Logan was expecting something momentous to happen once the door opened, a loud noise, the Ding! of the System. He was anticipating another tunnel, like an underground bunker that took them to individual rooms that each represented a separate attribute.
It wasn’t that at all.
Asthea opened the door, and he could look right through it and see the same alien landscape—the looming purple moon, the treeline far off and the grass underneath their feet. It looked just like it appeared to be a—a random door that a carpenter had decided to experiment with by building a doorframe in the middle of nowhere.
“What…?”
Asthea smiled. “Things aren’t always as they appear. Come on.”
She stepped through the doorway and as soon as she did, an invisible barrier shimmered, like a film of plastic. Logan could see through the doorway; see the same grass and trees, but Asthea had disappeared.
Thorin was the first to follow, his expression focused as he wet his lips and stepped through, the armour molded around his leg glimmering in the sun as he disappeared. Errol rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, before rushing forward with an exuberant shout.
Arsen was last, but he paused and turned to Logan. “Asthea seems to trust you, but she’s soft-hearted. The others view you as a weakling, but I know better. No weakling could have made it through the portal alive. If you try anything that puts Asthea in harm’s way, we’ll not just tear you apart, we’ll pull out your intestines and wrap them around your neck as a necklace while you’re still alive.” Then, growling, “Don’t cross us, little man.”
With those lovely words, he turned and stepped through the doorway. He was so tall he had to duck his head, that same invisible shimmer appearing and vanishing just as quickly. And when Logan looked through, he saw the same background. If he ducked around the doorway and looked behind it, it looked just the same, but that didn’t explain where the group had gone.
They’d disappeared.
Bracing himself, Logan crept towards the doorway and tentatively extended his hand. His fingers rippled through the barrier, as if it were soupy water. There was no pain, only an odd sensation as if he’d extended his hand into freezing water.
He was wasting time.
Logan closed his eyes and stepped through the doorway.
A rush of cold, a slightly thick, sluggish disorienting sensation, as if he’d stepped on a straight line only for that line to end up warped and crooked. The sensation was gone just as quickly, and Logan opened his eyes to bright sun and the same looming alien moon. But he knew he wasn’t in the same place; right in front of him, in direct view of the open doorway, was Asthea and the others. Either the invisible shimmer had blocked them from view, or the door had taken them… somewhere else.
Asthea waited until Logan moved closer and then gave him a careful, considering glance. “You look pale as a rock. Was the journey that disorienting?”
More like the thought of his intestines around his neck had made him queasy.
“What just happened?” he asked. “Everything appears the same, but when I looked through the doorway, you vanished.”
“A pocket dimension within the training dungeon. A dimension inside a dimension. Don’t ask me how it works, we’re only glad that it does.” Asthea ran her hand through her hair, brushing a stray strand out of her eyes. “Well, how are we going to do this? We already came up with a strategy as a group, but I don’t want to be unfair. You get a say.”
Thorin growled next to Asthea. She gave him a sharp glance and the intensity of the rumble lessened and then faded entirely when she jabbed him in the side with an elbow.
“A say in what?” asked Logan.
She nodded at his feet.
On the ground were five white stones, etched into the dirt like gravestones. On each one, there was a large capital letter followed by a symbol.
S
A
D
E
P
He had to assume that each one represented a separate physical attribute. If the S stone meant strength, the symbol underneath it looked like a wheel. An odd image for strength. The A could be agility, although Logan didn’t know what five circles separated by different distances represented.
D had to be dexterity. Logan leveled that skill by throwing a knife in a repeated spot, but on the stone, there was something that distinctly looked like a large circle with five dots arranged around it. What was odd was that each time he blinked it looked different—from five dots, to four, to three.
The E stone must stand for endurance with its humanoid-looking running figure. Lastly, P for perception. That was the eeriest stone yet—with blinking stone eyes—but not just two eyes, three eyes that blinked in sequence.
What was strangest yet, was that even though he had [Universal Language], there was no way the aliens’ language translated the attribute names with the same first letter. Strength had to have another word in Asthea’s language, so why was he seeing Ss and As? The only explanation was that the System translated what each person saw into something that made sense to each. After all, the stones looked off. As he glanced at them, there was a glitch—an odd blur before the letters focused. It was like looking at letters during a vision test at the optometrist.
