Four of the contenders had died.

Almost as one, all the survivors did their species’ equivalent of lowering their head to express grief at the deaths. Some made loud noises, others beat their chest, and one spat thick slimy mucus at each of the empty spots. It didn’t matter what the routine was - the intentions were clear.

Honour, mourn, and acknowledge.

Part of him thought about his own mortality, and the rest of him on the impact this would have on a declining species when one of their rising stars, potentially the best for generations, died. It was a sobering moment for both reasons. Unbidden, he found himself focusing on the empty spot closest to him. It was the one next to the squat creature that was rocking backward and forward ridiculously fast.

She had never spoken, at least verbally. Instead, she had flashed and communicated everything that she wanted to say. A determination to try, no matter the odds; a conviction that an effort, even if it was a one in a hundred chance or one in a thousand, was worthy; a belief that an attempt was better than accepting the status quo. She had been a child, and he could see Briana demonstrating similar stubbornness. Despite being strong enough to be here, she had been just that - a child. Then again, he was an adult, and he had made the same choice. When the lives and future of everyone you knew were on the line, no one who had struggled to be strong was going to back away from the fight.

In some ways, she never had a choice.

The presenter appeared, and each of the four spots were illuminated; then the ghosts of the dead manifested within them. GOD magic was in play because he knew, at an absolute level, he was seeing their souls. There was no debate. This was them, their conscience preserved at the point of their death for this moment. Having been in an almost identical situation, Tom knew that they would be aware that they had died, and he understood the agony that they must be going through to have realised that they had failed and there was no reset to make things better.

Tears were running down his face, and he didn’t care.

Let everyone else know how much this affected him. He would wear any scorn or condemnation for his emotions, because he felt terrible for them…

That, and the fact that it could easily have been him returning as a ghost.

When he glanced around, he realised he hadn’t needed to feel bashful about showing emotion - over half of those he could see were as affected by this as he was. The majority here were children; he wasn’t, and some species would mature faster, but DEUS would be equalising things. It was almost certain that everyone here was, at a fundamental level, a child.

They were children.

The ones who understood what death was cried, and those that didn’t… well, they would be crying too, if they truly understood what they were witnessing.

The presenter cleared her throat loudly, and Tom felt a compulsion to face her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that it had affected everyone, including the ghosts. She smiled, then sniffed and briefly shut her eyes tightly to prevent herself from breaking down.

“You died trying to save your species.” She said quietly, and then had to stop for a moment, one hand on her heart and the other covering her eyes as she lowered her head. She visibly regathered her composure, and then she looked up once more, a brave smile on her face. Part of Tom thought it was bullshit, a mockery of emotion, but the rest believed it. He consistently felt that avatars of DEUS, no matter how close or far away from her, they always cared. They might have been powerless to affect reality, but they had cared.

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“You died trying to save your species,” she started again. “There is no grander ideal to pursue than that. Being willing to sacrifice yourself for others is something everyone here can respect. Your bravery will be remembered by all gathered. We salute you.” At those words, the ghosts faded away to nothing, and the presenter stopped and spun around to meet each of their eyes briefly. “We honour them and their cause, and I think, deep down, we understand why they did it.” She paused and swallowed heavily. “The reason for their deaths may be honourable, but do not delude yourself otherwise - they’re dead. Under the rules that this contest operates, under there are no hidden safety nets. Those four died, and they can do nothing further to help their species. There are no sweetheart deals, their soul will have their memory wiped and reborn as per the normal process. Think of what that means for those they leave behind, both those who loved them and those who would have been sheltered under their strength. This is a disaster for their species. As you make the choice to continue or push yourself to fight stronger enemies in the next round, consider the consequences of their choice. Pushing through to the end may not be the wisest course for all of us.”

“On that note, I’m sure you’re all interested in this.” She clicked her fingers, and a ranking ladder appeared right in front of his eyes in ghostly letters.

There were thirty-two lines on the table, with the bottom four crossed out. The information presented was simple. There was a picture, name and then score. Those in the desperate category had a brighter frame around their image to make it very clear who was contending for a spot.

The top fourteen on the list were in full colour, and those below them were greyed out. It made it very clear that half of the remaining were going through to the next round and not the top sixteen. Which meant it was likely there would only be three rounds, because if another two people died the third round, it would leave only three left competing for the spot.

Of the contenders, ten remained in the competition, four were dead, one had placed sixteenth and had failed to make the top fourteen, and the final two who had their species’ future guaranteed earlier had finished in the bottom section. Judging by their score, both of them must have fought under a GOD’s shield.

They were irrelevant. All that mattered was that there were ten left. Of those ten, any number from seven to four would go through to the next round, but most likely it would be five or six. Tom was certain that multiple people would die in the next round, as he knew how hard he was pushing himself, and he assumed the others were doing the same.

Then his brain registered the other critical detail of the table he was being shown: his own position and the score against each person. His heart sank as he comprehended the implications of those results. He felt like screaming in despair. They were too good.

“Fuck this,” he cursed. “If I don’t make it, do I get another chance?” he whispered.

“No,” the presenter answered him. He was looking at her, and he could see she was frozen like a statue. She was not using her body to talk to him. “Nobody gets more than one chance to be a contender.”

“But I need this, and…”

“You know why we do this.” She interrupted him. As she said that, he had an image of the bird and the aquatic person whose species had been saved, and he knew what she meant. The more people they could cycle through this process, the better. “Everyone gets one chance unless there is an opportunity for another species to save them, and then we cheat by using a divine intervention. As a competitor species, you’re not eligible for that; you can’t be saved. Under the rules, humanity needs to save itself.”

The entire conversation, Tom realised, had taken place instantly. He got the feeling the presenter had made use of his trait, and he was briefly functioning at ninety percent of the level that the avatar was capable of. It was a level of dilation where time might as well have stopped all together.

“I understand,” he whispered as he stared in shock at the score those above him had gotten. Around him, everyone else began moving at their normal pace. Tom realised he didn’t care.

The simple fact was that, despite giving everything since being reincarnated, he was too weak. If he had come into this body aged three, then the extra years of training might have made a difference. If… if… if.

Existentia didn’t care about ifs. It only cared about reality, and that painted a stark picture.