Yuri pushed her way through the crowd, gazing idly at the towering brick buildings around her. The Sixth Ring. Strange, that. She’d known only the first Four for a time and then had grown used to the Fifth. Five was a nice, solid number, after all. This Sixth would take some getting used to, however. It’d only been around for two years, and yet it was already the new center of Ring politics. Everybody who was anybody found themselves here. The Enchanter’s Guild, the Premier Aristocracy, the Black Syndicate… They were all here. Once more, excitement filled her. So much to do, so much to learn.

She spotted the man out of the corner of her eye. He sat on a bench, staring at the List with focus, but then again, everybody looked at the List. His face was thin, and every few minutes, he scanned around the bustling plaza they called a square. Looking. Searching. It was a good thing she had found him first.

“So you’re my contact?” she said, sitting beside him on the bench. Bushes rose up behind them, and a marble fountain trickled in the square’s center. She kept her face turned towards the crowd.

He looked around suspiciously. She almost rolled her eyes. For a spy, he was damn obvious.

“And you are?” he asked in a nasally voice.

“Yuri.” For now, at least.

He pulled a paper out of his Storage ring, looking it over. “Mhm,” he said. “You’re new here, then?”

“Does your paper not say so?”

He smiled at her, his eyes flat. “Figures. I would get the difficult one,” he said.

“It’ll be a lot more difficult if you don’t tell me what I need to know,” she said, turning her face to meet his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” he said with a wave. “Listen, and try not to interrupt, will you? The Sixth Ring is a battleground. Not just between us and the Bugs, either. No, all the forces in the Rings are competing here, and they fight on the List.”

He stopped for a moment to gesture at the blue screen that hung over the fountain in the middle of the busy square. The screen everyone looked at.

Name

Rank

Points

Hiro Ito

1

1, 571, 363

Nil

2

1, 568, 444

Scripture

3

1, 566, 778

Alistair

4

1, 566, 232

Ash Malan

5

1, 563, 110

Horde

6

1, 561, 509

“As you can see,” he continued, “the top six is heavily contested. Five of those represent one of the powerhouses of this layer. I’ll start with Horde…”

---

“Horde.”

She sat up in her bed, lathered in sweat. It was dark out, but that was no surprise. Sleep was a treat that got rarer by the day.

“What is it?” she said, suppressing a yawn.

“Activity in Quadrant Five. Otto wants you to come. Says you’ve fallen behind in the List,” the tinny voice said. She sighed. Of course. Never a day off. Never a moment of rest. It was always the List. Status was everything in the Republic, and she was their favorite trophy to parade about.

“Fine, fine. I’m on it.”

The metallic voice did not respond. It couldn’t. It had no true intelligence. It was only part of the Horde. She stood on wobbly legs before a pair of spider-like metal legs caught her weight. Then another pair appeared from her back. And another. She smiled, rubbing one of them softly. They, too, were part of the Horde. As was she.

She dressed herself before leaving the room. The click of tiny metal legs followed close behind.

---

The man paused for a moment. Yuri raised an eyebrow, waving him on. She was committing every detail to memory.

He let out a small sigh. “Right. Next is Ash Malan. She was relatively unknown before the Enchanter’s Guild found her, but now…”

---

“Ash, slow down,” Ty said, trying to regain his footing on the slick ice. He frowned at her, his blue eyes crinkling with amusement.

She laughed. He was cute when he frowned. No, that wasn’t true. He was cute all the time. He was just more cute when he frowned. She slid to his side, pushing him over once more. He fell back onto the ice with mock helplessness, and she fell beside him. He pulled her close. She didn’t resist.

“I love you,” she said, looking down at their tangled skates. It would be hell standing up after, but it was worth it. He was worth it. She turned to him, their bodies inches apart on the frozen lake.

He smiled in the way she liked. “I love-”

The ice behind him shattered, and a scaled snout bit down on his head, his skull popping like an overripe tomato. Viscera splattered across her like rain. It was everywhere. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone-

She sat up with a sigh, looking at the room around her with a tired sigh. A huge bed. Rich carpets. Gold utensils. Ash Malan, the number one Classer employed by the Enchanter’s Guild. She snorted darkly at that. The Enchanter’s Guild, the faction devoted to recreating Old World technology with New World Skills. Maybe that was why she liked them. They were also stuck in the past.

