Senior Chief Petty Officer James Gleason woke with a start at the sound of knocking at the door. Waking up in an unfamiliar place caused instincts, honed by years of combat, to kick in. He rolled out of bed and crouched against the wall. A quick scan of the room with a practiced eye told him where the exits were and that there were no threats in the room.

A knock at the door sounded again.

The room appeared to be a standard hotel room. A plain table and two chairs were on the other side of the bed. That wall had a curtain going from one end to the other, and across from the foot of the bed was a waist-high long dresser with a mirror and a flat-screen TV. To James' right was a hallway leading out of the room. Before moving to the hallway, James dropped to the floor and checked under the bed. With that area clear, he moved to the edge of the hallway and peeked around the corner. The hallway was only about 10 feet long, and a door to his right led to a bathroom. James could see that the chain on the door was latched, and the "Do Not Disturb" sign was on this side of the door.

The knock at the door was more insistent this time. "Mr. Gleason. Please open the door."

The voice was female and carried a hint of authority to it.

James crouched low and checked out the bathroom. There was nothing unusal about the bathroom, a glass shower, toilet, sink and a stack of towels. James did notice a terry cloth bathrobe that hung on on a hook by the door. That spoke well of the hotel, at least.

At about this time, he noticed that he was only wearing white boxer shorts with large red hearts. He quickly returned to the room with the bed and looked for his clothes but didn't see any. He even checked the drawers in the dresser, but they were all empty.

This time, the person outside his door was banging on it. "Mr. Gleason, I do not have all day. Just put on the damn bathrobe and open the damn door!"

James stood up from the dresser and looked at the door. After a moment, he walked toward the door, grabbing the bathrobe along the way. Looking through the peephole, James saw an attractive woman of about 40 years, her hair was done up in a bun on her head, and she wore a pair of black wire-framed glasses. She wore a business suit and carried a briefcase. Unlatching the chain, James opened the door and looked at the woman better.

The woman sighed, "Finally. I thought I was going to die out here of old age. May I come in, please?"

James looked at her for a moment before speaking, "No." She was not much more than 5'6" and had a slender build, but James could tell something was off about her.

She cocked her head to one side, "Excuse me?"

James shook his head, "No. I don't know who you are or what you want. I don't even know where here is. So, you can't come in unless you can provide those answers."

The woman nodded her head in response, "I understand. My name is Zita. I have been hired to act as a Mediator. I am here to speak with you about your future."

James continued to watch her, "And were are we?"

Zita pushed her glasses up with a practiced grace,"That is a little more complicated."

"How complicated?"

She looked up at his towering frame, "What was the last thing you remember?"

"I can't tell you that."

Zita smiled knowingly, "I understand, national secrets and all that. Rest assured that I am happy to bring you up to date with your current situation, but I would prefer to do it sitting down. May I come in, please"

James continued to stare at the strange woman. He couldn't say he was afraid of this woman, but he had seen assassins who appeared to be petite women but had deadly fighting skills. James was abnormal in his profession, as he stood 6'6" and weighed more than 300 pounds. With 18' biceps, there were few that he was afraid of, but this woman in front of him set off all kinds of warning alarms.

James moved to close the door when he paused again. "Sure," he finally said, stepping back and to the side, giving Zita space to enter.

James closed the door and stared at it for a moment. His mind was spinning but not getting any traction. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Putting the chain back on the door, the turned to follow Zita into the main room.

She had already laid the briefcase on the bed and was sitting in a chair by the table. She had the water pitcher in one hand and a glass in the other, "Drink?" she asked.

"Whatever you have on tap," James joked.

Zita began filling the glass with beer. Its golden liquid slowly poured into the glass and as the foam neared the top, the glass elongated to accommodate the beer's head. When she was finished pouring the beer, she placed the glass in front of the other chair and then poured herself two fingers of a blue liquid from the same water dispenser.

James froze. Again, his mind was screaming something at him, but it was like his mind was trapped in a bubble and everything was muffled.

"Neat trick," James muttered.

Zita put the water pitcher on the table and waved to the other chair, "Please sit. We have a lot to discuss, and you have much to decide."

James didn't want to sit across from this woman, but he soon found himself doing just that. Zita picked up her glass and took a small sip of her blue liquid. She smiled and licked her lips. James picked up his glass of beer. It was cold and already had condensation running down the outside of the glass. He also sipped at the beer, unsure what it would taste like, but he was pleasantly surprised. It tasted like an IPA and had a strong scent of hops.

"Can you tell me where I am yet?" After having a bigger sip and putting the glass down on the table, James asked.

