Erland’s eyes were much quicker to adjust this time. He was standing in the alley of a city he didn’t recognize. The walls around him were smooth and a rusty-red color. The roofs were flat, and the windows were simple holes cut into the walls.
The place was hot and arid. There was virtually no wind to speak of, and dust lay thick on the packed earth of the streets. It was eerily quiet, like Erland was the only living thing for miles around. Surrounding him was a glowing red forcefield.
‘Challenge Number One:
Hide and Seek.’
Erland almost laughed.
‘Round One: You’re It.
Find and tag as many other Players as you can before time runs out. Whenever you tag another Player, they also become ‘It’ and must find and tag other Players themselves.
One point will be rewarded for every Player tagged.
Players who are already ‘It’ will be marked in your interface.
You have thirty minutes.’
A conspicuous timer appeared in the corner of his vision. He began limbering up, scenting deeply at the air and grinning. If he got some worthy fights out of this, who was he to complain about playing a children’s game?
‘3… 2… 1… Go!’
As the timer counted down, the forcefield changed color from red, to yellow, to green, before disappearing. He shot out of the alleyway. His nose was already pointing the way, and the scent was familiar somehow. He ran unerringly down a maze of dusty streets. The only sounds he heard were the slaps of his soles against the earth.
He rounded a corner and the world went black, then red.
He groaned in pain from the clothesline blow that had sent him reeling.
“You?!” roared the familiar bear of a man standing over him. “One of the Aesir chose an honorless fuck like you!?”
Erland tried to change his grimace of pain into a smile. Bjarke’s foot sent him rolling away in pain instead.
“Looks like the first challenge will be easier than I thought,” he said. “Kill two birds with one stone too. Tag, you’re it.”
He stomped down, once, twice, and the world went black for Erland.
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Ratatoskr cursed and swiftly walked through the hallway to the observation room. A flashing red light and beeping noise echoed from inside. He carefully cradled a cup of hot tea in his paws, slowing his progress.
He continued grumbling internally as he arrived. One of the hundreds of screens was flashing red. The console was the source of the irritating beeping noise.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Ratatoskr said.
He took his seat and glared at the flashing red screen. Sullenly, he sipped the tea. It hadn’t cooled yet, burning his tongue and adding to his ire.
His paws moved to the console and the screen stopped flashing and enlarged itself. As it expanded, the screen revealed Bjarke standing over Erland’s corpse.
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Erland woke to a bird’s eye view of the city he had recently been running through beneath him. He tried to curse, only to discover he had no mouth. He didn’t panic immediately, until he discovered he also couldn’t move or change his perspective. Just before he began truly freaking out, text appeared on his Player interface.
‘You earned [1 point] from round one. You have until the end of the round to survey the city.’
Erland thought. The sprawling cityscape in front of him was ignored.
He spent most of the next thirty minutes berating himself. His self-haranguing only ended when a red timer appeared, counting down from thirty seconds. He scrambled to look for good hiding spots for the last thirty seconds. He noticed immediately a series of dots that showed where he and his opponents would be spawning.
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Erland had never really been competitive in anything other than fighting. Sports had just seemed like a poor substitute for beating down your opponents. Games even more so.
Following the rules wasn’t exactly something he had ever been interested in either.
Before that death, Erland hadn’t really been invested in the competition.
Now, he wanted to fight Bjarke again.
Now, he wanted to win.
‘Round Two: Not It.
You are not ‘It’. You will gain one point for every minute you manage to survive. If you are tagged, you will become ‘It’ and can gain one point for every Player you manage to tag.
You have thirty minutes.
3… 2… 1… GO!’
After reading the rules for the other side of the problem, a plan began to form. The number nine was considered very sacred to the Great Tree. Everything she did involved it in some fashion. The Nine Realms. The Nine Tiers. Even the rulers of each of the Realms came in numbers divisible by nine.
There were twenty-seven Aesir that ruled over Midgard. Each had selected one champion. There were three red dots on the map that Erland assumed indicated who was ‘It’ currently. By that math, there would probably be nine rounds of this.
