Chapter 2: Out of the Frying Pan

~

Atlas woke up, again, and was pretty sure he hadn’t died. But not too sure.

In every direction stretched out an endless void, with only the expanse of space above and solid flowing mist beneath. It was eerily similar to an endless loading screen; one in which you know the game has frozen, know you’ll never actually see what happens next, and yet still stare hopefully at the spinning disc representing the false control you believe in.

Except no spinning circle made its presence known.

He stood up, confusion and concern filling his brain. Slowly, he began to turn in place. Trying to recollect his thoughts, to make sense of where he was, and what had happened.

The sudden voice echoing from every direction compounded against his brain, a vicious migraine spiking through his neurons. Growling in pain, Atlas fell to his knees, both hands squeezing the sides of his head.

“Welcome. You have been randomly chosen as a representative of your world, known as Earth, and are now a participant in the 257th Grand Tournament.

What happens next might very well change not just your existence, but your entire civilization and species. So listen carefully.”

Atlas squinted in pain, then shook his head and with a growl shoved his way upright, spinning around in a vain effort to find the invisible speaker.

“You are not alone in the Universe. There are now, and have been for some time, galactic-spanning civilizations established in this region of space. Throughout the ages, limitless wars of acquisition were fought between the various ruling powers. Regardless if it was for resources, inhabitable planets, or control of the galaxy, those with the greatest power reigned supreme.

The Grand Tournament was established as the best means to judge newly discovered worlds. The alternative was a fate worse than death, slavery being one of the better options. Lucky you, this is an Age where you might just escape that fate.”

“Alright, what the f…!” Atlas’ curse was interrupted by the system speaking over him.

“I said listen. This is your only warning. If you interrupt again, you will be thrown to the wolves, with absolutely no more information given.”

Clamping his jaw down hard enough to grind molars, Atlas began to feel the red heat of anger climbing up his neck. It’d be bad enough if the voice was helpful. But the condescension he could feel hidden beneath the bored monotone? Whew boy, someone needed a good old-fashioned slap down, and Atlas was feeling more than happy to give it! Still, he needed to know… well, anything right now. None of this made any sense. So, he kept his trap shut. For the moment.

“Good boy.”

A hint of snark, followed by the drone of somebody reading off a prepared script.

“Now, your participation in the 257th Grand Tournament is in accordance with Article Six, Subsection Nine of the Native Inhabitants and Indigenous Planetary Species Protection Act and is verified by the quadrant leader. Participation also includes admittance under Section Three of the Precious Elemental Reserves Code, and Section Two of the Mined Material Reclamation Act.

Henceforth, all subsequent results of the Tournament will determine eligibility for further control of Regulations regarding world source reclamation of any sort, as well as possibilities of Regency over sector resources or Planetary Rulership. If the subject participant is part of an individualized Corporation then Section 10 applies.

The 257th Grand Tournament is registered as a [World Dungeon] type scenario, with all appropriate uses of Tutorials, Nexus points, and Markets specified accordingly.

This Tournament will last for ten solar years, or until an individual participant is declared winner. Extenuating circumstances may apply. A verified neutral observer AI has been installed to supervise and ensure all rules and regulations are followed accordingly.

The 257th Grand Tournament will be broadcast to all receiving Galactic Community Members and will charge only a minuscule fee of 30 pecs per sol. Participant worlds will naturally receive broadcasts free of charge.”

The voice paused for a moment, giving Atlas a chance to try and catch up. There were too many questions, and all he could do was shake his head.

Quickly, he threw together a checklist. Aliens invaded, check. People were kidnapped, check. He was now in some kind of tournament, check. That’s about as far as he got, because once more the voice began to speak, though it now sounded directed towards him specifically.

“It has been confirmed by the Head Director, that due to the nature of the 1st Trial, limited instructions will be allowed during this Stage.

Accordingly, you should know each stage will focus on a variety of Trials, Competitions, Challenges, and of course… Combat.

Please be aware that opportunities to leave the Tournament will only be allowed after the First Stage, so survival is encouraged.

Of course, above all else, remember this. Fame and Power are the rewards.

So grow your legend, or die trying.”

Atlas held up his hand to try and ask a question, but apparently, the voice had said all it wanted to. Everything around him began to destabilize as if a computer screen had been switched off mid-download. Another sharp pain ripped through him, a shock of energy that carried across his nerves.

