It was jarringly unfamiliar. No amount of training could have prepared me for this. My vision through the visor was bombarded with texts and graphics. The torrent of information about the world around me obscured my view of the field and swamped my thinking. How could anyone fight with this overwhelming deluge of data? I felt the power of the suit coursing through my veins, sensed the monstrous strength that gripped my very being.

For this brief moment, I wielded it. My whole life had been building up to this moment—this was my chance. Everything I did next would influence if this power would be mine forever, or just a fading memory, a lost chance.  My eyes drifted to the corner of the HUD where the most important lines of text, maybe not for this situation, but for my life at least, were displayed. The text was simple, the letters bright and glowing:

Subject: Tiberius

Status: Unchosen

Level: 8

Ranking A: 12/12

Ranking B: 178/178

I hovered over the display, fixated on this column of seemingly pointless numbers. The data shouldn’t have distracted me, I shouldn’t have let it. But the information was screaming for my attention.

The status was the whole point of this exercise, to become chosen. The level—a very, very unflattering one—was a deflating reminder that I was the lowest among my twelve classmates in the choosing. The rankings confirmed it.

The first ranking was my position out of the twelve candidates vying to become the next Sword of Boston, and I was dead last. The second was my ranking as a Griidlord, and I guess for these few minutes, I was one—though clearly the most lowly in the land. Which made sense, I was, after all, just barely learning to walk in the thing. But some of the others hadn’t all even had a chance in the suit yet, how did it know to put me a the bottom?

I had hoped to find myself in the same boat as my peers. For all twelve of us this was our first time in the suit. I had hoped their struggles would be at least as great as mine. I had worked hard to exceed at this. They had had a head start in life. My childhood had been a bed-ridden existence. It was only in my teens that I had been brought to the training field. The others seemed to have learned to swing a sword before they could talk. I wasn’t far off many of them. But the best of them seemed to have an automatic understanding that the rest of us lacked.

I tried to return my focus to the task at hand. Across the dusty floor of the arena was a fiend. The creature's twisted form triggered an instinctive repulsion in me. The ragged little beast wasn’t natural. It moved with a twitchiness, it’s beady little eyes darting around with a predatory hunger. Every muscle on the twisted little thing was coiled and ready to strike, it’s head darting rapidly around with a hint a madness. The grotesqueness of the vile thing was like a picture from a nightmare.

The fiend was a little one, not much bigger than a dog, looking vaguely like a hairless rat. Its claws had the dullness of stone about them, but there was a metallic quality to them as well. This was a creature that a true warrior could maybe, just maybe, slay on his own, but most likely only with at least a touch from lady luck. But, it was a creature that a Griidlord should pay almost no attention to. I wasn't a Griidlord yet, not really. I was wearing the suit of one, and theoretically wielded the power, but I was a baby taking its first steps. This was just the first of many tests where I hoped to compete with the other eleven to actually win this suit for my own.

The fiend lunged at me with surprising speed, its beady eyes gleaming with vicious intent. I swung my sword, the motion clumsy as a toddler's. The blade sliced through the air, missing the creature entirely. I staggered, the weight and power of the suit throwing me off balance.

My torso was turned the wrong way as the little demon flew at me. I turned myself as best I could, but I couldn’t even bring my arms up to protect myself, let alone my sword. The strangely metallic stone claws of the fiend raked across my chest. But they could do little harm to the armor of a Griidlord. They hopped along its surface, leaving no discernible mark on the surface. The impact pushed me backward, my feet spun as I raced to find my balance. The fiend landed on its feet in the dirt, turning quickly to face me again.

My heart raced as I tried to regain my footing. I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears.

Why was this so hard? This wasn’t even a real round of The Choosing. This was just a chance for us to experience the suits before the real contest began. And a chance to weed out those who were simply to inept to be allowed to take part in the more dangerous rounds to come.

I tightened my grip on the sword. I could see no way to hit the thing, but the only choice I had was to try.

Straightening myself was awkward, every motion a struggle to control the strength of the suit. I felt as if I could snap my own spine if I moved too sharply. My emotions were roiling. My whole life had been building to this moment.

My heart raced—could I fail on the first attempt and be thrown out before the Choosing truly began? My father's face hovered in my mind, his voice echoing in my ears, urging me on for my family's honor.

The fiend raced towards me again. I swung my sword, almost as clumsy as before, another miss, but not quite so awkward. I was attempting to be gentle, allowing the suit to accentuate my movements.

Then, there was a voice in my ear. My heart almost stopped as the words started to pour into me from nowhere. The voice was strange and warped. It sounded like a child but distorted and strange. It whispered, "Oh, you're an interesting one at least."

"Who is that?" I whispered, trying to focus on the fiend. The surprise of the noise, the honest to Oracle creepiness of it, made me stumble. The voice giggled as I struggled to maintain my concentration. The creature coiled, ready to pounce again. I tried to shift my sword and stance, but my arms swung violently as the suit enhanced every movement.

"I know you feel pathetic, and really… you are…," the voice continued, "but you've already got the tiniest idea of how to do it. Don’t move so much as let the suit move. You’re a slow starter, but I smell potential. And besides that, your brain... it's not like the others."

I shivered, chilled by this strange entity. If not for the heat of the moment I would have been more deeply frightened. Because this was a truly frightening moment. I was hearing a voice. Be it my own mind cracking under the pressure to perform, or a supernatural apparition, there was no version of events where this wasn’t a terrifying experience.

But I couldn’t afford to even contemplate it.

The fiend launched at me. I attempted to step back, but my legs slipped from under me. I landed on my back, the fiend hurtling towards my face. The glowing red blade of the suit's sword pointed out and up, held awkwardly as my arm was pinned to my side where I'd fallen.

The face of the fiend grew huge as it descended towards me. For a moment, I thought maybe there was a flicker of fear or realization in its eyes as it fell the last few feet, as though it had already understood it was doomed. Or perhaps it was frustration, offended that it would meet its end to such a poor opponent. Or maybe it was simply outraged by the cruelty of chance.