The morning found Sam limping through the forest, arm wrapped around a makeshift crutch. No more rats had attacked during the night, but sleep had eluded him nonetheless. Every shifting branch, every rustling bush had screamed of danger. His senses were shot, and all he cared about was getting out of this god-forsaken forest.

  His only consolation was that somehow the worst of his injuries seemed to have healed on their own. His left hand—which was now missing a finger—was remarkably devoid of burns, and his chest wounds had almost completely closed. It should have been impossible. He’d held the flaming club in his hand, yet somehow the flames had healed him, even going so far as to close the puncture wound that pierced straight through his palm. All that remained was a faint silver scar, a star mirrored on both sides of his hand.

  The rest of his body wasn’t quite so lucky, with his tunic now almost entirely sacrificed to create a series of rough bandages. His pants were a mess, though luckily his boots remained mostly undamaged—the thick leather rebuffing the worst of the rats’ teeth and claws.

  It was slow going, but eventually, the pines began to thin out. He’d decided to go downhill simply because the prospect of going uphill was too painful to consider. The broken canopy let in more light, and the too-yellow sun he’d noticed the day prior cast deep pools of shadow. He constantly scanned the underbrush for predators, but the welcome return of birdsong helped to ease his frayed nerves.

  After a time, the trees simply ended, and he found himself standing on the edge of a large field. Rows of corn came up to his waist, and in the distance, he could make out what appeared to be a road elevated on a winding berm.

  Seeing cultivated land was a massive relief. He’d been worried this entire world would be remote wilderness, but it seemed that other people would be involved in this ‘War’. He picked up the pace as he made his way across the field, head craning to get a glimpse beyond the road.

  The climb was more of a crawl as he finally crested the slight rise and dragged himself onto the dirt track. His legs trembled, and he just sat there, staring out at the horizon.

  He squinted and cocked his head. Something seemed…wrong. The road extended as far as the eye could see in either direction, winding around fields and through small pockets of trees. He could make out the silhouette of small buildings and larger, barn-like structures. In front of him, however, things became, well, odd.

  There were a few more rows of planted fields, and beyond, a flat plain extended into the distance until it suddenly stopped. It was that abrupt ending that his eyes had trouble parsing. It looked as though the world simply ceased to exist: a flat horizontal line bisecting the sky, like a flat-earther’s wet dream. Beyond that was an endless sea of blue. It took him a few moments to realize the sky extended down beyond the horizon.

  He blinked a few times, trying to comprehend exactly what he was seeing. He turned and looked back the way he had come, and his heart plummeted. The pine forest extended upward into an impossibility. The gentle slope eventually increased in pitch until it gave way to a sheer vertical rock face that ran up into the sky. Sam’s head kept craning back, but the impenetrable grey cliff was lost in a bank of clouds, continuing up seemingly into eternity.

  He was sitting on a thin strip of land, maybe a few hundred kilometres across, with a sheer drop on one side and a vertical cliff on the other. In the distance, he could make out a barely perceptible curve. Was this world somehow a circle?

  He’d studied physics as part of his undergrad, but he was entirely out of his depth when it came to explaining how a planet like this would function. There was a sun in the sky, far out past the drop, but it too looked wrong, like someone had simply punched a hole out of a wall to let in the light.

  He took a deep breath, trying to determine his next course of action. Clearly, he should follow the road, but was he going to pick a building at random and knock, hoping someone would help him? Left or right, both looked roughly the same. Was he supposed to flip a coin? He didn't even have a coin to flip.

  Before he could make the decision, he was distracted by a smudge. That smudge seemed to be travelling down the road at a leisurely pace, and soon the sound of hooves and the rattle of wheels reached his ears. Eventually, it materialized into a simple wooden cart, drawn by a lone horse. Someone sat in the driver’s seat, but Sam couldn’t make out their features.

  He let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally, someone he could ask for help, someone who could explain what was going on.

  That's assuming they don't just kill you. The thought slithered in from the darker side of his mind, sending an icy chill down his spine. Well shit. He was lying half-naked on the side of the road, completely exposed. He had his knife and the branch he was using as a crutch, but after his injuries from the battle with the rats, he'd have almost no chance in a fight.

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  He looked back towards the nearest rows of corn but knew that it was useless to try to hide. The cart didn't seem to be moving particularly fast, but he’d be completely outmatched in a foot chase. With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself fully onto the berm, limbs screaming in protest.

