Grant immediately activated Perfect Invisibility and held his breath.

  He was in a forest clearing. Flakes of snow fluttered from the sky and stung his skin when they landed, leaving freezing drops of water behind. Based on the thick layer of powder beneath his feet, it had been falling for some time. The branches of beige, unfamiliar trees created a canopy above his head, and the trunks were accreted with a thin layer of ice.

  He nearly jumped when a man walked within an arm’s length of him, feet crunching on the ground. The prisoners stood around the clearing, completely oblivious to his presence.

  “Let’s get this over with so we can get somewhere warm," said the man who’d nearly bumped into Grant. He had a lightning-shaped scar from his brow to his mouth. "I’m freezing my berries off here.” The bottom of the scar tugged at his upper lip, making him look like he was constantly sneering, although Grant suspected he would look the same without it. He seemed like the type who might get along well with Col.

  “We all agree with you, moron, but first we have to find him.” The voice came from a slight woman with short-cropped hair and a shrill, grating voice. She held a stiletto at her side, and her wide eyes shifted suspiciously from person to person in the group.

  “Can’t we just go?" said the tall, long-haired woman next to her. She leaned to the side, flicking some crust from under her nails. "He didn’t seem like a bad fellow to me. It’s not like they’ll find out."

  The lightning-shaped scar man scoffed. “You want to take that risk? Amnesty to take out their garbage was the deal. Who’s going to turn that down?”

  Grant did not understand what they were talking about. He hadn’t heard anything about amnesty.

  “I won’t,” whined the woman with the stiletto. “He upset some higher ups, and while I’d usually buy him a drink for that, my life is worth more than his.” She waved her weapon around. “I spent all my Points on this, and I’ll need food eventually.”

  Grant swallowed. He was the garbage they were instructed to take out, and for it, they were offered a chance to clean their records. They hadn’t been at the Reading Ceremony, and so they had no idea he’d only started with 487 Points. Now that he was worth over 250,000, they’d kill him even without the Empire’s deal.

  A bald man cleared his throat. “I Purchased a Spell called Seek from the Store,” he said. His voice was rich and authoritative, possibly a former officer in the military or a mercenary leader. Must have done something pretty damn bad to get thrown in with this group. “Thought it might be of use.”

  Grant remembered that he had been sentenced to their ranks. Maybe he had done nothing at all.

  “Of use?” asked the tall woman. “How?”

  Everyone scowled at her, but it was the bald man who answered. Grant was impressed with how he managed to almost entirely keep the contempt out of his voice while answering her unbelievably stupid question. “Seek is a Spell that… seeks targets in the area.”

  “Well why haven’t you used it?” snapped the scarred man. “Do it so we can get out of here. I have to take a piss.”

  The bald man closed his eyes. “Seek,” he whispered. A wave of air spread from around him faster than a diving hawk and washed over Grant.

  The man paused. “Only the 24 of us. He’s not here.”

  He then grabbed his ear and fell to his hands and knees, coughing and retching.

  Grant laughed. Enjoy your Mana Depletion Debuff, moron. If a Spell specifically designed to find someone couldn’t find him, he assumed just about nothing could.

  “Wait, 24?” Grant shouted happily. “24!” He no longer bothered keeping quiet. His Skill would keep him undetectable. “That means that Lira should be safe!” Of course, nobody so much as looked his way.

  Doctor Holt explained in his class that recruits were split up across the continent. Each group of 50 was sent to a different area, according to past Campaigns. There only being 25 would mean that the Emperor’s children, who entered first in the group, and Lira, who entered close to last, would have been sent to different parts of the continent, or at least a few miles apart.

  More boots crunched in the snow. The remaining prisoners approached, holding weapons and wearing various styles of armor. Grant’s eyes stopped on one, and he froze.

  The man had grown to twice the size of an average Human, and his shirtless torso was covered in thick green scales. He walked upright, a thick tail twirling behind him. His face ended with a reptilian snout now, and it appeared as though whatever he bought from the Store took away everything that made him Human. He was the only person in the clearing who didn’t look cold.

  “Oh? What took you all so long?” the scarred man asked, grinning as the rest of the group arrived.

  “What took us so long?” The scaled man’s voice was unnaturally high. He flicked a forked tongue. “What took you so long? We’ve been here for fifteen minutes. None of you showed up, so we went looking for a town.”

  His hope had been misplaced. The Emperor’s children and their Royal Guard must have arrived earlier than Lira and the others. That meant they would be waiting for her, ready to strike her dead with whatever Magic they Purchased the moment she arrived. He wanted to curl into a ball and block out the world, but it would only get him killed when his Invisibility expired.

