"You've entered a Trawll zone."
Jelani dismissed the floating scroll from his vision, his back pressed against a gnarled tree trunk. The mountain's character had begun to change at this elevation. What had started as dense forest at the base had given way to jagged rock formations and precarious slopes. Ancient stone structures dotted the landscape, their weathered surfaces telling silent stories of civilizations long past.
He had a clearer view of the Trawlls and their positions now, but the sparse cover left him more exposed. The creatures moved with purpose here, their patterns more organized than in the previous zone.
Jelani opened the timer in his peripheral vision.
[15:26:55]
Eight hours and forty-four minutes on this mountain. "I've basically put in a full time shift so far and still have a ways to go... fuck." His stomach growled, the sound immediately followed by a sharp pain in his ribs that made him hunch over. The motion pulled at half-healed wounds, reminding him of every close call he'd survived so far.
Anger flared in his chest. "I can't afford to be weak right now," he growled, forcing himself upright. "Got to man up and get this shit done!" He straightened his spine, willing away the fatigue that had been creeping into his muscles for hours. Sweat had soaked through his work shirt, the thin fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He wiped his forehead and shrugged off his work jacket, tying it around his waist.
His phone clattered to the ground, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the thin mountain air. "Oh shit, I'd forgotten about my phone." Jelani scooped it up, checking for damage. He knew better than to expect WiFi in some dark realm created by an interdimensional being, but he checked anyway.
The screen lit up, showing no service – as expected. His lock screen photo caught his eye: him and his mother at his cousin's graduation, both smiling. It felt like a lifetime ago. He unlocked the phone with facial recognition and opened the camera app. No signal, but he could still use it to his advantage.
The phone's zoom revealed details his eyes had missed. Trawlls gathered around crude campfires, their massive forms casting long shadows across the landscape. Some structures stood empty, while others housed what looked like sleeping giants. He tracked patrol patterns, noting how they intersected and where the gaps might be.
His camera found the spire next, zooming in to 5x magnification. He half-expected some magical backlash – a static shock or worse – for daring to examine it so closely. But nothing happened.
The tower was a marvel of alien architecture. Silver metal spiraled upward in impossible patterns, with glass panels set between the loops. Green light pulsed from within, the same harlequin shade as his enhanced slash. The whole structure looked like something out of a cyberpunk fever dream, a wizard's tower reimagined through a lens of advanced technology.
"Definitely not something you see everyday," Jelani muttered. He lowered the phone, checking his surroundings before sprinting to a crumbling wall just a couple yards away.
As he moved between cover points, his mind wandered to what would come after. The enforcer who'd tried to kill him would need proper thanks – preferably delivered with fists and whatever powers this trial might grant him. Jelani wasn't typically a vengeful person, but some debts needed paying.
"I'm getting my lick back plus some," he promised himself, "and exposing whatever fucked up shit they're cooking up in the city." The thought energized him, gave him something to focus on beyond the immediate challenges. People had called him petty before, said he took things too far sometimes. But in his experience, letting people walk all over you was a quick way to end up dead.
A pair of Trawlls emerged from behind a rocky outcropping, forcing Jelani to slide into the shadow of a sparse cluster of trees. These ones moved differently than their lower-elevation cousins – more purposeful, almost military in their patrol pattern. He waited until they passed before scrambling up a nearby hill, taking cover behind a boulder roughly his size.
He pulled out his phone again, using it to scan the area. The camera's zoom revealed something that made his blood boil – Ahsar, crouched behind his own boulder with a lone tree providing additional cover. The sight of the man who'd left him for dead sent a surge of anger through Jelani's chest, hot and demanding.
The rational part of his mind warned against letting that anger control him. But another part, the part that remembered every betrayal, every time someone had tried to put him in his place, wanted satisfaction.
Jelani took stock of his resources: two Trawll cores and a few specter cores he'd managed to collect in the free area between this zone and the last. Not much, but maybe enough to establish a lead. He didn't know if Ahsar had managed to hunt down another Trawll, but right now that uncertainty didn't matter.
Moving carefully between patches of cover, Jelani timed his advance around the Trawlls' patrol patterns. The mountainous terrain made stealth more challenging – loose rocks could shift underfoot at any moment, sending a cascade of pebbles downhill. But he'd learned to test each step, to distribute his weight in ways that minimized noise.
