Soldier Field had always been a curiosity. I’d visited it once before, but not for a game—just to see it. Its glass-and-steel bulk rose from the inside of the old stone brick stadium like a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon, while the fake Greek facade down below helped it blend in with the museum and aquarium to the north. Bobby and I headed for the main doors, where sixty thousand Chicago Bears fans used to flood in every Sunday during football season like they were having a religious experience.

  Bobby was clearly thinking the same thing, because just before we walked through the fog gate, he rolled his eyes. “You’d have to have faith to root for Da Bears, because they sure didn’t give much evidence they’d ever be good.”

  Tier Two Dungeon: The Field of Warriors (Floor One)

  Objective: Defeat The Bear Knights (0/1)

  Free Exit: Dungeon Delvers may freely leave at any time before the first encounter.

  Safe Passages: There are no traps or surprises in this dungeon.

  Blood Sport: The announcers aren’t on your side, but may provide useful hints.

  Once again, the Consortium’s terraforming had changed the dungeon. The door we’d walked through entered into what should have been a long, wide lobby. Instead, we found ourselves in a dark, damp tunnel made of bricks that matched the facade’s, though these were cracked and flaking, and mold grew in the corners and crevices. Dozens of weapon racks lined the left wall, while benches and what looked suspiciously like ancient lockers sat up against the right.

  “The Colosseum,” Bobby said, “but that was in Oakland or Rome, not here.”

  I poured a little Charge from the Voltsmith’s Grasp into my Trip-Hammer, making sure I had enough in the tank for two railgun shots and two bolts ready to go, then revved the engine. It howled in the tunnel, the roar echoing off the walls.

  As it faded into an idling growl, another roar filled my ears. It sounded like fans in a stadium. “I guess we go that way,” I said, gesturing with the hammer.

  Bobby nodded. “You first. I’ll open up places to attack as I can.”

  “Got it.”

  We headed down the tunnel. According to the system, we were supposed to be safe until we got to wherever we were going, but I didn’t trust it as far as I could throw it—and it was a weightless digital thing in my head. I kept my eyes open as we headed down the tunnel, which slowly turned from classic dungeon stone and mold to refined, futuristic steel and plastic.

  As we approached the end of the tunnel, it got brighter—the glaring white lights of a stadium—and a new message popped up.

  No Free Exit beyond this point.

  No Safe Passages beyond this point.

  Blood Sport active beyond this point.

  I sucked in a breath. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Bobby replied.

  We stepped out of the tunnel and onto the gridiron beyond.

  The first thing that hit me was the wall of sound. Some of it came from the stands that surrounded us. They towered impossibly high, and two massive screens showed close-ups of Bobby and me. My open mouth had to be close to three hundred feet wide, and I couldn’t help but stare at the chipped tooth I’d gotten when a socket wrench had slipped off the station wagon’s engine. I’d never gotten it fixed.

  Most of the sound, though, was in a language that wasn’t English, or Spanish, or anything I’d ever heard, but that I nevertheless understood. Its deep baritone bounced off the towering stadium walls and filled my ears until I thought they’d burst. “Welcome to the Arena! Today’s match is brought to you by The Galactic Consortium and comes to us straight from Earth!”

  The arena floor looked identical to a football field, complete with the lines and hash marks, and even two uprights painted bright yellow. The Bears’ orange C painted in the middle of the turf looked correct—Nebraska was in the Bears’ broadcast zone, so I’d watched plenty of games in Soldier Field on TV. But as soon as I looked past the end zones and sidelines, everything was wrong.

  The logos painted onto the solid steel arena walls didn’t match anything I’d seen before. The twisting, semi-circular symbol was black and orange, with bright blue highlights. It reminded me a little of the Pepsi symbol, but the figure behind it wasn’t human—and neither were the thousands of aliens in the stands. There were so many different kinds: tentacle-covered squid things, oozes that looked a lot like what we’d fought, and hulking green figures with horns that stretched from their heads like rams—and a hundred other types of alien creatures.