"You died, Mr. Gleason. Your squad was ambushed, and in the ensuing firefight, you were struck by a random bullet that pierced your right eye. You were dead before you struck the ground. I am sorry." When Zita was done speaking, she took another sip from her blue drink.

There was a long pause as James tried to process what Zita had just told him. The moment she told him what happened, he had a flash of memory. He saw the fire-fight, he saw the muzzle flash and then darknes.

"You are one of those people who like to pull off the band-aid all at once, aren't you?"

Zita just smiled and shrugged.

James looked around the room. His mind was still screaming something at him, but it was more muted than before. "So, is this Heaven, Hell or what?"

"Neither. Your soul is mid-transit from where you died to where it is intended to go. We redirected you here so that we could speak."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because my employer has requested to hire a specific kind of person. You met the qualifications of that request, so I am here to put forward my employer's request. If you agree, then your soul will be directed somewhere else. If you decline, your soul will continue whatever journey it was already on."

"What were the qualifications?" James asked.

"A warrior who was not afraid to take a life. Someone who was not bound to any deity and had various fighting skills, survival skills and deception."

"Tall order"

"Not really. I have already sat down with over twenty potential candidates. Each declined the offer or was ruled out through the interview process.

"Is that what this is? The interview process?"

"That is correct, Mr. Gleason. Not only will you decide if you want to join us, but we will also decide if we want you to join us."

James picked up his glass and drank another beer, "Alright, shall we start?"

"Oh, Mr. Gleason." Zita said with a grin, "We already have."

James had already decided that he would not be discussing anything related to his work. He was with the Navy Seals, and his training was very specialized. But the missions that he undertook were not for the public to hear. And just in case this was all a ruse, he would not reveal any state secrets. In the end, he didn't need to worry.

Zita held the folder in her hands and read through some papers there. "We just have three questions for you, Mr. Gleason. The first deals with a bar fight you had when you were 21. You and a few navy personel went to a bar called "The Red Rooster." While you were there, you got into an altercation with two locals. You and your buddies used your superior fighting skills and seriously injured the two locals during the fight. Injuries included broken bones, missing teeth and multiple lacerations. "

"What is your question?"

"Why did you need to hurt the locals as badly as you did? They were not a threat, and there were three of you against two of them. It seems a bit... Overzealous, don't you think?"

James remembered that fight. Not all the details, as it was more than twenty years ago, but enough. They had got shit from their CO for the same reason. Excessive force. At the time, it didn't seem like it was extreme, but it most definitely was in hindsight. "We were young, fresh out of training, and looking to blow off some steam. These knuckle draggers came over to us and started some shit, and we just finished it. But yes, it was excessive. I attribute it to the exuberance of youth. But truthfully, I was just being stupid".

Zita nodded and continued to read the paper in the folder, "Seven years ago, you were involved in a firefight with some enemy soldiers when you got separated from your team. You still had radio contact, but they were pinned down, and you decided to flank the enemy. You needed to bust through a door and move through a building that was not in your control. Once inside, you were confronted with three civilians: a woman and two children. You decided to not confront them and moved past them instead. They started screaming as soon as you left the room, and their shouts alerted the enemy soldiers that you were trying to flank, thereby taking away your advantage of surprise. You were wounded twice during that fight as a direct result of their actions."

"You seem well informed, but I must ask again, what is your question?"

"Why didn't you silence the civilians? Their loyalty was not to you or your side, and their actions endangered you and your team. And yet, you left them be. You didn't restrain or muzzle them. And, when it was all over and done, you didnt retaliate or detain them. Why?"

"That one is easy to answer. Two reasons. The first is that they were unarmed. We don't go killing unarmed civilians just because it makes our job easier."

"And the second reason."

"I broke into their home and brought the war to them. I don't blame them for being upset. I know I would be. They were scared, and there was some giant of a man in full kit, waving around a weapon and shooting people. People she may know or be related to. Either way, I was the intruder and I stand by my actions that day."

Zita nodded her head again and took a sip from her blue drink. "Last question for you, Mr. Gleason. Last year, command ordered you to infiltrate an enemy compound and capture or kill a specific target. You captured and detained the target and eliminated his bodyguards in carrying out your duties. However, instead of returning to command with your target, one of your men executed him while he was still bound. Care to explain why you seemed to have violated your own rules of military conduct in executing a prisoner?"

"I have to say that your sources of information are top-notch, but they are not perfect. We captured and restrained our target. But the target was very much alive when we left the compound. Our medic was working on him, but he lost a lot of blood. When we got to the evac site, we had to wait for the birds to arrive, so the medic watched him. His hands were bound in front of him instread of behind him because of the location of his wound and it alloweds our medic to treat him. While our medic was treating him, the target grabbed the medic's sidearm and a member of my team shot him. The shoot was deemed good."