When he finally passed Ahsar's position, he caught a glimpse of the soldier's face. Surprise flickered across those features, followed quickly by something harder to read. Shame? Anger? Whatever it was, it disappeared behind that practiced military mask almost instantly.
"Bitch ass ni-" Jelani cut himself off, forcing down the urge to do something stupid. Revenge would come later. Right now, he needed to focus on the climb.
The next thirty minutes were a careful dance between cover points. Ancient structures provided moments of shelter, their weathered walls still bearing traces of craftsmanship that spoke to a forgotten civilization. Sometimes Jelani would pause in these ruins, catching his breath while studying the worn carvings. Many depicted scenes of combat, of figures wielding powers not unlike what he'd seen in this trial.
Finally, the second toll barrier came into view, its surface shimmering like heat waves rising from hot pavement. Jelani approached cautiously, one Trawll core already in hand. The barrier accepted his offering without ceremony, and he stepped through into the next free area between trawll zones.
***
"You've entered a Trawll zone."
The message appeared just as the landscape opened up before him, revealing terrain even more challenging than what he'd left behind. The mountain's true nature revealed itself here – a massive stratovolcano with steep, rocky slopes and far fewer trees for cover. What vegetation did survive at this elevation was twisted and stunted, shaped by constant wind and thin air.
Jelani pulled himself up a steep rock face about his height, his muscles protesting the effort. The view from the top made his heart sink. Trawll encampments dotted the landscape, centered around the remaining stone structures. These creatures wore more elaborate armor than their lower-elevation kin, and their posture spoke of greater awareness. They actively scanned their surroundings, looking less like mindless brutes and more like trained sentries.
With minimal cover and alert enemies, direct confrontation would be suicide. Jelani checked his resources again: one Trawll core left, a lighter, his phone, his wallet and a few napkins from his last delivery run. Not much to work with, but maybe enough for a distraction.
His eyes landed on a lone tree standing behind a small boulder. Dried underbrush surrounded its base, mixed with fallen leaves – potential fuel for a fire..
He worked his way to the tree, staying low and using what little cover the stratovolcanic terrain provided. The ground was warm beneath his hands, a reminder of the mountain's true nature.
His first attempts at starting a fire were amateur at best. Trying to light individual sticks proved useless, the wood too thick to catch easily. "City boy problems," he muttered to himself, remembering how his father used to mock his lack of outdoor skills. The memory stung, but it also pushed him to think smarter.
He gathered the dried underbrush into a small pile, adding fallen leaves for kindling. The napkins from his delivery run – remnants of his ordinary life that seemed so distant now – would serve as starter fuel. The lighter caught the first napkin, and he carefully fed the flame until it took hold of the natural materials.
Smoke began to rise, thin wisps at first that gradually thickened into a proper column. Jelani retreated to a position several yards left of the fire, where he could observe the Trawlls' reactions. The creatures noticed the smoke, but seemed oddly hesitant to investigate. Some watched the rising column with what might have been suspicion, but none moved to check it out.
"Why aren't you taking the bait?" Jelani's jaw clenched in frustration. The fire alone wasn't enough – he needed something more attention-grabbing. His hand went to his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Once he committed to this, there was no going back.
He ran his thumb over the phone's screen, thinking of the photos stored there, the connections to his old life. Most were backed up, but losing the device meant losing access to some data he could not recover.
The choice crystallized: sacrifice a link to his past for a chance at his future. Just one of many such choices this trial seemed determined to force upon him.
He checked his backup status and his latest recovery date was a few months back.
“Dammit man, I really should’ve stayed on top of that. But nothing I can do about it now.”
He opened Spotify, set the volume to maximum, and hit shuffle. The phone's speakers weren't great, but in the relative quiet of the mountain, any noise would carry. He placed the device near the growing fire and retreated to his observation point.
The shuffle algorithm chose violence, dropping into an aggressive trap metal track that shattered the mountain's silence. The sudden cacophony of distorted 808s and raw vocals seemed to offend the Trawlls' sensibilities. Several of them began moving toward the sound, weapons ready, their previous hesitation forgotten.