She pulled a small pouch out from under the cushion of her plush sofa, shaking a little bit of powder onto her finger. She snorted it with relief. This was the other reason she liked them. Probably the most important one, really. They gave her Dust, the drug that could let one relive memories. It was the only way to see him again.

---

“Which brings us to Alistair,” her contact continued. “But you probably know of him, don’t you? Nice guy by all accounts. Except for the murdering, of course. Bad business, that.”

---

A dim light casted the intimate office in a warm orange. Two men sat, one behind a rich desk.

“Say. It. Again.”

The obese man nodded again, the flesh on his chin jiggling. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. A-As I was saying, me and Robby-”

“Robby and I.”

“Right, yes. Thank you, sir. Robby and I were watching over the delivery. Just like you ordered, truly. Then out of nowhere, some guy attacks us. He’s cloaked and moving fast. Like insanely fast, sir. Before I knew what had happened, Robby was dead. Everybody was dead. Only I was left,” the man finished, giving him a thin smile.

Alistair tapped a finger on his desk. The lamp above them flickered for a moment before coming back on. “Interesting story, that. Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, sir. Right you are.”

“Can I be honest with you, Chubs?”

The fat man nodded his head enthusiastically. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you. You see, a part of your story is nagging at me. Terribly.”

“Oh?”

Alistair shook his head, rubbing his lip as if in thought. “Yes, well… It’s just that you lost one of my shipments. Do you understand that? Mine.”

“My apologies, sir. It won’t happen again. I promise,” the man begged.

Alistair pointed at him with mock surprise. “Bingo, that’s it! I should’ve thought of that before.”

“Thought of what?”

“Of this,” Alistair said, standing. A dark form lurched from his shadow, and the obese man fell to ground, throat slit. Alistair eased himself back into his comfy leather chair, dabbing at blood on his pale face with a white handkerchief. “Good help is just so hard to find these days.”

---

“So we have Horde, Ash, and Alistair. Who’s next?” Yuri said, using a Skill to obscure their voices. To any eavesdroppers, their conversation would be muddled, their words indistinguishable.

“Right. Next would be Scripture, I believe. Now that is an odd one. Who would’ve thought the exiles of the Fourth Ring would be the ones to start a blasted religion?”

Yuri frowned. “What kind of religion could take hold in a group of criminals?”

Her contact met her eyes with a serious expression. “A violent one.”

---

Tenet looked at the stuttering man in front of her. Weak chin, weak gaze, weak soul. He would have to be taught. Her plans had to remain hidden.

“Your name?” she asked.

The man looked down at his shackled wrists. “David.”

“Confess, David. Tell me of your sins.”

He looked at her, squinting in the bright, clinical light of the room. His eyes were red from crying. Pathetic. “I didn’t do anything!” he cried.

“Confess.”

“I swear,” he said. “Nothing happened. I didn’t see anything. I promise!”

“My Witnesses say otherwise. Confess.”

The man’s expression hardened, firming up. “I. Said. I didn’t see anything,” he said through clenched teeth. Now that was better. There was no fun in breaking a weak man.

“Scripture, please teach this man of the Faith.”

From behind her, a man shuffled forward. He was huge, words of ink covering near every inch of exposed skin. “Yes, Tenet,” he said woodenly. “Article Two, Verse Three. The filth of man is lies-”

“What the fuck are you,” the man said, trying to pull his hands free of his chains.

A sharp snap rang through the small room. The man reeled back, a red welt forming on his cheek. His eyes widened in fear. A section of Scripture’s tattoos rose from his skin, the words writhing like an angry snake.

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Scripture did not blink. Tenet smiled. This was the best part. “Article Two, Verse Three. The filth of man is lies, and the Lord accepts only the clean.” Each word was punctuated by another snap and another cry of pain. The sinners would be purified.

---

Yuri committed the words to memory. “And the next is… Nil?” she said, reading the screen. That was strange. The numbers by his name were… changing.

Her contact nodded sharply. “Nil is a strange one. Connected to no force, loyal to none. Except for himself, of course. Word is that he has the appearance of a young boy, but do not be fooled. He is insane,” he said.

