There was a giant stele next to the hammer with names etched down the front of it—six columns, each with 50 names.

The columns were titled, “Ascendant. Minor God. True God. Empyrean.”

Next to each name was a recording—some read “2 AU or 3 AU.”

“What does AU stand for?” said Zane.

“That’s Apocalypse Unit,” said the Barbarian Sage. “The force needed to explode an F-ranked planet.”

These were Zane’s kind of people.

“The neat thing about these steles is they record achievements across all time. So if you place up there, you're among the strongest at your rank this entire Chaos Cycle. Look there!”

The Barbarian Sage pointed. And there—under the ‘Empyrean’ column, at the #2 spot, was the name ‘Barbarian Sage’ in giant blocky letters. Next to it: 514 AU.

“That was in my youth,” said the Barbarian Sage wistfully. “Those were the days, eh? I like to think I’m still good for the top ten.”

He clapped Zane on the back. “As we keep up with your training, we'll come back here to get benchmarks. See how you’re doing.”

A little crowd was starting to form around them now, pointing and whispering.

Then it started to part at the far end of the plaza.

A small horde was coming through—and at their head was a squat man with a scraggly beard and a squashed nose. But he had fierce black eyes that seemed to twinkle in the hot afternoon sun.

“Barbarian Sage, you old bastard!” he said, grinning.

The Barbarian Sage grinned right back. “Thorin Blackfist! I swear—it’s been ages since I saw your ugly mug. How the hell are you?”

Thorin chuckled. “Damn good, old friend. Damn good.”

He came up, thrust out a hand, and the Barbarian clasped it, bringing the dwarf into a firm back-thumping embrace.

“Zane! This is a good friend—and one-time rival—of mine, Grand Elder Thorin,” said the Barbarian Sage. He patted the guy on the back. Thorin was a full head shorter but he made up for it in thickness. “I’ve battled it out with him on these very steles. Wrestling spots from each other back and forth for decades.”

“Those were the days,” sighed Thorin. “This is Zane, eh?”

“Hey there,” said Zane, waving.

He looked Zane up and down, and grunted in approval. “Strapping lad. Well-fed,” was Thorin’s verdict.

“He’s a good one.” There was a distinct note of pride in the Barbarian Sage's voice. “Strong as an ox. He was that way before the Titan Rhino too. But he’s taken to the Bloodline better than anyone I've ever seen. Better than even I did!”

“That so?” said Thorin. The twinkle in his eyes grew stronger.

“Has he taken the trials yet?” said Thorin.

“We were just checking them out,” said the Barbarian Sage. “Might give ‘em a try.”

The Grand Elder nodded. “Funny thing. We’re here for just the same. My best disciple—Wendel there—he’s here to give the Hammer a go.”

Wendel shuffled up behind him; the crowd tripped over themselves to get out of his way. He wasn't hard to spot. He was a good head taller than anyone else, even slouched as he was. He was thick as a castle wall, with straggly oily shoulder-length hair, and his eyes were half-lidded as though sleepy.

“This one’s got True Giant blood. Densest I’ve seen,” said Thorin. He slapped Wendel on the back. “The raw strength on this one… I daresay he’s the most powerful disciple I've ever had. And I’ve trained Rax the Destroyer, don’t you forget.”

“Hmm,” mused the Barbarian Sage.

Wendel himself looked faintly bored with the whole thing; he yawned.

“Can we get this over with,” he rumbled to his master in a voice low enough to rattle the cobbles.

“Yea, yea,” said Thorin. “Patience!”

He nodded to the Barbarian Sage. “This one’s about to ascend—it's his last benchmark before he goes for Minor God. I expect he’ll do some serious damage.”

The crowd was getting thick. Folk were coming out of houses, holding up scrying glasses get recordings, spilling out into the square.

A little chant was even rumbling up—“Trial! Trial! Trial!” The crowd was stomping for it.

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Thorin’s dark eyes glinted. “Say—how about we have a little bet, eh? For old times’ sake?”

The Barbarian Sage snorted. “What’re you up to, you sly old hound?”

“Nothing!” Thorin shrugged, but his grin grew mischievous. “Just thought it’d be fun to see which of our disciples’s the stronger! Whoever gets the higher score, their Master gets eight cases of the finest Dolish Vintage. Unless, that is, you’re worried your Zane’s time with the fire-breathers has softened him up.”

The Barbarian Sage let out a chuckle at that. “Those are fighting words! And you know I do love a good ol’ contest. But that’s up to my disciple.”

He turned to Zane. “So how about it? You up for a good smashing?”

“Sure,” said Zane.

He was also intrigued to see how he stacked up. It would make for a good baseline before their training really got going… there was also a baser curiosity than that for Zane.

When he saw something very heavy, he wanted to try picking it up. It was hard to explain.

“Then it’s on,” cackled Thorin.

“Wait,” rumbled Wendel. The giant frowned and blinked, like he was waking up a bit, his enormous brow slowly wobbling in confusion. He jabbed a finger at Zane. The massive shadow of his arm fell across Zane’s face.

“He,” he rumbled. “Is meant to challenge me?”

Wendel seemed amused at that thought.

“Now, now,” said Thorin. “Play along, lad! Do well and there's a few cases of the finest beer in the Galaxy for you. Alright, you’re up!”