Jelani took advantage of their distraction, staying low and moving quickly along a path that would take him to a ridge ahead. Each step had to be carefully placed – one loose rock, one misplaced foot, and he'd give himself away. The thin air at this elevation made every movement more taxing, his lungs burning as they fought for oxygen.
The ridge, when he reached it, offered a game trail leading upward. Hope flared in his chest – maybe the barrier would be just over the crest. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself onward, every step a negotiation between necessity and exhaustion.
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He opened the zone timer to gauge how much time he had left and then opened up the general timer for the whole trial.
Zone Timer [50:34]
Trial Timer [13:33:07]
He was making good on his time and hoped phase 3 was coming up soon.
But when he crested the hill, what he found wasn't just the barrier. A man knelt before it, one hand resting on a sword planted in the ground. His appearance was striking – fair-skinned with neck-length wavy brown hair, wearing a white button-up missing one sleeve. Blood stained the partially unbuttoned fabric, though whether it was his own or someone else's was unclear.
The man seemed to be catching his breath, but there was something else about his posture that set off warning bells in Jelani's mind. It wasn't just exhaustion weighing him down – there was a tension in his shoulders, a readiness that spoke of violence barely contained.
"He must be number one," Jelani thought, studying the man carefully. His first impression wasn't particularly impressive – the guy looked like some trust fund bachelor who'd wandered into the wrong dimension, all luxury brands and carefully styled hair despite the blood and dirt. But Jelani had learned the hard way not to judge threats by their appearance.
Still, he couldn't quite suppress the thought: "He don't look to be all that. Probably just got lucky, found an easy path up."
As Jelani approached the barrier, the man spun around with startling speed. The look in his eyes was almost feral, a wild energy that seemed at odds with his refined appearance. When he spoke, it was in rapid French:
"Cela fait des heures que je n'ai pas vu quelqu'un d'autre."
His tone was neutral enough, but his eyes tracked Jelani's movement with predatory focus. The way his gaze lingered on Jelani's tattoos, his locs, his clothes – it all carried weight, carried judgment. Here was a man used to making quick assessments, to categorizing people at a glance.
Jelani chose to ignore him, not wanting another Ahsar situation. He had a goal, and trading words with some stressed-out Frenchman wasn't part of it. But as he moved forward, the man's posture shifted subtly, becoming more aggressive.
"Vous devez être compétent pour être arrivé jusqu'ici, mais votre attitude stoïque ne vous donne pas l'air plus cool."
The words meant nothing to Jelani, but the tone carried clear condescension. He couldn't help the face he made in response – dealing with this kind of thinly veiled negative energy wasn't new, but it never got less irritating. He gave a noncommittal nod and tried to continue forward.
"Il est évident que vous n'êtes pas français ou que quelque chose vous a coupé la langue," the man said, an annoyed smirk playing at his lips. The expression carried echoes of every privileged asshole who'd ever looked down on Jelani, every person who'd assumed they knew exactly what he was capable of based on how he looked.
As Jelani moved to pass the man, the Frenchman stood smoothly, his hand adjusting its grip on the sword still planted in the ground. The movement was casual but precise, speaking of years of formal training.
"J'ai pris la tête de ce procès et le pouvoir spécial m'appartiendra. Je vous suggère d'arrêter ou je vous découperai." The words carried menace now, but it was the way he stood – like a fencing instructor addressing an unruly student – that made Jelani's jaw clench.
"You good, bruh? I don't know what the hell you're saying, dude." Jelani kept his voice level, controlled, but couldn't help adding, "I don't like the way you're looking at me right now though." He manifested his sword, immediately realizing his mistake but refusing to back down. He'd spent too much of his life being looked at that way, being expected to step aside, to yield.
The change in the Frenchman was immediate. His posture shifted into a pristine fencing stance, the kind you'd learn at some expensive private school. The message was clear: 'Let me show you how a civilized person handles a blade.'
"Ces barrières linguistiques sont de plus en plus ennuyeuses, mais vous avez l'air dangereux. Je n'aime pas le défi que vous représentez." The man backed up several paces, positioning himself to block Jelani's path completely. His stance was textbook perfect, his blade steady – a stark contrast to Jelani's more practical, street-influenced guard.