---

The strum of an electric guitar filled Nil’s ears. Loved a good song, did Nil, and the little devices played it in his ear for just a little Qi. Thank the gods for the Enchanter’s Guild. He swept his shaggy white hair from out of his eyes, and in the same movement, he unsheathed the heavy black sword from his back. It was scarred and pitted, a testament to its age. He smiled. At least one of them looked old.

He stood from his spot in the rafters of an abandoned cathedral. Well, previously abandoned. Below him, a swarm of the black Bugs teemed about, each standing taller than the average man. Taller than Nil, at any rate. The humanoid ants casted buffs on each other, sharpened weapons, and communicated in a buzz of chittering mandibles, no doubt readying for some offensive.

He suppressed a yawn. It was almost time. He waited. And waited. Now, he thought with a smile. The guitar in his ear had picked up, and with it came the raspy, shouting voice of the lead vocalist. He dropped down to the floor with a crash, his knees barely bending from the shock. It was time to start a little solo of his own.

The black longsword swept through a Bug, bisecting it. Nil turned, and the blade followed. Together, they created a symphony of violence, his favorite kind. He was quick. He was unbeatable. He moved to the beat of his music. His sword beheaded an enemy. Then another. One more after that. On and on, Nil went, and finally, he was left with only open air. He looked for another. There. A small group of Bugs chittered in the corner of the warehouse, their big eyes looking at him in fear. Loved a good finish, did Nil. He activated the enchantment on his sword. It burst into pieces.

The shards of his sword hung around the group of Bugs, falling to the floor like petals of death. He sensed the growing storm between the pieces of his sword, and he felt the rush of energy in his body. Nil grinned.

“You’ve been… Thunderstruck!” he said. Lightning arched between the shards of metal, frying the Bugs caught in the middle. After a few moments, the shards of his sword recombined, and his sword was whole once more. He looked around, hefting the black blade on his shoulder. Nothing. He sighed with a shrug. Another boring fight. Good thing he had his music. He walked out of the warehouse, one hand tucked in a pocket on his shorts and the other on his sword.

---

Yuri leaned back on the bench. “Do I even want to know about Hiro?”

Her contact laughed. “Yes, yes you do. He’s the most normal of the seven I’d say.”

---

Hiro walked down the street. People stared, but then again, they always did. Why wouldn’t they? He was amazing. He caught a woman staring and flexed his bicep. She looked away. Embarrassed, he thought with a sigh. For some reason, all the women on the Sixth were so bashful. He wanted bold. But not too bold. Hiro was, after all, the real hero. It was in his name, even. Kind of.

He winked at another, tossing his wonderful black hair back with a flourish. She, too, looked away. He sighed, deflating like a sad balloon. Back on the First Ring, things had been so simple. A smile here, a joke there, and the deal was sealed. It shouldn’t be this hard now. He was Hiro, the number one Classer on the List. Who had killed more Bugs than he? Who had done more for humanity? Women should be flocking to him, damnit!

Wait. Had he lost his spot? That was why the women ignored him. Of course. It was so simple now that he thought of it. He rushed to the closest square, where the List was found. He scrolled through it. To the top, he thought, scrolling faster and faster. There! He was… he was second? And number one was Nil?! But Nil was a child. The white hair was cool, he had to admit, but it wasn’t that cool. Hero was in his name! What compared to that? Nothing. The answer was nothing, and yet he was still second. Damn. The Aristocracy was going to be pissed.

---

“So who is the seventh?” Yuri asked after a moment.

“Uh.. What?”

“You said there were seven Rankers, but the next name on the list is close to twenty thousand behind Horde. So who is it? Is it End-”

“Don’t say that name here,” her contact said, looking around nervously. “He is… less than liked around here, understand?”

“I have a Skill up,” she protested. “Nobody can hear us.”

The thin man shook his head. “Just trust me. If you say his name, someone will hear, and if it’s the wrong person… Well, let’s just say your mission here will be over before it even starts.”

“But is it him?” she asked.

“Yes,” the man said with a sigh. “Scroll to the very bottom.”

Name

Rank

Points

Ender

100, 515

-2,000,005