Chapter 4: Escape Room

“William Oh is the smartest, most talented, badass, stoic individual that this town has ever produced, bar none,” Jason announced. Let it never be said that Jason Salazar skimps on a job.

“Really?” the priestess asked, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table, staring directly at him. She bore a symbol of Granesh on her waist, and honestly, a questionable choice of clothes.

“Have you heard about William Oh?” Jason asked between scooping the thick stew into his mouth. The stuff on the bottom was the tiniest bit burnt-tasting, and it was rare to get a piece of meat or veggies, but it was a damn sight better than the orphanage’s bread and gruel.

“I sure haven’t. Do tell.”

Jason lowered his voice and leaned forward conspiratorially, prompting the pretty priestess to do the same. “Some say he’s a descendant of the very gods themselves. Nothing human could possibly have accomplished the same feats,” Jason whispered. “I personally saw him kill three men…with a writing quill.”

“Oh my,” the priestess said, resting her chin on her palm, completely unconvinced.

“Indeed. People say he was BORN on the top floor of The Tower. They say he was steeped in its lethal miasma from birth, giving him strange and unnatural powers.”

“They say that, huh?” the priestess asked with a smirk. “How come I’ve never heard of him, then?”

“You will,” Jason said, pointing his greasy spoon at the woman. “Keep your ear to the ground and you’ll soon hear whispers of his prowess. William is a master of both blade and women. A man of Focus, Commitment, and sheer fuckin’ Will.

“He’s indomitable, he’s unquenchable, he’s unstoppable, he’s unflappable, he’s—”

***Will***

“Totally fucked,” Will said, pacing back and forth in a panic as the hyperventilation began to kick in.

“I’m gonna die. This is me, dead.”

Will was in a plain white room with three Altars, and no exit. A white cube from which there was no escape.

People had tried. The walls were seemingly immune to any force an Aspirant could bring to bear, and that included Relic weapons gifted to them by high-level Climbers.

Why the creators of The Trial would design it in such a way that bad luck could trap you in the Class Creation Room until you starved to death spoke to a, quite frankly, criminally negligent oversight.

The only way to open the Door to The Trial and avoid a protracted death by dehydration was to offer three Sacrifices.

Typically, this was not a problem, because the Door only opened when a person had three Sacrifices in their possession.

Will did not have three Sacrifices in his possession.

Alright, let’s lay everything out and go over what we have.

Will unwound his bandages and retrieved the Uru Drake scale, which had been bound tightly to his midsection.

I wonder if things would’ve gone better if I’d left this thing at home, Will thought, rubbing his thumb along the smooth surface of the scale before setting it down.

Nah. They used The Trial opening to determine whether or not I had it. If I’d left it at home, they would’ve kept up appearances and waited for me to reenter the Hunting Grounds with it. Ambushed me then.

The only way he would’ve been able to avoid this fate would’ve been if he had left it home, guessed their intentions and acted on the hunch, hiking several days to a different town, with another entrance to the Hunting Grounds.

He wouldn’t have done that. Will was paranoid, but not particularly perceptive. He would’ve retrieved the Uru Drake and come back through the same entrance, and gotten ambushed when he tried to take his Trial.

This was one of the best possible outcomes without advance knowledge. Or at least, the more spitefully gratifying one.

They didn’t get what they came for, and now they never will.

Will grabbed the tattered leather satchel and shook it inside out in a vain attempt to make the Will-o-wisp and spirit turtle Sacrifices fall out.

No such luck. The other two keys to open The Trial remained on the other side of a nonexistent door.

There were, however, several crumbs of pemmican trapped in the interior folds.

Will let out a primal scream and threw the satchel across the pure white room, the simmering anger coming to a boil.

“Having everything given to you wasn’t enough?! You had to take mine, too, Ben?!”

When did I screw up? Was he always planning on taking it from me, or did that merchant make Ben aware of it in a way he hadn’t been before? Did they conspire to steal it during the week I was gone? Were the Climbers working with him, or did he do that on his own? Did they plan on reselling the Uru Drake and splitting the profit, or did Ben lie about what I had and promise something else as long as he could keep the scale for his Class?

Did he bring two Sacrifices with him with the intention of taking the scale?

Eventually, Will realized he was pacing again, thinking about things that had no bearing on his immediate survival.

Not that anything would really help with that.

Will took a deep breath and slowed his walk, coming to a stand. Right. Calm down. Lay everything out.

Will took off his shirt, folded it, and set it on the floor. He rolled up his bandages and set them beside the scale, followed by his pants, boots, and socks.

He stalked across the room and grabbed the satchel, placing it in his line of ‘supplies.’

Uru Scale, clothes, bandages, boots, bootlaces, pemmican crumbs…

Will squished them into a thumb-sized bite of food and was about to pop them in his mouth, when it occurred to him.

Pemmican is preserved meat, fat, and berries. It’ll bind you up like nothing else, but ‘meat’ is on the ingredient list.

The author’s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Will didn’t care if he got a ‘spacetime cow-rancher’ or ‘mystic berry’ Class, as long as it allowed him to leave the room alive.

He stood and approached the Altars, heart hammering in his chest.

He placed the thumb-sized chunk of pemmican on the Altar and stood back.

As soon as the pemmican touched the Altar, a beam of light descended on it, gradually growing in brightness until it suddenly flashed, leaving nothing behind.

A voice spoke directly into his mind.

Suboptimal Sacrifice detected…attempting to generate Class Seed… Failed.

Please place an adequate Sacrifice on the Altar. Poorly preserved or mixed Sacrifices have a diminished chance of successfully generating Class Seeds.

But there IS a chance? Will thought to himself, glancing back at his supplies.

His gaze settled on the ruined satchel. It was leather. Monster leather of some type, most likely.

Will went over to the satchel and tore the fabric lining out of the inside, then gnawed the metal studs away from the leather.

He tore the seams apart and pulled the stitches out with his teeth, isolating the leather of the satchel to the best of his ability.

Hours later, he had a frayed stack of pure leather with nary a stitch, stud, or seam. A bit of William spit, but he patted that off with his shirt.

Once the taste of leather faded from his mouth and the hide fully dried, he picked it up.

Here goes nothing, Will thought, heart hammering in his ears as he approached the Altar.

With trembling hands, he put the stack of leather on the Altar.

It’s about the same mass as the Uru Drake scale. Let this work.

The Altar blazed with light, and the leather was gone.

Suboptimal Sacrifice detected…attempting to generate Class Seed… Retrying… Success.

Generating seed….

Gravity Goat

2 kinesthetics, 1 acuity