The Exchange
Round 1: Vacant, Part 1

‘It could be worse.’

Erika shot a look over to Jacob, unsure of how to respond. The trio had been walking in uneasy silence for some time now - far too long to gage by conventional standards. Minutes turned to hours. What felt like aeons transpired to be seconds. A practical eternity, spent walking, ever since they left the truck. Ever since they found him.

‘Like how?’ Erika replied, almost mechanically.

‘We could be back in the slums of L’Arachel.’ Something of a smile spread itself across the wind mage’s lips.

‘That makes nine bad jokes, Jay. You know the deal.’ She playfully slapped him round the head, followed by a kick to the shin.

‘At least it got a smile on your face. Come on, you’re being more serious than… Ray…’ The atmosphere immediately darkened once more as the two recalled the fate of their friend. Erika looked behind at him now, following them in lifeless march. His dark brown hair was left ruffled and ragged by the wind, falling down onto his broad face, barely masking his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Erika couldn’t bear to look at it any more. Those soulless mockeries of the true Ray, staring forever forwards, their olive lustre left faded and dull. She didn’t know how to feel. This wasn’t Ray. Ray was gentle. Emphatic. Beautiful. This was nothing more than a paper doll with the face of her beloved.

And yet, it was Ray.

She looked at Jacob once more. He was pretending nothing had happened. To him, Ray never died. Ray was with them now, lingering stoically behind. Whether he knew that this wasn’t Ray, or if he truly believed it was the same, it made no difference. He was going to act as though Ray was still alive. Perhaps it was his own way of coping with the situation. Erika’s gaze shifted to her feet, moving in time to her  companions’. It hurt too much to think.

The crushing silence drifted on, following them towards the concrete walls of the Outer Ring.

~~~

‘But you would burn in hellfire for all eternity!’

‘Look around you, “Sir Elias.” This is as bad as it ever gets.’

‘I trust the Bible more than you, Heathen.’

‘Oh yes, because that gives such accurate accounts about everything. Case and point: The origin of Earth.’

‘Yes, Almighty God made it in 7 days.’

‘No, it was a result of the big bang creating matter which clung together and cooled over millions of years.’

‘LIES!’

Similar conversation had been ongoing since the trio began the trek towards the labyrinthine structure in the distance, despite Adiliah’s best efforts to keep them both apart. While there was no hostility in either man’s words, the enmity of two locked in heated debate was plain for all to see. Adiliah did her best to ignore the two, and continued to walk beside the ringleader and knight. It still hadn’t occurred to her that Delargo was an opponent. But to him, such was obvious. Perhaps that was why he was refraining from making peace with Elias - he knew, no matter what relationships were forged before the competition began, only one would walk away from this tournament with the prize. And that one person was going to be himself.

‘In fact, I’d wager you still think the Earth is the centre of the universe, don’t you?’

‘… But it is.’

‘Oh you poor, deluded fool. You’d be fighting in the bloody crusades if given half a chance.’

Before Elias could reflect on this somewhat ironic statement, Adiliah tugged on his arm. Pausing from a particularly malicious glare at the egotistic heathen, he looked to her panic-stricken face, and followed her gaze.

They were much closer to the building now; close enough to marvel at it’s incredibly elaborate design. It was, undeniably, a labyrinth, through perhaps not in the conventional sense. It was a twisted monument to unparalleled complexity, a series of buildings, spires, walls and roofs that centred around a single point: a dome-shaped annex that rose above what appeared to be the middle of the complex. All of this was surrounded by a single concrete wall, covered in criss-crossing patterns of glowing gears.

Beside him, Adiliah shivered. The air was brimming with malevolent forebodance, a sense of paranoia and fear that lashed down Elias’ spine.

‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here’ DeLargo quipped, poorly masking the genuine unease in his tone. Elias took a deep breath, and continued towards the outer ring’s lone entrance.

~~~

The control room was, despite the hums and whirs of Coroner’s masterpiece, unusually silent. The  only definable sound was the rhythmical tapping of Grim’s fingers against the steel conference table.

‘How much longer will this take?’ He sighed, prompting everyone to look in his direction.

‘Funny you should say that,’ Death replied. ‘The last of the competitors are entering as we speak.’ He pointed to a nearby monitor, showing a trio of youths marching towards The Outer Ring. They were all dressed in the familiar style of feudal attire - pantaloons tucked into knee-high boots, simple shirts and cloaks. There were a surprising number of realms where this sort of outfit was commonplace, alongside ridiculous hairstyles and extraordinary levels of “evil.”