  All he could do was trust in her abilities.

  The prisoners began arguing and gesturing in every direction. Major Brewer, Captain Nickel, the Emperor, or whoever else sent nearly an entire platoon after him. It was like using a cannon to swat a housefly. Grant felt a surge of pride that he had to push back down, as he had a minor problem sitting under his feet.

  Snow. He seemed to be resting atop it, but what would happen when he took a step? If he sank into it when someone was looking in his direction, a spear or arrow could be loosed at him before he knew it. It would be a horribly depressing way to die, and he’d die knowing one of the people sent to kill him would get 250,000 Points for it.

  Could he leave Invisibility and reason with them?

  He shook his head. There were 49—too many to convince. Even if he could get more than a few words out, the knot in his stomach screamed that they would kill him on sight.

  Grant took a breath, then began to take a step as if he were walking on broken glass. When his foot met the snow, he winced, expecting an arrow to burst through his neck the second he rested his weight.

  It didn’t sink. He seemed to float on top of the powdery white substance. He checked his timer.

  [6:42]

  He had wasted over three minutes of Invisibility.

  “I can’t hold it anymore,” said the scarred man. “I’m going to go water those trees. Shout if you see him!”

  The rest of the former prisoners grunted, and he walked off.

  Grant took one last look at the group, then followed after him, Resummoning his dagger in his right hand. He twirled it around by the loop, his heart heavy and his shoulders set. They wanted him dead. It was a single life for their lives back.

  A fair deal in any shop.

  Beyond the Portal with no law and no accountability, ideas like morality became blurred, and Grant would assume former prisoners had hardly considered them a priority even in Evenon.

  The man strode behind a giant tree and unfastened his pants with a groan.

  Grant refused to look, extending him one last courtesy, and stalked to his side. He was close enough to smell the thick sheet of oil on his skin, and the prisoner had no idea anyone was there, whistling cheerfully as he emptied his bladder. With a flash of Siphoning Fang, a third of the man’s Points would be his own. When the others found him, they’d know he was capable of killing them all, and they might even call off their search. The Dice of Fate had used up all of his, and the temptation for more called to him like a siren’s song. Items, Skills, and Spells meant safety in this world.

  A fair deal in any shop.

  Grant pulled back his blade. A single thrust, or a single slash, would be enough.

  It was as good of an opportunity as he was going to get. The man was entirely defenseless. A more deserving target than most too, he’d reckon, as not a minute ago he was talking about wanting to kill Grant. But in spite of everything, he couldn’t help but consider the man more than just the list of crimes he had committed. Grant was steadfast when he followed the man out here, but deeming a man guilty and deserving of death was easy until you were one holding the executioner’s blade.

  [4:31]

  You’re out of time! Do it!

  A voice startled Grant, and he looked around for its source.

  Now!

  Then, in an act that Grant was glad nobody was there to see, he Dismissed his dagger and ran. Using all 24 of his Agility, he hurdled over logs, jumped through thin gaps between trees, and ducked under branches. His lungs burned and he gulped breaths greedily, but he wasn’t only running to put as much distance between himself and the former prisoners before his Invisibility expired. He was running because the further away he was, the less likely he was to go back and finish the job.

  He escaped as deep into the wilderness as his legs would carry him.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  ***

  Kess

  “What a waste.” The voice was both a quiet whisper and a piercing scream. Wisps of blackness enveloped the creature, the shadows of thousands of tortured spirits trying to escape.

  Kess shook her head. “I don’t understand you, Aiwin.”

  Its face snapped at her, bright red eyes glowing and white fangs barred. “I told you never to call me that. You may refer to me as my proper title.”

  She sighed. “Very well. I don’t understand you, God of Assassination.” It was such a mouthful. She much preferred its old name. “There have been hundreds of murders already. Why are you so fixated on this boy as your Champion? You have more options than you can count.”

  It hissed again, swiping a claw in her direction. There was no intent of maiming behind the attack; it was nothing more than a performative gesture, and she sidestepped it effortlessly. “Murder is to assassination what a child scribbling on a canvas is to high art.”

  “Cutting the throat of a man emptying his bladder is high art?” she asked, puzzled by the comparison. Her blue eyes bore into the creature.

  It laughed, a terrible grinding sound that seemed to scrape her soul.

  “You amuse me.” The creature directed its gaze back to the boy, who was sprinting through a snowy forest. “Yes, it can be. But it is more about potential. The boy has the Skill of a God. It is a Skill made for usurping thrones and inciting disorder and chaos. Oh, the discord we could sow.” It hissed the word sow, long and windy, then lapped its tongue across its fangs.