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Teeth gritted, he tried to shout, to demand a better explanation. Instead, the world around him turned white.

~~~

It was cold, bitterly so.

He stood there, surrounded by dark woods and snowy peaks. Nearby, a stream flowed swiftly down the mountainside. Parts of the sky above showed a deep blue, but most of it was covered in heavy clouds.

“Great,” Atlas growled. “I spawned in the mountain biome.”

In front of him, a flashing circular emblem appeared. It was eerily reminiscent of those augmented reality commercials shown years back. Certainly better than any virtual reality goggles currently on the market.

Of course, if this was a simulation, couldn’t they turn up the heat a bit? And give him anything more than a loincloth?!

Shivering, he reached out to see if the emblem could be touched. It reacted to his action, though he didn’t actually feel a physical component. The emblem dissipated, and words took their place.

{Status Initiated}

{Welcome, Participant of the 257th Grand Tournament.}

Shining beneath the appearing script was a large capitalized word, tinged slightly in gold, obviously drawing attention to itself.

“Status, huh?” Atlas glanced around the area. He was just standing there, freezing his important bits off, and the wind seemed to be picking up. Moving to the edge of the boulder he’d appeared on, he quickly jumped into a small crevice between the rocks. At least now he was out of the wind. Interestingly enough, the words stayed in his vision as he moved, though the opacity did dim a bit.

There, crouched in amongst the stones and snow and already shivering, he jabbed the “STATUS” word. It immediately unfolded into a list, stretching from top to bottom in his vision.

{Legend of : *(NAME NOT SELECTED)}

Level: 0

Attributes: 0

Titles: 0

Skills: 0

Quests: 2

Fame Points: 0

Power Points: 0

Everything appeared to be grayed out except the word Quests, which shone with a faint bluish hue, and the obvious area where he was supposed to insert his name. Quickly, he tapped on Quests and hoped it would give some idea of whatever was going on.

{Quests}

~

[Survival]

Complete the 1st Stage of the Grand Tournament by surviving all incorporated Trials. [Incomplete]

(Reward)

+30 Fame; +30 Power; Receive [Survivor] title.

[1st Trial]

Last one day after initial integration. [Incomplete]

(Reward)

+3 Fame; +3 Power

“Seriously? What the ever living frak is going on?!”

There was no basic tutorial, no convenient inventory, and no detailed explanation of “go here and do that”. At this point, he’d even be happy with gathering x amount of berries, but no.

Just… survive.

IN A LOINCLOTH?!!!

At this point, Atlas was fairly certain of only one thing. Ok, two things. First, this… Grand Tournament? Nothing but a sham. And secondly; if he didn’t get off this mountainside, and quick, he’d be a half-naked six-foot four-inch human popsicle. He swiped the status window to the side, and it seemed to collapse into a tiny version of the main emblem, hanging just at the edge of his vision. Then, he took a good long look around.

From his current viewpoint, the forest stretched out for hundreds, possibly thousands of miles. Mostly coniferous pine, with a scattering of birch here and there. The mountains were covered in some scrub brush lower down, and nothing but rocky crags further up. They were decently high too, probably somewhere between 10,000 to 15,000 feet. If he wanted to survive, the forest would be his best bet. Naturally, this meant he’d have to share those woods with all manner of beasts, and probably other weird monsters the aliens had cooked up.

Still. No real other choice.

Running down the mountainside barefoot would be a great way to end up with a broken leg; and with the temperature dropping towards freezing, if he didn’t find shelter soon, the cold would get him before any animal could. Swiftly, or at least as quickly as possible, Atlas started to make his way across the boulders.

He’d gotten maybe 50 feet when a howl echoed out above him. Slowly, he turned his head to glance upwards. There, in rocks. Shadows moving. Maybe ten of them? Yep, these aliens really did just want him to die. Well screw that. Time to run!

Leaping from rock to rock, Atlas did his best to avoid the small bits of ice and snow still scattered across the ground, breath already coming in heavy gasps. Above and behind him, more howls joined the first one.

“Stay focused, one jump at a time.” his thoughts crystalized, vision narrowing to the next rock, the next boulder. Find the best route, don’t stop, keep moving.

The snarling whine of a hungry beast pierced his concentration. How? How had they already gotten in front of him?! Massive shapes crept amongst the rocks. Wolves. At least a dozen of them. They were pushing him, guiding him. Too late he saw what lay ahead.

The river. Roaring eddies of crystal-cold runoff from the mountain peaks. Each bank was at least twenty feet apart, and he had no clue how deep it might get. Turning around, Atlas faced the beasts at his back. They continued to gather, creeping ever closer; a starving pack with only one goal in mind. Food.

He crouched and grabbed two stones, palming them and throwing them in swift motions. His aim was terrible, lack of breath and fear causing them to fly wide. The wolves paused as the crack of stone against stone flared out, then continued their slow prowl. Desperately looking around, Atlas could find nothing else, no other available weapon. They were still above the treeline, so there was no easy driftwood to grab, no large clubs he could swing in defense.

One step backward, then another. The freezing liquid lapped at his heels, the sound of rushing water drowning out the growls and whines of the surrounding pack. One wolf stepped forward. The largest by a decent margin, with a steel-silver coat of fur, and glistening teeth. Atlas met the beast’s gaze and saw intelligence in those yellow irises. For a moment, they all paused.

The wind rushed past his face, flurries of snow being carried down the cliffs. He didn’t dare blink. He felt the cold stone beneath his feet, the water’s icy touch singeing his nerves. His legs remained crouched, muscles tense. His hands carried stones, their smooth textures telling of years being whittled down by moving water. His fingers tightened their grip.

The wolves lunged, the alpha leaping for his throat. In one swift motion, he brought both stones up together, a movement born of desperation. He did manage to strike the wolf, enough even to smash its jaws shut. Not enough, however, to prevent its momentum. Together, beast and man flew backward in a tangled mess; the freezing waters embracing its sudden passengers.