"My Cyke told me that, unless the description says otherwise, Challenges are always pain muted. That sounded nice and reassuring when I was signing up for this thing."
"Muted doesn’t necessarily mean none, right?"
"Even if it did, that guy was bitten in half. You’re gonna feel that." He lifted the sword he was carrying and looked at it dubiously, but then shrugged. "I ain’t backing down, but I’m def going to vet my next Challenge to skip any biting. And also ropes. They seriously expect us to just climb down this?"
"There’s a ladder over there," I said, pointing.
"Ace!" The player started off immediately, but glanced back to add: "Here’s a tip—not all the Challengers are players. Gotta remember to stay in character."
With a cheerful wave, he strode away. I looked back to the ground below. In my own body, I’d be reasonably confident with a rope climb so long as there was a wall to brace against, and Kaz’s sterling muscle tone should surely make the whole thing easier. Besides, if I wanted to win, I was going to have to take calculated risks. Not to mention the ladder was closer to the half-a-body than these ropes.
Dropping my spear down first, I hefted the rope, and just did it.
Kaz’s heart was pounding by the time I reached the bottom, and it was with tingling, sweating hands that I snatched up the spear. That had taken more concentration than I’d expected, for while Kaz had had grip strength to spare, he was heavier and the wrong size, and I wasn’t really used to these oversized arms and legs.
Wondering whether it would be a better strategy to create a very strong, fit version of me for these physical Challenges, I started off to the next wall. My plan was simple: move as quickly as I could while remaining quiet and alert, and hope for the best.
Low-level dread really puts a blemish on a nice woodland walk. The trip to the next wall involved gentle breezes, birdsong, a ton of interesting greenery, and rustling. So much rustling.
The few times I glimpsed the source of the sounds, it was a flash of something small and grey, departing rapidly. Rabbits, perhaps. Or hares. I took that idea as a good sign, and figured that if there were small animals around to run away from me, there likely wasn’t something larger about.
Having thought of that, I really should have noticed when the rustling and birdsong faded away. Distracted again by my recently-acquired balls, perhaps. In any case, that same silence made it possible to hear the merest hint of sound behind me.
I whirled, lifting the spear and slashing it in an only partly panicked arc. This proved to be a not-bad tactic, sending the fine specimen of fang and claws behind me dancing backward out of range.
Not anything from Earth, though the combination of limb length and fur colour reminded me oddly of a sloth. An upright sloth with a large, rounded head split by a Cheshire grin. Probably not bring enough to bite a person in half, but limb-severing seemed more than possible.
I jabbed the spear at it, hoping that the threat would send it scurrying, but it merely blinked at me, and then feinted in turn. I reacted to the snatching motion with a step back, spear-tip waving wildly, then hastily set my feet and firmed my grip.
The combat sloth bounded to my right—so quick!—and I whirled to try to meet it, but it had already leapt again, straight at me. I didn’t manage to orient the spear point-forward, but raised it across my face.
Combat sloth was around the size of a ten year-old child, but the impact still overset me. It raked at my stomach with its hind legs, the thickness of my clothing only partially protecting me. I’d be yelling about the sensation of being sliced if I wasn’t busy yelling from shock and fear and close proximity of teeth to my face.
The spear—and my arm—saved me having my face bitten off. Or perhaps my throat torn out. And the weight difference gave my flailing some purpose, allowing me to fling the thing off me. I floundered to my knees, the length of Kaz’s legs making grace impossible, and slashed futilely with the spear. Combat sloth danced easily out of reach, and then bounded to my left.
Fearing a repeat manoeuvre, I hurried to angle the shaft of the spear as a deterrent, grounding the heavy end beside my knee.
Combat sloth was not deterred, or perhaps had sprung before I managed to bring the spear up. I tried to turn, shifted barely far enough to glimpse the leap, and was slammed sideways, the spear wrenched out of my hold. Rolling, I tried to get to hands and knees as claws caught at my side.
The thing moaned. I was too busy scrabbling out of reach to process the sound immediately. When it was followed by a whimper I collected myself enough to glance back, and then my whole body went limp with relief. Combat sloth had speared itself in the stomach.
Wary of any recovery, I stayed poised to react, but the sloth showed no interest in me. It lay on its side, panting and fumbling at the shaft buried in its belly.
Stupid to feel awful for a thing that had been trying to gut me moments ago. But it was in pain, and I had done that to it—or it had done it to itself, and it wasn’t real, but anyway.
I grabbed the spear and pulled it out of the thing’s stomach, conjuring a whiff of bowel. Combat sloth writhed, clutching at the red-lipped slit and making a sound impossible not to compare to sobbing. Gritting my teeth, I moved the tip of the spear to the combat sloth’s throat, and pushed back down, forcing myself not to close my eyes until it had stopped moving.
Then I spent some quality time vomiting.
Feeling less than adventurous, I washed my mouth out, and put some distance between me and the body before examining the welts and scratches down my stomach and arms. They stung, and a few were leaking sluggishly, but weren’t dangerous—unless this supposedly pain-muted game offered up poison with a side-order of infection. I spared a little of my water on them, and walked on.
"Hey, hello," my ear tube whispered, almost before I heard someone away to my right. A red-headed man had called out, and the ear tube had translated.
I lifted my free hand in greeting. "Hi."
"What happened to you?"
"Uh, a local meat-eater."
"Following?" The man looked quickly back toward the outer wall.
"No." I lifted my spear, then felt embarrassed, as if I’d been boasting. "It’s not the only thing about, though."
"Too true. At least we’re nearly at the next walclass="underline" perhaps you could keep a watch to our left, and I’ll do the same to our right, and we’ll both remember to pay attention to things coming up behind us?"
"Sounds like a plan. I’m Kazerin."
"Faltor. Let’s get on—we’ll be far more vulnerable if it gets dark. And I’m already regretting my choice of weapons." He touched his hand to a series of knives sheathed in a kind of bandolier across his chest. "I can throw these things more or less accurately, but they’re not ideal for penetrating a thick hide."
We pressed on, postponing further conversation in favour of caution. The next wall loomed large ahead of us, surface picked out in light and shadow by the lowering sun. It was a multi-tiered structure, and I spotted arches to inner chambers—on the level a good eight metres above the ground.
There were no convenient stairs, ladders, or ropes, but the lowest tier was at least not perfectly smooth. Faltor and I, with a little boosting and hauling, managed it quite quickly, and this time I was glad of Kaz’s long limbs.
"The thing I saw could probably climb this too," I remarked, sitting on the edge to survey the way I had come, and the line of the great outer wall.