  She sighed. The God had made up its mind. It wasn’t the type to cast a wide net, and not the type of God Champions made a habit of turning down. With its claws sunk so deeply into the boy, she would have to play her cards well.

  “And I would ask the same of you,” it continued, a touch of curiosity on its voice. “You are the Goddess of Thievery, are you not? These Champions come from a world rife with stealing. Are there no better choices?”

  Gods and Goddesses seldom fought openly over Champions. It was all in good competition, and there was no need to hide anything. To provide anything but full honesty would be poor sport.

  “You are right, yes, but stealing is to thievery what a child scribbling on a canvas is to high art,” she repeated.

  It made that grinding sound again. She bit her lip as she waited for it to end.

  “But I need not explain his potential as a thief, do I? With his Skill, he could walk past Wards and Runes with no more effort than a man opening a door.”

  The creature considered her words. “It’s a waste,” it hissed.

  Kess rolled her eyes. “What about it—”

  “Excuse me?”

  She stumbled over her words, nearly jumping into the sky at the interruption. It had been many years since someone was able to sneak up on her.

  A short round man wearing thick glasses stood in her shadow. He wore beige pants far too high on his waist. His thumbs sat between his elastic blue overalls and a white collared long-sleeved shirt. A dozen pencils were stuffed into his shirt pocket, and he a compass dangled from a strap on his neck.

  The two Gods looked at him with amusement. “And who might you be?” the God of Assassination finally asked, coiling around the man like a snake around a rat.

  If the man was intimidated, he didn’t show it. “God of Cartography, at your service!” he said, beaming with pride at his title. “Please do call me Chester, though.”

  The Goddess of Thievery and God of Assassination stared for a long moment, and then began howling with laughter. The new Gods always amused the old Gods. A God of Cartography? That made as much sense as a God of Shoe Shining.

  In spite of their mockery of his craft, Chester stood completely unaffected, like a court jester accepting thunderous applause from the royal family.

  “That is too good,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Yes, the boy would make an excellent cartographer, just as I would make a fantastic bank manager, and him,” she said, gesturing at the God of Assassination, “the perfect schoolteacher.”

  “Oh, you aren’t seeing his true potential,” Chester replied, unfazed by her sarcasm. “He can enter normally hard-to-access areas. His Dexterity, Perception, and Intelligence are perfectly suited for this work too. You see, cartography is a vibrant blend of art and science, and the boy might have the perfect balance everything needed to make a real name for himself in the field.”

  Chester paused, wriggling his eyebrows, and then snorted a laugh.

  “The field? Get it?”

  The two stared at him. She was more likely to volunteer at an orphanage than the boy was to draw maps.

  Chester shrugged. “Well, the best of luck to you two!” he shouted, disappearing from sight.

  The Goddess of Thievery paused when he left. Perhaps her attention was better placed elsewhere. She had several prospects across the continent, and to Present to a Champion this early was an enormous risk to a God. The boy would not last the week at this rate, not with where he’d landed, and betting on a losing horse was not something she wanted to make a habit of.

  “Best of luck,” she said, leaving before the God of Assassination could answer her.

  Now, about that girl, she thought, and flew across the continent.

  ***

  Lira

  Lira towered above the Genus children, Belal and Raella, standing at attention as she waited for their argument to end.

  “It is as I told you, Sister. Nothing smokes a rat out like fire. The girl could not have run far. It would take no more than a few well-placed lightning strikes.” Lightning Magic arced down Genus’s arm, his eyes glowed white. He acted like a child with a match and a firecracker who couldn’t bear to wait until the festival.

  “And it is as I told you, Brother.” Raella’s voice was thick with impatience. “Look around yourself. It has rained recently, and the wood is too wet to burn. You would only waste Mana trying to start a fire, and give me a headache in the process.”

  Lira rolled her eyes behind her visor. She was tempted to give herself up just so she wouldn’t have to hear them fight over the best way to kill her anymore.

  32 Campaigners stood in the square of a town. It was remarkably similar to any small town in the Evenon Empire—houses of varying shades of wood were placed side-by-side in neat blocks, paved main streets and cobblestoned side streets lay between them, and laundry hung outdoors on clotheslines. The only major differences were the flat instead of steepled rooftops, the statue of an unfamiliar deity instead of the Goddess, and the littering of charred corpses.

  Half the remaining members of Lira’s group were nobles who looked around and fidgeted impatiently, and the other half were guardsmen who stood like statues. The air stank of the smoke that curled from the bodies of the unfortunate commoners who had been placed in their group.