“The order we start the trial,” said Arsen, rubbing his chin and caressing his fine white facial hair. It looked like a mix of stubble and fur. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go with the group consensus.”
“Arsen,” Asthea scolded with a smile.
“Do we all have to go in the same order?”
“Yes. The System gives you only twenty-four hours, so it’s important to prioritize the attributes that make the most strategic sense. After all, we’ll never last long enough to get through all five.”
Logan raised an eyebrow.
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Thorin grunted. “We’ve never once had someone get through the whole cycle, little man. Don’t think you’ll be the first.”
The others laughed derisively.
Logan eyed them warily and adjusted his initial favorable impression. If they acted this way while in the presence of Asthea, he hated to see how they’d behave on their own. They reminded him of schoolyard bullies; men who were convinced they were superior to everyone around them, not able to look past physical appearance.
Logan looked down at the stones. “I’m happy to go with the consensus.” He liked his intestines where they were.
Thorin thumped him on the back. “Good man.”
“Our clan values strength,” said Asthea, “so we’re going with that first. Then agility, endurance, dexterity, and perception.” She walked down the row of stones, pressing her hand against the S. It lit up, the S flaring bright red. She did the same to the A stone; this time, it flashed red two times. The others were the same, flashing three times, four, five—representing the order of each attribute.
Logan hesitated. There was something to these stones other than symbols and lights. He got a distinct aura from them, as if each held immense power. It was warning him away, at the same time as pulling him in.
“What exactly does this trial entail?” he asked, edging back.
But as soon as Asthea touched the fifth stone, a shudder went through the ground, his feet unsteady. In front of them, the green grass dissolved and a slab of stone the size of a car frame appeared. With a sound like heavy stone sliding against stone, the slab opened to reveal a staircase that went down.
Logan peered into the tunnel. Each stone stair was in a uniform size as if a machine had cut them with a mold.
Thorin led the way, the others following, Asthea trailing behind next to Logan. The stairs were wide enough that they could descend side-by-side. As they strode down, glowing blue orbs lit up on either side, flickering as a draft of cold air rushed up to meet them.
Logan shivered, and Asthea looked at him in curiosity. “You do feel the cold! I was beginning to think you were cold-blooded. That’s an odd outfit for a venture into a training dungeon. Is that the custom on your world?”
Logan looked down and promptly winced. He was still wearing his kitten-patterned swim trunks, his legs bare. He sheepishly ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow and tried to comb his hair with his fingers. Logan had been planning to shave and straighten his hair before meeting up with Lara and the kids; the sudden appearance of aliens hadn’t been something for which he could plan.
“Not… exactly,” he said, red blooming on his cheeks. “The apocalypse didn’t allow for wardrobe changes.”
She made a considering noise. “Oh! It’s not on purpose then! I thought it had been a bold choice to charge into battle in your underwear.”
Logan choked. “It’s not underwear. These are…”
She was grinning widely.
He sighed. “Never mind.” He needed to focus on what was important anyway. Taking full advantage of the trial and obtaining every attribute point possible. “How is this going to work?”
She eyed him and then sobered. “This is my first trial, but Arsen told me it’s about willpower. Most would think you’d succeed by pure ability, but if it were just physical capabilities, part one of the trial would only take a few hours. The System wants to see how much you can handle until you drop unconscious from pure physical exertion.”
Like a marathon ocean swimmer who swam nonstop for days? Logan had always admired the people who stretched themselves to the limit. He’d secretly envied them, but he’d never had the luxury to dream that big. When you were struggling to pay the rent and afford your grocery bills, allocating the amount of funds he’d need to fund a marathon swim of that magnitude had been a pipedream.
“Odds on how long the weakling will last?” said Errol in front of them.
“What are we wagering?” said Thorin.
“10,000 KarmaCoin.”
“Hefty. I say two hours.”
Errol snorted. “I’m going to smoke you. One hour!” He growled deep in his throat. “Barely one hour. What about you, Arsen?”
The older man was silent. The guards’ footsteps thudded down the stairs, creating an echoing effect, making it sound as if there were dozens descending the tunnel. Eventually, Arsen grunted. “Three hours.”
