The Culling of Man: A litrpg adventure (Peril's Prodigy Book 1)

by Craig Kobayashi

  Garath didn't freak out, immediately... First, he turned and looked back through the open doors of the converted school building, but didn't see anything alarming. He looked at Warrion, who must have noticed Garath's urgent searching and started frantically looking around as well - without knowing exactly what it was he should be looking for. A white disk appeared out of nowhere below Garath's feet and he sank through it.

  The next thing he knew, the Necrologist was dropped like a newborn giraffe onto a smooth, white surface, landing on his hands and knees. A rank but familiar smell stung his nostrils and he found himself face to face with an army of long, menacing fangs. Panic overtook him and he shifted instinctively to cat form, then scrambled to escape. It did not go as planned.

  The tufts of white fur sprouting from the underside of his paws slipped and his claws failed to find purchase on the smooth surface. The result was a wild flail, somewhat resembling an adorable, feline version of the Tasmanian Devil's signature spin.

  "I specifically told you NOT to freak out!" Athios shouted amidst uncontrollable laughter.

  Garath promptly stopped freaking out and took in his surroundings. It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened. He was standing on the roof of HQ, the place that the Ice Drake, Aldrasyl, had claimed as his perch. The white, school-bus-sized reptile had spent most of his time since The Culling soaking in the golden sunlight sprawled out up there, soaring off to hunt only in the dark of night. Athios, still doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter, had apparently taken Daisy to the roof to meet Aldrasyl and overheard Garath asking Warrion if he had seen her when she received Garath's private message.

  "MEOW!" Garath meowed irritably. ‘God damnit. Every fucking time,’ he chastised himself internally for yet again attempting to communicate verbally while in his feline body.

  *Who's freaking out? I'm not freaking out,* he projected the thought to the cackling Dimensionalist while attempting to regain composure. *Who would freak out from something like being unexpectedly teleported right in front of a DRAGON that has literally killed them before? That's just crazy talk.*

  "Yo! Athios!" Warrion shouted from below. "Can I get a lift?"

  Athios continued laughing at the Necrologist as she walked to the ledge and cast Ally Transport to relocate Warrion to the roof as well. Garath, a little wounded from the embarrassment, felt that Athios definitely found too much humor in her own twisted joke. He shifted back into his true form and raised both arms, palms up and eyebrows raised.

  "It really wasn't THAT funny," he growled.

  "It really was though," Athios disagreed. "I would give my left leg for a video of that. Would have gone viral as hell back in the day. You know, like, last Wednesday... when the internet was still a thing."

  Garath tried to take an objective step back and imagine what he must have looked like in his panic but still didn't find it quite as funny as Athios obviously did. But then, he had been among the small group of people who had used the internet for things other than that for which it was invented (watching cat videos).

  Warrion, now on the roof as well, was looking from person to person hoping someone would explain what he had missed. Aldrasyl, who had yet to wake for his nightly hunt, huffed irritably at all the commotion and picked his sedan-sized cranium off of the white rooftop and swung it with his long, scaly neck to the other side of the school building. Daisy, to Garath's sincere appreciation, was not laughing. In fact, the little Elementalist looked absolutely put out by the whole fiasco. She was silently pouting with her arms folded across her chest. Nobody asked her why, but if they had, she would have explained that she was upset because the scary Raid Leader had a cuter cat form than she did.

  "Hey, what did I miss?" Warrion asked, still playing eyeball tennis between Athios and Garath.

  "Nothing," said Garath. "Well, nothing you needed to see at least."

  Athios finally managed to control her laughter, though a shit-eating grin was still plastered on her face as she mentally replayed the scene on repeat. "So, you were looking for me?" she asked.

  "Yeah, about tomorrow - I noticed a dungeon pretty close to the well on the World Map when I was plotting a course. It may be a good place to get some gear and do some leveling before heading to the Space Needle Dungeon. So, we're putting together a group. Five person max. So far we have myself, Warrion, and Sharon. You want to come?" asked Garath.