  He stood his ground in the center of the road, feet planted firmly on the dry, cracked earth. He held the branch in both hands, feeling exceedingly foolish. If the person weren’t a threat, he’d look absolutely ridiculous.

  He stood that way for a few tense moments, watching the cart draw nearer. The enormous chestnut horse seemed completely unfazed by his presence as it plodded towards him. It came to a halt a half-dozen yards away, and he was able to get a clear look at the driver.

  The man in question was middle-aged, with a long, messy beard. His weathered skin had the texture of old leather, and his arms were marred with an impressive number of scars and burns. His most distinctive feature was his wide, floppy hat, which sported an iridescent, red feather. The brim sat low over his eyes, but Sam could still feel them boring into him.

  “A little early in the War for a robbery, don't ya think?” the man called, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

  Sam scrunched his face, unsure how to respond. “Uh, I'm not robbing you, I’m just looking for directions, or help. Anything really.”

  The man frowned and seemed to consider his words. “That does sound like something a bandit would say. How do I know you won’t stab me as soon as I get close?”

  Sam sighed, but tried not to let his frustration show. His arms ached from holding up the crutch. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. One minute I was on Earth, and the next thing I know I’m in a forest being attacked by a horde of rats, and one very pissed off god.”

  The man cocked his head, one hand absentmindedly stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. “How about this, you set down your knife and kick it over here, and then we can have a nice chat.”

  Sam snorted and tried to ignore the bead of sweat running down his nose. “Forget it. How do I know that you’re not the bandit? How do I know you won’t kill me as soon as I set down the knife?”

  The man let out a low chuckle, slowly rising to a crescendo in the brisk morning air. Eventually, it rose into a full-bellied laugh, ringing out across the fields.

  “Boy,” the word rang like a gong, and Sam nearly stumbled from the weight of it. “If I wanted to rob you, I could do it without lifting a finger.” The man leaned forward, and Sam could feel a pressure emanating from him—a wave of heat that pushed him back a step. “So put down the knife, and your little stick.”

  Sam felt as though his skin was going to peel off, but he stood his ground. His mind flashed to the previous night, of crushing the rat in the coals, of the scalding heat that seared his flesh.

  “No,” he said, gritting his teeth.

  “What did you say?” The man replied, his voice as hard as a steel bar.

  “I said NO,” Sam shouted, forcing himself through the pressure. His bones creaked and his muscles shrieked with protest, but he took a single, impossible step.

  In an instant, the pressure dissolved, and he stumbled forward. Only a luckily-timed thrust from his crutch kept him from face-planting in the dirt, but his shoulders ached from the impact.

  “I respect someone who stands by their convictions.” Sam looked up and saw the man smiling down on him, any trace of the menacing aura completely dispelled. “Sorry about that. Had to find out what kind of man you were.”

  “Oh,” Sam replied, reeling from the sudden shift. “You could have just asked.”

  “True, I could have. But nothing tells you more about a person than how they act when staring death in the face.” Sam’s eyes went wide, and the man laughed at his expression. “If it makes you feel better, you weren't in any real danger. I'm sworn to protect young Warriors like yourself. I’ll answer your questions if I can.”

  Sam took a deep breath, unable to make heads or tails of the strange man, “Don't suppose you might be able to tell me where I am?”

  The man cocked his head, “You’re in the south-east quadrant of the first Ring. City’s just up ahead. Not rightly sure what its godly name is, mostly we just call it Homst.”

  The man’s voice had a distinctly musical quality, and he spoke with an indeterminable accent. Sam frowned, trying to piece together what he remembered from the email—its contents now truly jumbled in his mind.

  “Right… But what is ‘the Ring’ exactly? What is this? Where are we? What in the hell is going on?” The words fell out of Sam’s mouth in a rush, and he had to force himself to stop and take a breath.

  The man raised the brim of his hat, revealing a set of piercing green eyes. “Did you hit your head? Doesn’t bode well if you’ve forgotten the tutorial already. You’re on Olympos, the home of the gods. And in forty-nine days, portals to the actual Hell are going to open, and every living being left on this ring is going to die.”

  Sam felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool morning air. “You seem awfully calm about the whole ‘dying’ part.”

  The stranger let out a deep, booming laugh, his horse flicking its ears in annoyance. “True, if I were mortal, I imagine I’d be proper concerned.”