  Lira took mental notes as she observed the Royal Guard. Blending in was actually quite simple. She had once impersonated the servant of a manor for a month, and she learned in the first few days that half the job was being invisible until you were needed, the other half being available when that time came. Being a member of the Royal Guard was much the same.

  The princeling called to Lira with a point and beckoned her over. She jogged to him, armor clanking, and lifted her visor before saluting with her forearm over her belly.

  When her visor opened, the face Belal saw was bronzed and weathered by age and time in the sun. Its eyes were blue and thick stubble had begun to poke out from its jaw. Lira wanted nothing more than to scratch the itch horribly. She had no idea how Roland wasn’t driven to madness by the bird’s nest on his face.

  “You,” Belal said, pointing at Lira. His froggy eyes bore into her, and she momentarily feared he would recognize that he did not recognize her. He stared up at her face for what felt like an eternity, and she bit her tongue to keep her expression straight.

  “Scout the north side.”

  “Yes sir!” she responded in a husky voice that scratched her throat, dropping her visor. “Finally,” she whispered to herself from behind the helmet as she strode away.

  Lira walked north through the empty town. The native residents had the sense to retreat to their homes and hiding spots during the first minutes of the incursion. Lira was just relieved that they provided so few Points, as if they were worth even a hundred a body, there was no way Raella could have dissuaded Belal from indiscriminately striking every building with his Lightning Magic.

  Once she was out of sight, she began unclasping and shedding her armor. It was a terrible waste, but at 9,000 Points, it was the least expensive full set on the Store she could find. As she dropped the breastplate, she took a moment to cancel Master of Faces. With a thought, her bones shrank, skin cleared, hair grew, and eyes turned brown. Seconds later, she was Lira again.

  The 60,000 Points she spent on Master of Faces was, unlike her armor, very far from being a waste of Points. She had bought the Skill within seconds of finding it. It allowed her to alter her appearance, height, and weight. There was no time limit for transformations, and no recharge time between them. It did take a few minutes to slip into something that would pass careful inspection, but she could shift into a cruder disguise in much less time.

  After Purchasing it, she practiced the Skill for the full nine hours until the Campaign began, pushing it to every limit she could find. When she transformed into Roland, she found that her Strength increased to 16—not nearly as high as his was, but a stark difference from her own. However, when she transformed into Raella, her Wisdom and Intelligence remained unchanged. Her Dexterity similarly stayed at its usual 22 with most transformations, but she could decrease it significantly by making her fingers as fat as possible.

  Lira assumed that Strength could be increased or decreased because much of a person’s Strength came from how much muscle mass he or she possessed. Dexterity, however, was primarily in the brain, which didn’t change during her transformations.

  She also found she could change her skin to any color she could imagine, including those that did not exist in Humans like bright green or blue.

  She was not yet sure about how to make use of that.

  Lira could grow to over seven feet, but not an impossible height like hundreds of yards. She could similarly shrink to under three feet, but no smaller. She could make herself exceedingly skinny, fat, scrawny, or muscular, but she couldn’t use the Skill to squeeze through a crack in a wall or fill an entire room with her mass. She could appear older than the Emperor or as young as a child on her first day of school.

  With a grunt, she pulled off a heavy fur-lined gauntlet and threw it to the ground. The Skill had a long list of disadvantages that would make the average Campaigner give it not even a second look, but it had its benefits too. She pulled off the second gauntlet, reaching inside to pull out a star-shaped trinket.

  Its subtle gold plating appeared almost copper, and it was about the size of a Zilen coin. The Prince had it attached to his waist strap in the town square, but since he had not possessed it when he first entered the Portal, Lira could tell it was a Store-bought item. With a thought, she opened her Auction screen and selected Create Auction. She held the trinket in her hand and willed it into her Interface. Information flooded her screen as it disappeared from her grip.

  [Trinket of Stability]

  [Provides moderate protection against Mind and Soul Magic up to the Rare rank]

  [Would you like to list Trinket of Stability for Auction?]

  Lira mentally nudged it to “Yes.”

  [Would you like to set a minimum price?]

  She shrugged and set it to 20,000 Points.

  [Would you like to set a buyout price?]

  After a short pause of consideration, she decided not to. She didn’t have the faintest idea of what the Item was worth.

  […]

  [Auction has been created!]

  [Time Remaining: 48 hours]

  [You have received a bid on your Item!]

  [You have received a bid on your Item!]

  [You have received a bid on your Item!]

  Lira smiled as the bids drove the price up to 25,000 almost instantly, no longer mourning the Points she had spent on her now useless armor. She muted her Notifications and sauntered away, shifting into her next form before someone came looking for her.