The situation's reality hit Jelani hard. This was number one, someone who'd fought his way here first. If it wasn’t for his crazy play in the first zone he may not have ever caught up. But watching the man's careful, almost theatrical movements, Jelani felt his earlier exhaustion being burned away by a familiar fire. He'd dealt with this type before – people who thought their formal training made them superior, who expected him to know his place.
"We don't have to do this, bro." Jelani attempted diplomacy one last time. "I'm just going to exit this barrier and keep moving forward. You can choose your own path, and whoever makes it to the top first is the rightful winner." Even as he spoke, he knew it was useless. The man's entire bearing radiated disdain for the very idea of letting Jelani pass.
The Frenchman's lip curled slightly as he responded in heavily accented English: "I have no good English, so I say you to... stop moving or I stop you moving." His tone was self assured, as if talking to a child, it carried more insult than any curse could have.
The condescension ignited something in Jelani's chest. "Man, if you don't get out of my way." He felt his voice rising but couldn't stop it. "You don't tell me what I can't do! It's not my fault you slowed down." He moved forward, daring the man to act on his threats.
The response was blindingly fast – a thrust that nearly pierced Jelani's arm, slicing clean through his sleeve. The attack's precision was shocking, but it was the casual nature of it, like swatting an insect, that really got under Jelani's skin.
"What the fuck! Who the hell attacks a man for no reason?" Jelani's mind raced to process the speed of that strike.
The Frenchman's pleased expression at Jelani's shock only fueled his anger. When the man turned slightly toward the barrier, as if dismissing Jelani entirely, something snapped.
"Oh, you thought I was going to fall in line?" The thought burned through Jelani's mind. "Arrogant motherfucker, I don't care what you've been through before this that's got you on edge." He called out before he summoned his blade fully and charged, turning his anger into momentum.
The French man turned at the sounds of his run and their swords met with a clash that rang across the slope. "Agressif et pas très intelligent. Comme un singe typique, hein?" The Frenchman's smirk carried a smug edge.
He pushed hard against the Frenchman's blade, muscles straining. "Just shut the fuck up. I don't know what the fuck you're saying!"
Jelani launched into a horizontal slash, then feinted into a thrust – a combination he'd practiced countless times in his backyard. But where his movements carried the raw energy of entry level classes and YouTube tutorials, the Frenchman's response was pure classical training. He slid his blade along Jelani's with almost lazy precision, opening a shallow cut across Jelani's left obliques.
The wound wasn't deep, but the ease with which it was delivered spoke volumes. Years of weekend classes and online videos versus what had to be a lifetime of formal instruction. The practical part of Jelani's mind screamed at him to disengage, to find another way. This wasn't like the Trawlls, where brute force and clever tactics could overcome superior strength. This was skill against skill, and the gap was obvious.
But backing down now, accepting this man's silent assumption of superiority – that wasn't something Jelani could do. Not after everything he'd survived to get here.
If this pretentious asshole wouldn't let him pass, he'd have to be moved. Jelani raised his hand sharply, summoning the sickly green mist of his hex. The spell caught the Frenchman off guard, momentarily obscuring his vision.
Jelani pressed his advantage, lunging in with everything he had. But even through the hex, even with weakened muscles, the Frenchman met his blade with great form. Jelani spun into a horizontal slash, putting his whole body into the movement. For a moment, it seemed to work – the Frenchman's weakened arm failed to fully parry, forcing him to jump back and reassess.
"Ce doit être le sort hexagonal," the man muttered, flexing his affected arm. His eyes narrowed as he studied Jelani with new consideration. "Je dois admettre que votre compétence n'est pas mauvaise, mais qu'elle est encore très novice."
Switching to his broken English, he added: "You are no good, very basic. I can train you, Comme un bon singe." A light chuckle followed, dripping with condescension. "But you stay, I go. You come later."
The offer hit Jelani like a slap. This man had attacked him, insulted him, and now wanted to play mentor? As if Jelani should be grateful for the opportunity to learn from his "better." It was a chance to de-escalate, sure. The smart play would be to swallow his pride, let the man go ahead, live to fight another day.
But that voice in his head, the one that had pushed him through every other challenge on this mountain, wouldn't let him back down. Not to someone who looked at him and saw only what they expected to see.
