiverse, and no world can survive long without it.

“Earth doesn’t have any of those things,” Bo said. “The only magic is David Blaine's stuff, and the rest of that just sounds like nonsense. And we’ve done just fine for ourselves.”

Yes, yes, worlds slated for consumption by DevourGuild have always done quite well for themselves. Right until harvesters strip their mana and every pathetic native creature curls up like a dead leaf at the end of autumn.

“That’s what harvesters do? Eat worlds?” Bo was having a hard time getting his head around this. He didn’t want to believe a word the devil said, but he didn’t have the luxury of pretending he didn’t have a deck of magical cards or that his legs weren’t growing back. This was happening, and he just had to accept it.

Correct. When the Grail Game begins, the Nine Gods select their champions. The system selects ripe worlds, those with mana but no skill to use it, and sends harvesters to battle one another. The victor wins the privilege of devouring the world in the name of their god. It is an elegant system that allows for maximum carnage and ensures extraordinarily high ratings among the viewers on more advanced worlds.

“Are you telling me this whole mess is some twisted game of Survivor where the winners get eaten instead of meeting Jeff Probst?”

Based on my perusal of your memories, that sounds accurate.

Bo’s thoughts raced around the inside of his skull like a pack of meth-crazed ferrets. One of them stumbled over a memory of the first challenge he’d received, Assert Dominance.

The instant the name of the challenge lodged in his awareness, the description scrolled across his vision.

ASSERT DOMINANCE

Champions defend their hexes and destroy enemies who threaten their territory.

GOAL: Find and conquer the focal dungeon for your hex.

REWARD: Hex dominance for the Red River Casino hex.

PENALTY: If this quest is not completed in thirty days, DevourGuild will revoke your champion status. You will die.

END CHALLENGE DESCRIPTION

“I’ve only got thirty days to stop this?” he asked the devil.

Oh, no. This iteration of the Grail Game will go on for several years, at the very least. Your planet is large and filled with native life. The harvesters will fight fiercely for the right to devour it. Given the abundance of raw materials available on this pathetic blue marble, their battles will rage for a very long time. At least until the ratings drop and the Nine Gods move things along to the end game.

“Then what’s up with the challenge time limit?” Bo was more confused than ever. He was much more comfortable in front of a smoker than discussing game theory with a devil who’d just possessed him.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Champions use cards to battle one another and monsters, which deplete the Nine Gods’ resources. If you cannot prove yourself worthy of that expense within thirty days, DevourGuild will, well, devour you. And your world will have one less defender.

“How do we stop that?”

The challenge is clearly explained. Find the focal dungeon, defeat its inhabitants, and claim its core for yourself. That will prove you are a worthy champion for this world, and the Grail System will codify your dominion over this hex.

Bo blew out a frustrated sigh. There was too much coming at him, too fast. He watched strange stars wheel overhead and tried to ignore the itching, crawling sensation of the bone buds growing out of his legs. But try as he might, the pitmaster couldn’t ignore the idea that his current situation wasn’t as strange as it seemed. The same group of kids he’d played Magic with were also fans of Dungeons & Dragons, and roleplaying video games.

Bo really wished he’d spent more time playing those games. But how could he have known those games would hold the key to his survival in this bizarre new world?

Yes, you should have. That would make my time trapped within you much more bearable. I fear I’ll have to explain every little thing to you. This will be tedious. I should have let you die.

“You’d be dead, too,” Bo reminded the devil.

That would be preferable to this torture. I can see your thoughts, and they are revolting. I can feel myself getting stupider and more depraved by the second. What animals cook the flesh of other creatures? Eat it raw, as the gods intended.

Bo wished the devil would stop its yapping. But, knowing the creature would keep talking, he’d gather what information he could.

“How do we find the focal dungeon and destroy it?” Bo asked.

Finally, a question that doesn’t wound my intelligence. Focal dungeons provide the energy to sustain the hex mechanic. Their cores drain mana from the surrounding area and use it to establish the boundary barriers that separate territories. Because we are near one of those boundaries, the dungeon must lie three miles in the other direction. Approximately.

Bo levered himself up onto his elbows and looked across the blackened bridge that crossed the Red River. A blue wall of hazy light rose from the ground to meet the sky just on the other side of the rushing water. If he followed that wall with his eyes, he saw more barriers on either side of the first one, angling out toward the horizon. The pitmaster thought he could just make out two more walls, but the blazing light from the casino made it hard to be sure.

At least those lights were still on. That gave Bo hope the campsite’s residents weren’t the only human survivors in the area.

“How do you know the focal dungeon is three miles away?”

Hexes are six miles across their longest diagonal. From any wall, it’s about three miles to the center of the hex. But that’s only approximate. The focal dungeon may not be at the exact heart of the hex.

“Okay,” Bo said. “Where’d you learn to speak English?”

I don’t speak your degenerate language. The Grail System makes it possible for all under its purview to understand each other. The measurements I gave you are also translated into terms you can understand. I shudder to think how badly mutilated my elegant speech must be if you can comprehend my words. It must sound like a baboon’s hooting.

“If you keep insulting me, I’ll throw myself into that river and be done with you,” Bo said.

No! Do not do that. Death is not an escape now that you are in the game. A bettor will claim your soul.

At the mention of his soul, reminder messages popped up in Bo’s field of vision. He glanced at one and chuckled.

“What kind of stupid name is Gontor Golarang?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sounds like an STD you’d pick up at a sketchy massage parlor.”

Did you say Gontor Golarang?

“He put a bid on my soul,” Bo confirmed.

And it’s not Kongor Golarang? You’re sure it’s Gontor?

“That’s what the message says,” Bo confirmed.