He gave the giant an encouraging thump on the back, and Wendel shuffled on up. Ascended the steps with confidence and stood before the hammer.

The giant took a deep breath. It seemed to take ages for him to fill his massive lungs up with air, then expel it all out in a stormy rush—

His Bloodline began to burn.

“True Giant’s a Heaven-grade Godbeast Bloodline,” commented Elder Thorin cheerfully. “Not the fastest, nor the most dexterous, perhaps, compared to those fancy Primordial-grades like your Titan Rhino—but the one thing where it can’t be beat is freakish strength.”

“We’ll see about that,” snorted the Barbarian Sage.

Wendel clasped hold of the hammer’s handle.

Then his entire body began to bulge, starting at those big muscles on the upper part of his back, going down his shoulders, his arms, until he was blowing up like a balloon—his eyes jerked wide. He seemed to come fully awake then.

He gave a tremendous bellow and unleashed his Domain. The Great Circle of some dense Law blew out of him.

And he lifted. You could see veins big as pipes bulging against his skin as he made the effort—heaving that great hammer all the way over his head, so that its shadow fell across half the gasping crowd.

He slammed it down with a full-throated shout.

CLANG!

The sound rang like a thunderclap. A wall of fierce air rushed out in all directions.

And the gauge began to shoot up. 0.4 Apocalypse units… 0.9… 1.4 came the final reading.

On the stele—at #9 all-time for an Ascendant—‘Wendel Kingcrusher.’

A ripple of shock went through the crowd. And this crowd was full of strong, musclebound folk—it was clear they knew exactly what that reading meant.

Then hearty cheers erupted. Fists pumped in the air.

Wendel’s eyes grew half-lidded, sleepy again; he breathed out, and a massive puff of steam left his mouth. He slouched on back to his master.

But on his way back, he stopped right in front of Zane.

He looked Zane dead in the eye. Looked him slowly up and down.

One massive lip curled. He looked amused again.

“Good luck,” he rumbled, and shuffled away.

What a strange fellow, thought Zane.

“What a little prick,” muttered the Barbarian Sage. Then he slapped Zane heartily on the back. “Forget him. You just go do your thing, son. Show ‘em a thing or two.”

Zane was about as calm as usual.

This little poking didn’t bother him. In that moment he was mostly curious about the hammer.

The crowd parted before him too just then as though sensing a new challenger. And he strode up the marble steps—all the way up to the hammer.

Up close the air warped a bit, as though that hammer had its own gravity.

He grabbed the leatherbound handle. It was thick all the way around—it would take some serious grip strength, and large hands, just to hold it. But Zane did not have trouble.

He took a deep breath. Set his jaw.

And his Bloodline began to burn.

Burn from his quickening heart, burn through his veins, and he felt the rest of his body slowly warming to life—felt chains of muscles tensing up and down his body, filled with hot blood—the Asura Form heating up as he did.

He imagined his whole body as one great chain of sheer force running up from his feet, going through his chest, his back, his hands…

He heard compacting sounds. The sounds of his fists compressing the leather. He was getting into the rhythm of things then…

He frowned.

Hmm.

This… the feeling was not quite right.

He still felt he wasn’t all the way there.

This was a strange circumstance for Zane. The trouble was this wasn't a fight. He needed that intensity, that excitement, to heighten the Asura state, he could tell then. To bring out the best in him. He wasn’t used to making a maximum effort for a mere test—banging an anvil.

He felt the hammer grow light in his hands. Felt he could lift it, but he would not settle for just this.

It was clear then. He needed more.

He needed his heart all the way in it. He needed to feel the way he did in the heat of the fight.

He thought about it, and let go of the hammer.

He saw the Barbarian Sage blink surprised out of the corner of his eyes—heard a gasp ripple through the crowd.

“He couldn’t even lift it?!”

“It’s to be expected for an Ascendant—that Worldbreaker’s heavy as hells. Still, after all that talk…”

The giant Wendel was right across from Zane and he wasn't even hiding his amusement. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Then Zane raised one hand, and slapped himself across the cheek.

CRACK!

It was almost as loud as the sound of Wendel’s hammer-blow.

The crowd all choked off at once.

The expression on Wendel’s face froze.

Then Zane raised his other hand—CRACK!

He worked his jaw, both sides of his face lit up in pain. He had not spared any power in that. His ears were ringing—his head was spinning a little.

He tasted blood.

He let out one steaming-hot breath, and snarled. Grinned.

There it was.

Now Zane was all the way awake.

When he clasped the leather again and called his body to war, gritting his teeth, his heart felt like a war-drum in his chest. His veins ran hot, muscles pumping to full—

His body roared to furious life.

NOW.

He grabbed the handle firm with both hands.

His Bloodline exploded. Stormfire exploded inside him, driving massive amounts of energy to his limbs, and the chain of force surged up him like an explosion, up from firmly planted feet, firing through thick quads, up his back, through his arms, each muscle building to a surging wave of raw force—

He wrenched the hammer off the anvil in one smooth motion.

For a second it hovered above him—wound all the way back at a point of stillness, of excruciating tension—

Then he bellowed, and dropped the hammer.

CLANG!!