Ala stared at the screen, a look of sympathy in her eye. She recognised one of the young men. He had come into the room earlier, on the monstrous conveyer belt. A body without a soul, but still retaining a mind. She bit her lip as Death carried on talking.

‘And now, my colleagues and guests, we can begin.’

~~~

The interior of the outer ring offered little reprieve from the stifling air of impending demise. It acted as some sort of courtyard between the outer walls and the base entrance - if it could be considered a courtyard in any sense of the word. It was simply a cobblestone path, curving out into the distance; an ominous, blood-red glow emanating from between the cracks.

And then there were the people.

Unlike those in Nothing, the people here looked, for the most part, human. A young woman with two computer devices strapped to her wrist. Two children, conversing hurriedly only pausing for one to hit the other. A bearded middle-eastern man, seemingly lost in thought. A crowd of three hundred or so had gathered in this hellish place, standing almost silently in waiting. None approached another. Every single one of them remained in groups of three or less, eyes shifting back and forth across the neighbouring cliques.

Undoubtedly, these were competitors. While DeLargo had anticipated a substantial number of opponents in this twisted game, the sheer volume took him by surprise. There were too many of them. Simply too many. Had he really traded his life for a moment of false hope?

It suddenly occurred to him that all eyes were focused on a spot somewhere behind his head. Raising an eyebrow, DeLargo turned, revealing a large screen embedded in the concrete wall, just above the entrance. The chilling face of Death appeared to stare back from behind the glass as a smile curved over his lips.

‘Welcome to the labyrinth. I trust you all can’t wait for the event to begin, so I’ll be quick.

First of all, rules. You can form a team with anyone you meet, loser or otherwise, so long as you keep the number to three or below. So if you run into a particularly powerful opponent, you can always surrender and pray they’ll take you along with them.’

Amongst the crowd, some turned to look at a man dressed in armour, three children bound to him by chains.

‘All members of the winning team will return to the realm of the living, so it’s in your interest to stick to larger numbers. But remember, only one prized soul can leave, no matter how many “winners” there are.

‘Secondly, you are allowed to deal with your opponents in any way you see fit, so long as you do not go against the rules outlined before each round. Fighting isn’t always the only option, but violence is always the best answer.

‘Finally, I hope you all enjoyed your time in Nothing, because the moment the gate closes, the only chance to leave the labyrinth is to win.’

Before one of the crowd could pose the question “What gate?”, a steel grill rose from the ground, blocking the concrete archway. Whispers began to spring up amongst the crowd, slowly crescendoing into a raucous din. Death waved a hand, instantly blanketing the scene in silence.

‘Now, before we can being the tournament proper, I’m afraid we made a minor miscount in terms of positions. There are sixty-four spaces for a hundred and thirty two teams. So, the next five minutes are a tiebreaker situation. Dotted around The Outer Ring (where you are now), are sixty four doorways into the labyrinth. The first group to enter a doorway will earn their place in the first round. Ready? Go.’

And the world descended into chaos.

Every man, woman or beast surged forwards, flailing frantically in the frenzy of the moment. DeLargo felt himself get buffeted and bruised by passing competitors before finally being dragged by their inescapable momentum. He strained his neck backwards, in some vain hope of finding the comfort of Adiliah’s eyes. She had long since vanished, to God-knows-where.

His face contorted into a grim expression of determination, and the young ringleader began forcing his way forward, too. The Outer Ring seemed neverending, the path stretching on ad finitum. DeLargo managed to push himself towards the front of the crowd, which seemed to be thinning all the time. Some had broken off to fight for the few doorways they had encountered on their way. A woman just ahead of DeLargo seemed to vanish from thin air, just before he felt himself tread on a strange, fleshy object. Screams rang out from behind as others did the same, before fading into obscurity.

Whether he managed to outrun those shrill shrieks of pain, or the worst had happened, the coat-clad youth could not be sure. The marathon carried on, all the time decreasing in size until only fifty were left.

Finally, he spotted it. A doorway, coming in from the horizon. DeLargo was the leader now, barely ahead of what few others held out hope for future doorways. It was closer now, its deep shadows almost welcoming. Twelve feet. Then, just as he reached the threshold, a hand appeared from behind his right shoulder, catching him off-guard and throwing him off-balance.

DeLargo stumbled to the side as a man in a dark overcoat dashed inside, just in time for a metal grille to shoot forth from a gap between the rocks. He paused from gulping air to look at the ringleader with a wry smile.

‘Better luck next time, kid.’

Someone barged past DeLargo, spurring him to carry on. The marathon continued for what seemed like an eternity. His lungs burned. His legs felt shredded. But still, he continued to run. Something appeared in the distance. The youth’s face fell when he realised he was looking at the great gate to the labyrinth, the metal grate that marked the beginning.