Oh. Oh, no. You cannot die. Gontor Golarang is a notorious smut peddler.

“Big deal,” Bo said. “He takes my soul and makes it sling dirty magazines?”

Do not be an imbecile. He will force your soul to perform the filthiest, most degenerate acts you can imagine for the amusement of his customers. For an eternity.

Well, that didn’t sound good to Bo at all. Of course, he hadn’t planned on dying, anyway. Then again, he hadn’t planned on blowing up half a bridge, getting cut in half, or playing host to this annoying devil.

He had to prepare for the worst, so he could protect himself and his friends from whatever came next.

“What do we do first?” Bo asked.

Grow enough of your legs to walk.

***

It was nearly dawn before Bo’s legs could support him. They were still mostly bone, with a thin layer of muscle and skin over the top, but at least they did their jobs. Bo stood, arms outstretched for balance.

His legs hurt, but they didn’t collapse. He took a tentative step, then another. He’d expected his new feet to ache while walking over the cracked asphalt, but he was pleasantly surprised to discover they weren’t tender at all.

Look at those pathetic sticks. Chicken legs would be an improvement.

“Whatever,” Bo said. “How do I loot?”

My remains are right by your left foot. Just reach down and take what’s left on it.

Bo shook his head at the gauzy shadow that was all that remained of Barbie. “At least I have legs. You look like a garbage bag blowing in the wind.”

Before Barbie could respond, Bo’s fingers brushed the remains. Notifications immediately exploded across his vision.

DEVOURING DEVIL LOOT GAINED!

You have gained:

* One (1) random uncommon card token (Native Champion–Basic Deck)

* One (1) random wildcard (Devouring Devil–Servant’s Deck)

* Thirty crypt coins.

* One challenge gem.

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE GAINED YOUR FIRST CHALLENGE REWARDS

Thirty crypt coins? That is a ridiculously low reward for killing devils. This must only be partial credit because you didn’t actually defeat us. You cheated.

“What’s up with the random card token?” Bo asked.

You can use it to purchase a random card from the Grail System marketplace. If, of course, you can find a vendor. Our support staff would have had the necessary link crystals to establish a connection. Search the other bodies to see what they have.

There weren’t many of those left. The tanksplosion had thrown most of the devils off the bridge or back through their gate before it collapsed. The only remains still on the cracked and bubbled asphalt were disarticulated arms, tails, legs, and heads. He found a single rib cage and several vertebrae scattered about, but nothing else of note.

When Bo attempted to loot the scattered body parts, nothing happened.

Interesting. Either there aren’t enough left of the bodies to loot, or you received no credit for killing my cohort because you cheated.

“Blowing up a whole army of devils doesn’t sound like cheating,” Bo said.

This was hardly an army. Most of these devils were support staff to maintain the gateway.

“Wait a second,” the pitmaster said, kicking a devil’s charred hand down the highway. “Were you a member of the support staff?”

Me? You’re clearly insane. I was in the vanguard. A true warrior’s warrior.

“That was a pretty crappy sword for a member of the vanguard,” Bo mused.

Shut up.

“You didn’t have any armor,” the pitmaster added as he gathered the severed remains of his legs. “I bet you were some kind of support tech. ‘Hello, this is the devouring devil help desk. How can I help you?’”

You have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are you messing with those revolting things?

“My old man gave me these,” Bo replied as he pulled the cowboy boots off his dead feet. “Other than the smoker and that old pistol, these are all I’ve got left of him. They’re good boots, too.”

The pitmaster’s new feet fit into the boots, with far too much room to spare. He’d never be able to walk with them flopping around on the ends of his legs like that. But the idea of walking all the way back to the campsite without something to cover the tender flesh of his new-grown feet sounded like torture.

A bit of scavenging through the remains of the corpses earned Bo some long strips of tendon from severed devil tails. The pitmaster knotted those together to form makeshift ropes, and looped them through his boots’ pull handles. It took a bit of adjusting, but in the end, he had a length of slimy rope that ran from his left boot, up over his shoulder, and down to his right boot.

“Look at that,” Bo said as he tromped around. “They don’t slip at all. Your tail meat is nice and stretchy. Good stuff.”

You are an absolute barbarian. You have defiled the bodies of my people. Your suffering will be legendary—

“Nobody asked you to come here,” Bo replied. “Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you get what you get.”

Then he started the long walk back to the campsite. Bo had to be extra careful not to twist his ankle on the devil debris littering the highway. The spindly bones of his lower legs would snap like twigs, and Bo didn’t like the idea of spending a few more hours laying on the road like a snake with a broken back.

I hate you.

“Same,” Bo said.

Pain reared its ugly head after a few hundred yards. Every step felt like a spike driven up through the bones of his new feet, and it took every ounce of resolve Bo could muster to keep moving. The pitmaster cursed the jackalopes who’d killed his truck. He’d slaughter every last one of those horned freaks if he could.

Your conveyance would not survive the return of mana, in any case. Only foolish worlds rely on science instead of magic. Technology falters when mana gains ascendancy. Whatever weapons you people used will likely fail, too. Of course, more powerful magical implements of destruction will become available. If you can find them.

“Shut up for a second,” Bo said.

You don’t have to be so rude.

A rhythmic thumping noise came from all around Bo. First from his right, then his left, ahead, then behind. But whenever he turned toward the noise, there was nothing to see. Even with the twin moons in the sky, it was just too dark to see beyond the edges of the highway.

You should cash in your challenge reward before whatever is making that noise eats you.

“What makes you so sure the thing out there wants to eat me?” Bo asked.

This world is targeted for harvest. Everything here wants to eat you, now.