“You’re sure?”

Their group had dissolved as soon as their feet touched the arena’s segmented stone flooring. It felt surreal being inside, and not just because of the way they had entered.

Abel glanced over at one of the arches, then at another, which stood a ways down the tall, arched halls. There was no logical explanation he could give. Teleportation? Instant transmission? He gave up trying to make sense of the city’s strange technologies and how it could implement them to transport them several blocks within a single second.

Those same technologies allowed him to be standing within the arena, which had been constructed in seemingly the same amount of time the previous night. It was no illusion. The walls and floors were hard, truly made of stone. They didn’t flicker like holograms. They existed. They had mass and weight, they absorbed his feet as he stomped them, testing their resilience.

The arena itself was glorious. It was just as he had imagined the old arenas of Rome would have looked in their prime, white paints, thick stones and, from what he had seen through an archway he passed, plentiful seating room within the arena’s center as well.

Food didn’t sound as appealing as it should have. He headed straight for the first doorway he saw with the word Hypogeum painted above it, looking inside at the number of people who were already armed and losing more of his appetite.

“You’re sure?”

Sarah repeated the question. She stood behind him and he could feel the worry in her voice.

He had spent his childhood dreaming of a situation like this. He’d joined the fencing club with the childish idealism that he could be a sword-wielding hero. From what he learned of the friends he made there, he was not alone, and they all fantasized of an opportunity where there were no rules. Where the fencing swords they used were real swords. He’d bought a few himself, practicing with them alone when he knew no one would walk in.

Now, faced with the real chance to fight with others, his confidence began to wane. It had been well over a year since he’d practiced, and even then he had only picked up the foil to refresh himself, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten how to hold it, how to swing it.

“If the going gets tough, I’ll just surrender,” he said, as much for himself as Sarah. He turned around and forced his face to brighten, not letting his growing fear to seep into her as hell. “I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t be either. Go get something to eat and look around for Lyssa.”

Sarah gave a small smile and nod. “Just...come back, okay?” she stepped forward and squeezed him in a rigid embrace. “You told her that you would protect me and you promised me that we would search for her. If you even think about pushing yourself too far, remember that.”

He held her for a moment, then, when she stepped away, he nodded. “Of course. And I wouldn’t leave you alone with Bernard. I’m not going to die.” He willed himself to believe the words as well. “So wish me luck and see you soon.”

Abel turned and walked through the doorway to the hypogeum.

The sounds of voices faded, replaced by the clang of metal, as though he’d stepped from a busy city street into a blacksmith. Torches hung on the walls, creating no smoke but giving ambient lighting to the room all the same.

Those who have chosen to compete in the hypogeum have a chance at gaining bonus rewards through combat prowess. Please speak your reward type:

Bara and Kara appeared on his HUD. It was the second time the voice had spoken directly to him since entering the arena, and the city itself. It made him uncomfortable.

“Kara.” He said. It wasn’t a choice at all.

Thank you. Please select your weapon:

His panel expanded with a number of words. Weapons he knew well, from swords; short-swords, broadswords, bastard swords, to axes, great axes, even hammers and javelins and mourning stars. A veritable warehouse of equipment, including some names he’d never heard of before.

Most of the metal he saw in the room came from long swords or short swords, gleaming in the torchlight. A standard choice, though by the way most were handling them, it was clear they had chosen them simply because of their popularity. Most held and swung them like movie props, their stances unbalanced, arms flailing wildly.

His eyes settled on his natural choice. “Sabre,” he said.

Before him, floating in the air, the thin spike appeared. He slipped his fingers within the hand-guard and it gained weight, falling under his control. He gave it a trial swing, feeling the blade bend slightly as it whipped through the air. He lifted it to his eyes and, as he had both expected and feared, saw it was sharpened.

Abel glanced around the room, noting how few competitors there were, no more than thirty. He didn’t see Bernard standing anywhere, probably chickened out. He also noted, with growing worry, that the arch he had stepped through was nowhere to be seen. He was standing in a rectangle of stone with no exit. No holes for air either, but instead several torches.

This city is terrifying.

The next moment, the panel appeared before his eyes, this time showing a stream of the pit, a circle of sand with two people standing within it. The arena’s open roof streamed sunlight down upon them both, flashing across their weapons.

The first match of the festival will now commence. Competitors, ready yourselves!

The two standing in the pit seemed more focused on figuring out how they had just appeared within the pit and trying to force their eyes to adjust to the bright light. Then one of them lifted his sword, a huge two-handed thing, to his shoulder and began dashing forward.

The other, a woman, still had her hand lifted up to shade herself from the sunlight when she realized the other person was coming at her as fast as their legs could carry the steel burden on their shoulder. Her eyes widened.

She dropped her own short sword to the sands and raised her hands in the air. “I surrender!”

The two vanished and the crowd erupted with laughter above him.

What a way to start the festivities! A quick victory, good job, competitor.

“Holy shit.”

Abel turned to the voice and saw the man with the huge sword standing in the room. A few others were walking over to talk with him.

“It’s bright,” he said, “And there are so many people. And you’ll just get plucked right up, I didn’t even-”

Then it was bright. And there were so many people. Abel’s feet melted down into the sands. It’s my turn? Already? He looked across the pit at the behemoth of a man standing opposite him.

Competitors, ready yourselves!

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, but the words must have carried, as the crowd burst with laughter anew after he spoke. He squinted around, the mass of humanity nearly filling the arena stands. He could just barely make out the faces of those seated closest to the pit, but the sun was too bright, his heart racing too fast, his vision dancing around.

“My name is Zeal,” the other man bellowed.

Abel swallowed hard, turning back to the man. “Abel,” he said, unsure why the man was giving his name.

Zeal dropped the battle-axe he had chosen, sending a puff of sand rising into the air. “A real man needs no weapons but his own body.”

Abel blinked. Eh? This guy for real?

Competitors who lose their weapons will be disqualified. The voice echoed through the arena. Grab your weapon or be disqualified.

“I refuse to participate in this.” The man said.

The next moment, Abel was standing in the rectangle of stone. A crowd began to form around him as well.

“You just lucked out big time,” one of them said.

“I’m glad he’s gone now,” another said, “I saw him walking into another room and nearly surrendered right then.”

Abel laughed, relief rushing over him. “Whew, am I glad to be back here.”

The others laughed, one of them giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Looks like our rooms might be going against one another. If we put our heads together, it might be one of us that prevails.”

“Anyone here know how the fuck to hold a sword?” A man asked and the group dissolved into laughter again.

Abel let himself lean against one of the stone walls, taking a breath as he listened and spoke to those around him. The room grew rowdy, people joking with one another, others talking more sincerely in hushed tones apart from the group that was centered around Abel and the other man who had won his match.

The tension slipped away and the mood switched to an oddly positive one. Their room had won the first two rounds. They didn’t know anyone in their room, nor did they know for certain if they couldn’t face one another in the following rounds. It shouldn’t have meant anything that they had won the first rounds, but that was all they had. So they were elated.

Their Commands were deactivated. They didn’t know if they were speaking to a level four in Kara or a level four in Bara. They were all people stuck in the same terrible game, trying to make the best of the situation. So they did.