  For a moment, I couldn’t think. This wasn’t a dungeon—or at least, it wasn’t anything like the Redline Tunnels or Twilight Menagerie had been. This was an arena. The Blood Sport affix when we’d entered suddenly made sense.

  As the announcer thundered on and on about the history of combat sports on Earth, I focused less on what he was saying and more on what he’d said. This dungeon was sponsored. More importantly, the sponsor was the Consortium—the same group that had brought the end of the world to Earth.

  I needed to know more.

  So did Bobby. “We’ve got to get him talking again,” he said, flexing his shoulders under his suit.

  “Agreed. Do you know much about fighting for show?”

  “Nope. I wasn’t a fighter before this, except for some cardio kickboxing. That’s all exercise, no violence.”

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  “I think we can keep him talking if we make this a spectacle. That means not fighting for efficiency but for the audience’s enjoyment.”

  I turned my attention to the far end zone as a gap opened in the wall. “And now, sports fans, it’s time to fight! On the north side, Dungeon Delvers Bobby Richards and Hal Riley, some of the highest-leveled humans in the city of Chicago! And on the south, the home team defenders…Da Bears!”

  Eleven figures in rounded battle armor sprinted out of the hole in the wall, shouting and brandishing weapons. They formed up on the twenty-yard line, making a formation that looked like a cross between a rugby team getting ready for a scrum and a football line. I revved the Trip-Hammer, and Bobby flexed next to me, his suit moving fluidly with his motion.

  The stadium burst into a roaring cheer that went quiet but not silent as the Bear Knights charged across the field, their spiked boots throwing turf high into the air behind them. They screamed war cries and readied their weapons, ready for a slaughter.

  It was a slaughter.

  Individually, a single knight wouldn’t have been a threat to Tori, and all together, they weren’t strong enough to seriously challenge either Bobby or me. They were tough enough to take a Trip-Hammer hit and keep coming, and their weapons definitely looked lethal, but even compared to me, they were slow.

  Bear Knight: Level Thirty-Four Boss (Squad)

  1st Down (40 seconds)

  If I was right, the downs were a counter until a second phase. Either we had to beat them before fourth down—the last one in football—or we had to survive all four downs before we could go on the offensive. I was hoping for the first, but prepared for the second.

  Bobby was a blur compared to them. As the first Bear Knight screamed and swung his mace toward my head, Bobby ducked in and punched three times across the monster’s shining breastplate. It dented in just slightly, glowing orange where the fists had hit. I didn’t know how Bobby fought when he was solo—Tori would have called him a support—but in the moment, I didn’t care.

  The Trip-Hammer howled as it came down, the knight’s plate buckled and cracked under the blow, and the Bear Knight hit the ground. I whirled to face another—this one with a glowing orange spot right below its armored neck. Its halberd sliced down. I blocked it with the Trip-Hammer’s shaft, grunting from the impact, and unloaded the first rail gun round into its stomach. It doubled over as a three-inch-wide hole appeared in its gut, and the Trip-Hammer came down on its back. The plate cracked. So did bone.

  Stored Charge 9/15

  We were winning. But the announcer wasn’t saying anything useful. His focus was on the fight, and we needed to draw things out. We’d already killed three of the knights; Bobby had punched one into unconsciousness while I was handling my second. If we fought any faster, the voice wouldn’t run out of things to talk about.

  “Slow it down,” I yelled at Bobby.

  He nodded, sliding in behind me; we fought back to back—him a whirlwind of fists, me probing and swinging the Trip-Hammer without revving it, waiting as the crowd’s roar dwindled to an ear-splitting roar from the deafening, frenzied scream it had just been.

  I wasn’t waiting for anything in particular—just a moment. A beat. For things to feel right.

  And then, there it was. Two of the Bear Knights swung at me, an axe and spear flying toward my face and stomach. I blocked the spear, letting the axe graze my cheek, and while the two knights were overextended, I revved the Trip-Hammer. It whirled down. Steel and bone shattered. The two knights went down—hard.

  “And Hal takes out two of Da Bears with one move! A brilliant play! This is why the Consortium invested in Earth so heavily!” the announcer shouted.

