The Challenge

  The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and despair. Beneath the towering ivory altar, the remnants of humanity stood in a suffocating mass, their hollow eyes fixed on the structure that had become both their curse and their only salvation. The altar's surface gleamed dully under the weak sunlight, its perfect white marred only by the dark stains of old blood that streaked the obsidian steps like tears. No one spoke. After eight failures, after eight children sacrificed to this merciless trial, the crowd had learned the futility of hope.

  Then, a ripple moved through the sea of bodies.

  Michael walked forward, his bare feet disturbing the fine layer of dust that coated the cracked earth. At seventeen, he was younger than most challengers had been, but his body told the story of a lifetime of brutal preparation. The old scar across his ribs stood out starkly against his sun-darkened skin – a permanent reminder of the day his trainer had broken two bones to teach him about maintaining his guard. His hands, calloused and marked with half-healed cuts from endless weapon drills, hung loose at his sides, the fingers twitching slightly with nervous energy.

  The whispers started before he reached the steps.

  "They say he disarmed three grown men in the proving trials," muttered an old woman, her voice equal parts hope and resignation.

  A man beside her spat into the dirt. "They said the same about Joran. The altar still ate him alive."

  Near the front, a gaunt woman with hollow cheeks made a warding gesture. "Just another corpse for the pile."

  Michael didn't react. He'd heard it all before – every day of his life had been leading to this moment, and every day he'd been reminded of how likely he was to die. He reached the base of the altar and placed one foot on the first obsidian step. The murmuring died instantly, replaced by a silence so complete he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  The climb took less than a minute, but with each step, the weight of billions of watching eyes pressed down on him like a physical force. At the top, the altar's surface was smooth and cold beneath his feet. Without ceremony, without hesitation, he bit his thumb and let a single drop of blood fall onto the pristine white surface.

  Nothing happened.

  For three heartbeats, there was perfect silence. Then the crowd's collective sigh rolled across the plain like a wave breaking against the shore. Someone near the back let out a jagged, broken laugh. A rock flew from the crowd, striking Michael's shoulder with enough force to leave a bruise.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "You see?" he shouted, turning to face them, his voice raw but steady. "You shoved a sword in my hand before I could write my own name. You broke my fingers when I dropped it. You starved me when I failed to meet your expectations. And now you'll stone me because your stupid fucking altar won't light up?"

  Another rock hit his chest. Then another. The crowd's anger wasn't sudden – it was the inevitable result of generations of suffering, of watching their world crumble while children died for a chance at salvation they couldn't provide themselves. A man near the front picked up a jagged piece of metal, his hands shaking with barely contained fury.

  Then the altar flared to life.

  A voice like grinding stone echoed across the plain: "You have been chosen as a suitable challenger. Do you wish to partake?"

  The violence stopped as suddenly as it had begun. In eight challenges, across eight generations, the altar had never asked. It had simply taken.

  Michael wiped blood from his split lip. He turned towards the crowd and smiled. "I decline.". "Let them climb the damn altar themselves if they’re so eager." he thought with grim satisfaction.

  The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. For a moment, no one moved. Then the man with the metal shard lunged forward.

  The riot that followed was chaos incarnate. Bodies pressed in from all sides, fists and makeshift weapons flashing in the dim light. Someone's elbow caught Michael in the temple, sending stars across his vision. He swung wildly, his knuckles connecting with flesh, but there were too many of them, too many hands reaching to tear him apart for his defiance.

  Then a girl stumbled against the altar's base.

  She couldn't have been more than sixteen, her dark hair matted with dirt, her amber eyes trembling with fear, her too-thin frame nearly lost in the surging crowd. When someone shoved her from behind, her palm slapped against the altar's edge, leaving a thin streak of blood on the white surface where the skin had broken.

  Light erupted from the stone.

  "You have been chosen as a challenger. Proceeding to the Challenge Realm."

  The girl's eyes widened in shock. "I didn't—" her voice barely more than a breath.

  The world twisted around them.

  Above the suddenly still crowd, the sky split open with a sound like tearing fabric. Massive screens flickered to life in the air, showing the now-familiar symbol – twin serpents, one ivory and one obsidian, locked in an embrace. The voice returned, colder this time:

  "Fledgling world. You have sent two. The Challenge proceeds."

  Somewhere in the crowd, a mother fell on her knees, she pulled at her hair and wailed " Sophie, give me back my Sophie".

  They all knew the rules. The Challenge took champions from dying worlds and pitted them against each other in a realm beyond mortal understanding. The winners brought renewal to their people. The losers brought only further ruin.

  Eight times humanity had sent champions.

  Eight times they had watched them die.

  Now, through some twist of fate or cruel irony, they had two.

  The screens went dark. The crowd stood frozen, their anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this unprecedented development. On the altar's steps, a single drop of blood gleamed in the weak sunlight before drying to a dull brown stain.

  Somewhere beyond their understanding, beyond the fabric of their dying world, the Challenge had begun. And for the first time in history, humanity had two chances to survive.

  No one dared to hope it would be enough.