Time to experiment.
He rematerialized in an alley of the city. A grin was already stretching his face.
The forcefield fell and he kicked off from the ground. He landed on the lip of one of the ground floor windows. His arms steadied his landing on the surrounding wall. Pivoting, he began springing between the two buildings crowded around him. Once he had made his way over the roof he surveyed the city once again.
He began running over the roof of the building, ensuring that his passage was much quieter than it had been in the first round. He adopted a half-crouched posture, trying not to skyline himself as he ran. After a fairly short amount of time, he heard footsteps echoing up to him from another nearby alley.
He bunched his legs and shot off the roof. A surprised shout greeted his landing, and the fight began.
The man in the alley was older than was common for someone still in F-Tier, perhaps in his late thirties. His physique was also uncommon, rippling with muscle. He had salt and pepper hair and pale brown eyes. He recovered quickly from his surprise at Erland’s ambush, drawing his bow and loosing an arrow in one smooth motion.
It wasn’t quick enough.
Erland activated his [Charge] and barreled through the alleyway, dropping low and letting the arrow sail past his shoulder. His shoulder slammed into the man’s stomach. Surprisingly, both of them staggered backwards from the impact.
Erland recovered first. He launched a quick combination of elbows and knees, not allowing his opponent to gain any distance. The man moved with a strength and agility that belied his apparent age, blocking Erland’s strikes with his forearms and shins. He smoothly slipped his bow back over his shoulder as he dodged Erland’s flurry, then stepped forward himself.
After the man’s first hook, Erland felt the thrill rising up from his stomach.
“What’s your name?” he asked, drawing a confused look from his opponent. “Even though my nose isn’t reacting to you at all, you’re pretty good. I want to know who you are.”
“Your nose?” the man said in confusion. He quickly shook it off as they continued to trade parries and dodges, neither landing any clean hits yet. “I am Ameer Benson, chosen of Sif. Who’s asking?”
“Erland Grim, chosen of the worthless Baldr,” Erland said with a smile, causing Ameer’s confusion to return. “Let’s have a good fight, Ameer.”
The brief conversation served two purposes. Firstly, it satisfied Erland’s curiosity at who he was fighting. After exchanging blows and observing his skill, Erland had no doubt that his nose should have been practically screaming at him over Ameer. He wanted to know why, but more as a passing interest. Everything was secondary to the desire for a good fight.
Secondly, it distracted his opponent long enough for a counter to land. Erland had slowly lowered his left guard over the course of the fight. With each parry, he let that shoulder drop a fraction more.
Ameer took the bait and Erland’s plan almost backfired in that instant.
He launched a motionless haymaker, a masterful punch with all the force his body could muster behind it. If Erland hadn’t been expecting a blow to that side, or his reaction had been even a fraction slower, it would have brought the fight to a swift and painful end for him.
Instead, he slipped the blow just enough for it to glance off his shoulder. He was inside Ameer’s guard instantly. The glancing blow spun him slightly with its strength. Erland spun with that momentum, his short right uppercut connecting hard enough to break his opponent's ribs.
The graying haired man’s breath whooshed from his lungs, but it didn’t stop his counterattack. He hooked the still extended arm around Erland’s shoulders and wrenched them both to the ground. Despite the pain tearing through his broken ribs he began to hammer blows into Erland’s kidneys.
Erland’s red hair flashed as he spun himself over in Ameer’s grasp. He returned fire from underneath the other man’s bulk, reducing his power. Fortunately, his target had already folded once. Ameer’s ribs creaked and cracked with every additional tap. Blood flew from his lips as his insides were torn up by the additional damage. His hammer blows on Erland’s back grew weaker and weaker, until eventually he collapsed.
Erland quickly pushed his defeated opponent's body off of him, cradling his injured kidneys as he panted on the ground. His interface sparked to life in front of his eyes, displaying the notifications it had delayed until combat was over.
‘You have been tagged. You are now It, and must find and tag as many players as possible before time is up.’
His eyes shot to the red countdown timer in the corner of his vision. Just over twenty minutes left.