  A second voice interrupted. “Right you are! It’s not just the opportunity to sponsor these arena fights; the Consortium also sees a lot of potential in a species that’s not only survived a Category Six Death World, but brought it under their control and thrived on it. They’re absolutely worth saving!”

  I didn’t hear what else the announcers had to say, because three more knights closed in, and Bobby moved from behind me. He had his own knights pressuring him, and now that we were separated, I couldn’t rely on him to watch my back. I revved the Trip-Hammer and lifted it over my head, waiting for the armored figures to make a move.

  “It’s second down! Da Bears are still in this!” the announcer screamed.

  And the knights we’d already knocked out of the fight stood back up. Their nameplates had changed, and they drew new weapons as they lined up and charged back into the fight.

  Bear Knight: Level Thirty-Four Boss (Squad)

  2nd Down (40 seconds)

  “Hal, behind you,” Bobby said conversationally. The sword sliced into my side before I could whirl. The thin line stung, and I sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t debilitating; I used the Autoplate Pauldrons' Blitz Strike and crashed the empowered hammer into the monster, blowing its armor apart.

  This fight was a lot more dangerous than I’d first thought. I was a Nebraska boy, and that meant football. Even though the Haymakers were average at best when I went to school, everyone in my family was a Huskers fan. We’d been kicking butt, but we had a long way to go. Three more downs—counting this one.

  Plenty of time for things to go wrong.

  As we spun and bashed at the Bear Knights and they cut and hacked at us, the announcers kept talking, and I figured out their rhythm. The first one was a play-by-play specialist, while the second focused more on interesting background information. Most of it was about Earth sports, but he was easily distracted—especially when the first announcer got too excited.

  I needed another moment—another for the highlight reel. As the fight went from second to third down, almost every knight had at least one wound. Armor had been torn away, round, orange helmets littered the field, and the grass was stained with blood.

  The announcer called third down. We stood at the fifty-yard line, right in the center of the gigantic C, and I could see everything from here.

  There were answers here. Maybe not solutions to the apocalypse, but answers. I just needed—

  Wham! Something crashed against my skull, ringing my head like a bell. I tried to focus on the fight again as the Bear Knight swung his gigantic club over his armored shoulder, ready to swing again. His breastplate was cracked, and his ribs below were shattered; he could barely breathe.

  I activated the Trip-Hammer and let the engine do the work; it ripped through what was left of his armor and already shattered ribs, tearing into a lung.

  He hit the ground, trying and failing to scream in agony. I dropped the Trip-Hammer onto him and revved its engine again, splattering gore across the battlefield. The white hash marks looked pink.

  “And Da Bears’ offense fails to break through!” the play-by-play voice shouted. My ears rang from the volume and the blow I’d just taken.

  “Hopefully, Homo sapiens puts up a similar fight in a few months. They’re hopelessly behind on their preparations, and Phases Two and Three will stretch them to their limits. In fact, if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say they never got word that any of this was happening. It’s good that the Consortium intervened, or they’d never be ready for the monster surge in Phase Four!”

  “What is a monster surge?” Bobby asked. He lowered his head, and a greatsword cut through the air close enough to remove a couple strands of hair.

  I had no idea. My focus was starting to return, but I was still seeing double from the blow. I almost certainly had a concussion. Whatever a monster surge was, though, it wouldn’t be good.

  I closed my eyes and imagined a dozen or more Queen Tyrants running roughshod over Mom and Dad’s farm, or the Eyes of Perfection laser-beaming Beth to death. If that was what the Consortium was trying to prepare us for, why wouldn’t they outright tell us? And what had that talk about Integration been for earlier? Was that a reward for surviving the apocalypse and monster break? How did it all fit together? I had parts, but not enough.

  We kept fighting, Bear Knights kept dropping, and I started to fall into a rhythm. Third down turned to fourth, and the announcers yelled, “Da Bears are going for it on fourth down. This is a risky play under the best of circumstances!”

  And just like that, every Bear Knight’s nameplate changed again.

  Bear Knight: Level Thirty-Nine Elite Boss (Squad)

  4th Down

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