"But you disagreed. You wrote that your teammate could have easily overpowered the target."

"Yes, but the brass decided against it, and I withdrew my complaint. The target should have had his hands bound behind him. That is SOP, but we tried to make him comfortable when dealing with his wounds. In the heat of battle, we have to make split-second decisions, and we can't always have the benefit of hindsight. That was our error."

"Thank you, Mr. Gleason. That is all my questions, and I am pleased with the answers. I am willing to recommend that you join my employer's team. But I am sure you have any questions, so please, ask away."

James picked up his empty beer glass and held it out, "Any chance I can get a refill?"

Zita smiled and picked up the water pitcher, being careful to tilt the beer glass, she slowly began filling the glass as James continued to speak.

"What is it that your employer wants of me? I assume it involves killing someone, I figure, but I need to know what the cause is that I am fighting for."

Zita placed the full glass on the table in front of James. "That goes without saying, Mr. Gleason. Although I don't have the full picture, I have enough that I think I can inform you as to what it is that my employer specifically wants. Where shall we start?"

Zita leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her blue drink before continuing, "My employer is a deity. There are four different types of Deities in the world that you will be going to. The Greater Deities are the most powerful, and there are not too many of them. Below are the Major Deities, the Minor Deities, and the Lesser Deities. My employer is in the last category. Every ten years, the Greater Deities have a competition for the other Deities to compete for promotion. The top ten are promoted, the bottom one hundred are demoted."

"That seems like a losing proposition. They would run out of deities before too long."

"From what I have gathered, the ones to lose are the Lesser Deities, which means they just stay at the bottom. The Major Deities, who have won multiple times, are hoping that they will qualify for becoming a Greater Deity. For many, it is a status thing. Very few have done so, but enough have been lucky enough that it keeps up their hopes."

"So, what is the challenge?"

"One thousand Deities create, summon, or recruit a Champion who will fight in their name. Do not worry; death is not permanent. When a Champion dies, they are resurrected, but can no longer compete in the challenge. So many of them do not hold back when using violence."

"What is the goal?"

"There are ten Amulets which are the prize. It is required that the Champion collect and hold onto the Amulet for the duration of the challenge, which is one year."

"So, not only are you required to find and collect the Amulet but you are required to hold onto it while everyone is gunning for you."

"Exactly. Not only that, but each Champion can locate the nearest Amulet. This will result in Champions rushing to your location as soon as you get the Amulet."

"Why then?"

"A Guardian protects each Amulet. Once the Guardian is defeated, a message is sent to each Champion. Each Champion will know if a Champion or a Guardian possesses the Amulet they sense."

"So, it is better to get the Amulet later in the game so that there are fewer champions to go against and you have to defend yourself for less time. Why is the challenge for a year?"

"Part of the challenge is that each Champion should increase in power. Their skills, attributes and spells are converted to a point system. They are given certain points at the start of each challenge. After that, they can acquire more points throughout the challenge and convert them to more powers. The Champions become stronger over time. In the last week, a huge battle resulted in more deaths during that time than the rest of the challenge."

"Are there teams? Can I expect help or support?"

"Some Champions work together to make themselves stronger, and they strive to get Amulets for each team member. However, a lot of backstabbing and skullduggery happens during the challenge, and sometimes old grudges arise and undermine a Champion's success."

"What about help from people who are not champions?"

"That is rare. Most non-Champions know better than to get involved with anyone in the challenge. The Champions are not known for their graciousness or compassion. They have one driving goal, and that is to win. They will kill everyone in their path to get to that goal. Most followers of a specific Deity may help that Deities' Champion, but only begrudgingly. Other Champions have killed too many non-Champions for simpily being in the way. If you get your hands on an Amulet, you can expect no help from anyone."

James sat back and looked at his glass of beer. It was almost gone, but he was lost in thought. The idea of the challenge was intriguing. The 'every man for themselves' attitude was a bit much. He had seen firsthand what teamwork can accomplish and knew that even the few teams working together had a fragile peace. All it would take would be for one person without an Amulet.

"I am interested. But still not completely convinced. What can you tell me about the world I will be going to?"

Zita refilled her glass with more blue liquid, "Well, I can't tell you too much; I am not from there myself. If you agree to participate in the challenge on behalf of my employer, we will proceed to the part where we create an Avatar for you. After that is done, you are sent to the world in which you will be taking the challenge. I am sure that before you go to the world, our employer will arrive, and they will be able to answer your question about the world you will be going to."

"Can you tell me what level of technology I will be dealing with? Spaceships, guns or swords?"

"Swords and magic are what I understand. What you would refer to as fantasy."

James made a sour face, "Great, and I bet there are fucking elves too!"