The question burned in his mind: would he take this man's life for the chance at ascending to number one? Was his pride worth potentially dying over what might be just a cultural and linguistic misunderstanding? Could he even win this fight?
Jelani lowered his guard slightly. "Look, I'm going through that barrier now whether you like it or not. I go, you go, it doesn't matter. We both still have some climbing left." He pointed between them, then at the spire, hoping to bridge the language gap with gestures.
"Ohh, vous voyez donc la raison? On dirait que vous êtes en train d'évoluer." The man's tension seemed to ease, but his tone carried the same patronizing note, like praise for a child finally learning its lesson.
"Bien, I go," the Frenchman said, turning with an exaggerated casualness. He raised one hand in a dismissive wave, the gesture carrying more insult than any word could have. The message was clear: 'Run along now, you've amused me enough.'
Jelani started walking, rubbing his hand through his locs in frustration. This kind of victory – if you could even call it that – tasted like ash in his mouth. But he'd barely taken three steps when the Frenchman spun back around in annoyance, suddenly his blade came whistling through the air in a thrust that would have pierced Jelani's bicep if not for years of street-honed instincts.
"What the fuck, man?" The last threads of Jelani's patience snapped. "You know what? Fuck this!" He was done playing nice, done trying to navigate this man's arbitrary rules and hidden tests. If this pompous asshole wanted to be wishy-washy and provoke a fight, he'd get one.
Their blades met again, but this time the pretense of civility was gone. The Frenchman's technique remained perfect – every movement textbook precise – but now it carried killing intent. His strikes came faster, each one probing Jelani's defense for weaknesses. Jelani found himself struggling to catch the constant jabs and slashes, his arms burning with the effort.
An opening appeared in the Frenchman's guard. Jelani saw it, committed to the attack – only to realize too late it was a trap. The man's blade sliced across Jelani's thigh in a precise cut, drawing a line of fire across the muscle. Blood immediately began to soak his pants leg.
"Vous comprenez déjà? Big difference. You and me." The Frenchman pointed between them, his meaning unmistakable. He wasn't just trying to win anymore – he was teaching what he clearly saw as a needed lesson about knowing one's place.
Something dark and fierce rose in Jelani's chest. With a growl that carried years of suppressed rage, he lunged forward. If this bastard wanted death, Jelani would gladly deliver it.
He put everything into his strikes now, abandoning technique for raw power. The Frenchman evaded and parried with ballet-like grace, his footwork impeccable even on the treacherous volcanic ground.
Desperation mounting, Jelani feinted a slash, then burst into the man's guard. His sword's pommel drove hard into the Frenchman's gut, followed immediately by a headbutt that connected with the man’s nose. The crack of breaking cartilage was deeply satisfying, even as pain exploded through Jelani's own skull.
The Frenchman stumbled backward, blood streaming from his ruined nose. "Mon nez, tu m'as cassé le nez, espèce de singe!" Rage transformed his refined features into something bestial. He charged forward, all pretense of superiority forgotten.
Jelani's arms shook from the impact of each parry. The man's strikes came relentlessly now, his technique no less perfect for all his fury. Jelani tried to maintain his guard, but a knee to his groin shattered his defense and sent him crashing to his knees, fighting for breath.
The Frenchman circled him like a shark, then spat – actually spat – on him.
"He just..." The reality of it took a moment to process through the pain. Jelani forced himself up, battle fury overwhelming common sense. He launched into a combination attack, trying to force the man's blade downwards to create an opening for an enhanced slash.
The Frenchman's grin should have been a warning.
Their blades met, Jelani's glowing harlequin green against the man's sudden scarlet red. For a moment, it seemed to be working – the Frenchman's enhanced blade gave ground under Jelani's weight .
"I can do this! I can beat him!" The thought blazed through Jelani's mind. "Not so fucking tough now, huh!" he shouted, seeing panic flash across the man's face.
Then the Frenchman's expression shifted to something venomous, and Jelani realized too late he'd fallen for another trap.
The energy in the man's blade suddenly intensified, stripping the power from Jelani's enhanced slash. There was a moment of weightlessness, a sensation of flying backward, then his world exploded in pain as he crashed into a boulder.
Darkness claimed him before he even hit the ground.