That was when he noticed the doorway. Rather, what may have been the sole remaining doorway in all of the outer ring. Attempting to swallow from a dry mouth, he sprinted as fast as he could towards the cold archway. Footsteps echoed behind him. Stealing a backward glance, DeLargo saw someone else - a competitor, with a vacant look in his eye, running right behind him. And he was getting closer.

They were the only two left in the race, now. No others were left. One doorway, two competitors. And only one winner.

DeLargo acted without even thinking. In one fluid motion, he spun round, his cane following in a sweeping motion, curving towards the man’s legs.

A sickening crunch emanated from the impact, followed by cries of agony as the figure collapsed to the ground. He swiped madly, in some hope of catching the perpetrator’s leg. But DeLargo had already turned, running towards the goal. He didn’t know who that man was. He didn’t know his motives, or the soul he was trying to save. And he didn’t care.

The words rang through his mind as the grille slammed shut behind him. He didn’t care. Death had been clear in the rules of the competition. Anyone who lost was doomed to spend an eternity in the underworld. In essence, they died. In the simple act of taking another’s place, he had sentenced them to such a fate.

And he didn’t even care.

DeLargo felt sick. He had done a lot of terrible things in his time. Burglaries, muggings, grievious bodily harm. But never murder. Had what he had just done been murder?

But he would have done the same to you, He whispered to the Mask. He would be the one in this room, and you would be dead. And he wouldn’t care. Just like every other useless opponent in this tournament. Even Adiliah. Do you really think she would shed a single tear over your fate, so long as she saved the one she actually loved?

‘Shut up’, DeLargo gasped, holding a hand to his face. ‘She would… she-’

‘You know, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.’ Lights flickered on, banishing the darkness to the furthest corners of what appeared to be a warehouse, its walls lined with row after row of small strips of conveyor belt. They gathered toward the far end of the room, where a complex mesh of chain and gate stood, blocking entrance to a narrow caged corridor. It seemed to fork into two paths - one leading to a crimson door, the other leading to one of deep azure. Dangling from the ceiling was a rather crude PA system; the rather generic, funnel-shaped sort one would expect to see in any industrial complex.

The familiar voice of the macabre host seeped down from its tinny speakers, into DeLargo’s very soul.

‘So allow me to introduce: Your competition.’

The screech of metal against stone shot from the left-hand corner. He spun to see a trio of young adults - no older than himself- tumble in from The Outer Ring.

While DeLargo was hardly one to comment on the normality of another’s clothing, even he found these strangers’ attire somewhat ridiculous. They appeared to have stepped from some sort of fantasy tale, or role-playing game. Each wore a rather plain shirt, coupled with equally plain trousers that flowed into knee-high boots. One, presumably their leader, had a cloak draped across his shoulders, while one of his cohorts simply wore a pair of arm-guardss. The girl of the group had a slightly more womanly attire, with a belt holding her primitive blouse together at the chest.


Jacob returned the stranger’s look of resentful interest. It was obvious from the hat-man’s clothing that he was some sort of mage. Probably a high-ranking one at that - the hat gave him an air of importance and prestige, although the size of his staff did suggest he wasn’t potent at magic. Or was it that he was so skilled he didn’t require a true arcane instrument? Assuming the worst, he tightened his fists. Whatever happened, he would win. For Ray.


‘Now that you’re all here, allow me to explain the rules of this room.’

It wasn’t clear whether Death had been addressing them in particular, or the entire collection of sixty-four teams. Nevertheless, a loud, mechanical whirr echoed throughout the room as the conveyor belts came to life. Small gaps opened in the walls, revealing a plethora of various objects. Crates, chests, bottles, boxes, drink cans - one after another, the containers floated into the room and began snaking their way through the network of conveyor belts.

‘You can see on the far side of the room lies a locked gate. One key will open that gate, allowing one team to continue through into the next round, though which door you will enter is up to you. As for the key? I’m sure you can guess where it is hidden.

‘Within one of these many boxes and crates lies what you seek. If you find it, place it in the lock and twist, as you would do for any simple lock. But I would like to remind you once again that only three people may continue into future rounds.

‘Who wins is up to you. The one who finds the key first, whoever places it in the lock, whichever team can eliminate the other - you could even work as a team and carry on together, if you wanted. Those of you in rooms with fewer than four people might have that luxury, but again, remember only one soul will leave this labyrinth.

‘As for those in rooms with four people or more? Well, lets just say combining efforts will not be an option. Good luck.’

The PA hissed, and faded into silence.