Thorin whistled. “You’re about to be a poor man.”
They growled at each other and soon started bickering back and forth.
Asthea glanced at Logan, giving him a sheepish grin. “It’s in good fun.”
“Right.” Nothing like being the butt of a joke to make you feel like you’re having fun.
The bickering died down as the stairs ended. Logan crept forward cautiously, giving his surroundings a wary glance before stepping into the room and joining the others.
It was a large round room that looked carved out of solid black rock. The spherical walls were dense, a low black stone ceiling making the space seem claustrophobic. The floor was cold against Logan’s feet and resembled the walls around them.
If [Mimicry Armour] hadn’t been acting as a collar, the hairs on the back of his neck would have been standing up. There were no windows, no ventilation, and yet, somehow, he could feel a cold draft coming from the ceiling. Those same blue orbs were illuminating the space, casting light on the only thing in the room: a round metal wheel. It had to be thirty feet in width—at least. The wheel had five circular fastenings spread out evenly. Each one looked like an open notch—like a hawsehole in a ship. They were easily the size of his whole fist.
In front of each notch, the floor was covered in lines—not painted lines, but etchings. As if someone had dug furrows in the stone floor to create a runway.
Logan couldn’t help noticing that the five notches matched the amount of people in their party.
Next to him, Asthea sucked in a deep breath. “I’m prepared, I’m focused, I’ll push my body past its limits,” she chanted.
“You’ve got this, Asthea!” bellowed Thorin, followed by growls of agreement from Errol and Arsen.
Arsen held out his hand, blinked, and suddenly, he was holding a pair of white leather gloves. He handed them to Asthea with a small smile and she tugged them on with a distracted nod of thanks. They were fingerless gloves.
The others took out gloves of their own, each pair also fingerless.
There was something they knew that Logan didn’t. Still, [Mimicry Armour] covered his hands, his talons fully formed. In their world, either gloves were fingerless, or there was another reason. Making a snap decision, Logan collapsed his talons, letting them dissolve into a mixture of diamond and sandstone dust. At the last second, he latched onto the falling debris and threw it back inside his spatial collar. He’d effectively copied them. Although Logan was technically wearing armour gloves, they were flexible, Logan-exoskeloten gloves. They’d do the same as a leather glove, only better.
All three men shook out their arms, flexing their shoulders and jumping on the balls of their feet. Thorin glared at the wheel, clenching his massive hands into fists, his gloves stretching over his knuckles. “Well?” he barked at Logan. “Get in position.”
Asthea’s attention was focused on the notch in front of her. Each person was standing in front of their own notch, leaving one spot for Logan.
As soon as Logan stepped into position, the blue orbs, dull until now, flared bright white and illuminated everything around them.
Ding!
[You have entered part one of the trial. A test of mettle. Daily attribute point limit waived. You have 24 hours to increase your attributes until you drop. The potential increase is unlimited. The only barrier to success is hard work.]
[You have chosen to start with strength. You will compete individually but only advance to the next attribute as a group. Once the last person concedes or drops, the group will advance to the next attribute.]
[After 24 hours, your overall individual performance will be judged against the rest of your party. The individual with the highest attribute increases in each area will be granted a bonus.]
In front of Logan, the notch opened up. Massive black chains poured out, spooling. It was like something you’d see on a monster truck, the lengths five inches across. They kept coming, an endless, looping stream.
Logan backed away, his eyes widening.
End-to-end, each chain length reached the edges of the round room, but the chains weren’t dangling, they were looped and attached to the notch. Was he expected to pull on these chains in an endless loop?
Thorin and the others growled and grunted. They’d removed the majority of their chainmail so it only covered their chests and shoulders. As each person lifted their chains, their biceps bulged, blue veins standing out.
With a furrow in her brow, Asthea crouched and lifted her own chain, chanting, “I’m prepared, I’m focused, I’ll push my body past its limits!”
These things looked massive. Not just in length, but in weight. They had to be solid metal—a shiny, solid substance that didn’t look like any metal Logan recognized. Grinding his teeth, he crouched, clenching his exoskeleton armoured hand around a fistful of the chain.
Holy fucking shit.
It had to weigh four hundred pounds at least!