Chapter 1 — Die. Respawn. Repeat.

I wake up, and three seconds later, I die.

It’s not particularly pleasant. The first time it happens, I don’t even get the chance to scream. All I see is a blade speeding towards my head, and then all I know is searing pain. It takes a full moment for me to die

That moment is agonizing.

The second time it happens, it takes five seconds. I’m still disoriented, and although I try to jerk away from whatever it is that

The third time, at least, I see my assailant.

The moment consciousness hits me — the moment I feel the cool breeze on my skin again, the dirt beneath my back, and the coppery smell in the air that tells me this is very much not a dream

It’s a monster. An actual, bear-sized mantis-thing that has a few too many limbs to make sense; an insect blown up into horrifyingly large proportions that let me see every grotesque detail. There are tiny hairs embedded in its carapace,

And one of its eyes is gouged out. There’s a cracked mess of carapace and flesh where it should be, and the feeling of revulsion at the sight vanishes when the monster lets out another screech. It’s tugging frustratedly on one of its limbs, which is stuck firmly in the ground.

You know, from when it tried to stab me.

Right. Life-or-death situation. I’ve already died twice, and I have no desire to die a third. There’s some text hovering in my peripheral vision that’s starting to really annoy me, but I don’t exactly have time to

…I run away.

What else am I supposed to do? It’s a giant mantis monster. I’m not equipped to fight it.

It occurs to me — as the vegetation speeds past, and I stumble my way around cactus-like plants with thorns nearly as long as my fingers — that I don’t even know where I am. I don’t recognize anything around me, and even the sky is a distinct shade of purple that paints the horizon with shades of unfamiliarity.

My thoughts are interrupted by a deafening screech, and I risk a glance back, counting the time in my head. It’s been four seconds. It takes four seconds for it to pull the scythe free. Before I can react, it launches itself at me

I don’t even get the time to scream.

The fourth time, I change things around. Dying is incredibly unpleasant, and I’m not inclined to keep doing it; I need a way to beat this thing and then assess what’s going on. The dodge-and-roll is almost instinct now, burned into my brain from my multiple deaths.

I have four seconds. The clock is ticking.

You know what? Might as well try something risky.

I run

I need a weapon. There’s a ball joint holding that scythe attached to the rest of the limb, supported just by a thin layer of sinew.

It roars at me when I get close — bug-spittle lands on my face, but I don’t have time for disgust — and swings its spare blade at me. I’m approaching it at a weird angle, though, so it doesn’t have the full range of motion it needs; I duck underneath, and it scrabbles at me with its other claws—

—and I gasp as I feel them dig into my skin, scoring a particularly deep cut—

—but it’s not enough to

I kick into the joint right as it tries for a final, powerful yank. It’s not fast enough. There’s a morbid

Okay. Still alive. The monster’s angrier than ever, and no longer stuck to the ground; it’s rushing towards me, and — yep, definitely too fast to run from.

I make a split-second decision to leap to the right.

It’s the wrong choice.

Thankfully, that time, it does me the courtesy of killing me instantly.

The fifth time, I dive to the left just as it swings to the right, and I take that opportunity to jump onto the damn thing. I yell as I do it. There’s no actual point in yelling, it’s just a release of frustration and stress and fear. It

I climb up its back and stab the scythe into its other eye with a triumphant shout.

It’s almost satisfying. The mantis-thing doesn’t even make a sound. I’ve hit a vital spot of some sort, it seems; it just collapses to the ground, and sends me sprawling. I don’t bother moving from where I’ve landed. I just lie there, panting.

Everything hurts.

But I’m

…It’s almost a miracle that it only took me five tries, and it’s a miracle I really,

I need to figure out what’s going on.

That subtle text that’s been hovering in my peripheral vision calls to me again. It’s pulsing insistently now that I’m out of the fight, and when I focus on it, it expands.

I pause, stare, and take a moment to process.

Three thousand people selected for Trials just like this one, by a species that, I assume, calls themselves the Integrators. They want ten people to pass. That means they expect most of us to fail, and considering what I’ve just been through — considering I’ve just been mauled to death

And then there’s what those messages said about what they would do to Earth if we fail. I clench my fists, and then take a slow, shuddering breath; my heart is still pumping wildly from my near-death experience.

From my

There are more messages waiting for me, and I distract myself by looking through them.

There’s… a lot to take in from that. My actual status is probably updated from the notification I got earlier. Thankfully, bringing up a new notification is as simple as thinking about it.

That’s… good?

I don’t

I’ve died four times, and I don’t want to go through that again. Better to assume this is real until I have a reason to believe otherwise.

I need to figure out my priorities.

It’s not survival — survival isn’t a problem. I can’t die until I give up, and I’m not going to give up. If it’s a willpower test, I’m going to pass it.

What I’m more concerned about is the implications of ending the Trial. The message said the Trial would end if I give up or if I escape the Trial grounds. It did

“How do I pass the Trial?” I say out loud. There’s no guarantee that this Interface responds to

Interesting.

“Is there anything else I’m missing?”

I frown.

So I don’t have everything unlocked yet. Sure.

“How do I spend credits, and what do they do?”

Most of the categories are pretty self-explanatory. There’s only one that really needs explanation for me.

“What is Firmament?”

Okay, so it’s magic. They couldn’t have just called it

I can keep saving my credits. That’s probably what I should do, even, except I don’t have any examples of the type of skills I’ll get from each category. If I bank them now, I’ll get an example…

No. I’ll bank Durability first. It’s the highest one I’ve got, and it’ll help me survive the next few encounters with that Broken Horror. I have no illusions about my level of skill right now — I’m going to die, and I’m probably going to keep dying for a while. Durability will give me an example of what I can get with nine credits, and then I’ll try to get a skill at twenty-five, fifty, and a hundred. That’ll give me an idea of the relationship between credits and skill quality — there’s got to be diminishing returns

I’ll also bank Firmament, because it’s the one I’m most uncertain of in terms of what type of skill it’ll give me. That leaves… I’ll bank Strength once I’ve earned twenty-five credits, Reflex at fifty, and Speed at one hundred.

Okay. I feel pretty good about this.

I’m going to have to fight this mantis thing again, and the main danger it represents is making me bleed out, not breaking my bones. Blood Production being at a higher rank is

The other problems with tracking blood all over a strange forest full of alien bacteria make my decision for me.

I think about the situation I’m in. The adrenaline, at least, is fading away — and though I know I should be exhausted, I find myself with a certain clarity of mind instead.

There’s a fundamental truth here: the Integrators are not doing this as some good faith attempt at uplifting Earth. They’re phrasing Integration as a reward, but the fact that they’re pairing it with the threat of

But they’re going to regret choosing

Integration is an interesting translation. It implies the Integrators use this technology, too. That they’re integrating

That, to me, sounds like a weakness.