  "Yeah, you can count me in. So the little D dungeons are standard five-man encounters?"

  Garath nodded, walking to the edge of the roof and taking a seat, his feet dangling off the side. "That's what it said on the map," he confirmed.

  "Are you thinking it's set up for a standard five-man group composition too?" she asked, approaching and sitting to Garath's left as Warrion sat to his right.

  "Yeah. That's my best guess at least," said Garath. "You have any more smokes?"

  Athios reached into the pouch of her hoodie to retrieve a nearly empty pack and handed one to the Necrologist before lighting her own and passing the lighter. Daisy, who detested the smell of cigarettes, decided to find out how many steps it would take her if she started from the tip of the sleeping Ice Drake's tail and walked to the tip of his snout.

  "So we're just missing a tank," Athios said, accepting her lighter back from Garath and sliding it back into the pocket of her hoodie.

  "Yeah," Warrion confirmed. "Should we ask Gary if he wants to go?"

  "No," Garath said adamantly. He remembered the conversation he had with the bearded man when he and his boys joined The Band of the Hawk during The Culling. Gary had been watching his two sons and three nephews for the week while their mothers were on a girl's retreat. Garath watched the man break as he explained that he was unable to get in touch with his wife. The Necrologist felt for Gary, but gained massive respect for the man when he watched him un-break and keep his shit together to fight wave after wave of enemies to keep the boys safe. After The Culling, Gary had posted several contact attempts on the forums but had not heard from his wife. He had even exchanged a handful of private messages with people that had passed through the Cascades, where his wife and sister-in-law had been at the time, but nobody had seen them. "He has enough going on."

  "Alright. What about those kids? They were clutch A.F. during the even. Maybe one of them can come tank it. Which one had the shield?" Warrion asked.

  "The hawkies?" Garath asked, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips with each syllable as he placed his cigarette into Warrion's outstretched hand.

  “Hawkies?” Athios asked.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’ve been calling them in my head,” Garath explained. He took the cigarette back from Warrion and placed it to his lips, took a drag, and then handed it back to the Assassin. “I think the one they call Ted was their tank. His nameplate says TheDM. We could ask him, but I think they like to work as a team.”

  "Oh, before I forget,” said Athios. “Another group of survivors made it in about an hour ago and they need Raid invites."

  "Names?" Garath asked while pulling his Raid panel into view and accepting his cigarette back from Warrion.

  "Becky and Cindy Winkerstaff, they both entered their full names into the choose a name thing, no space between first and last. Don't even ask how these two bimbos survived The Culling because I honestly have no idea," Athios told him.

  Warrion perked up. "You say bimbos?" he asked shamelessly. "Are they hot?"

  "Depends on what you're into I guess," the Dimensionalist replied, dropping her cigarette from the roof. Before it traveled even half the distance to the ground, she reached out one hand and sent a silver disk to pop into existence below it. The burning butt fell into the tear in space and emerged from a second disk thirty-meters to the west.

  "Nice shot!" Garath said, dropping his own cigarette off the roof. "You're getting good at that."

  Athios let his fall to the ground.

  The Raid leader keyed in the name Beckywinkerstaff to send an invitation.

&nbs
p; Unable to complete Raid invitation for: Beckywinkerstaff

  ***Note: the Raid Group, “The Band of the Hawk” has reached maximum Raid size (200 members). Consider converting your Raid Group into a Guild or remove a Raid Member and try again.

  "Huh..." Garath huh'd thoughtfully.

  He conveyed the information on the prompt to Athios and Warrion. They all agreed that converting to a Guild was the better option and Garath couldn't help but get excited about what new possibilities a Guild could have in store for them.

  The three of them conversed on the roof, burning through the remainder of Athios' cigarettes, well into the night while Daisy, apparently convinced that Aldrasyl was either sleeping or simply not a threat, put the massive Dragon to use as her own personal jungle gym. They agreed to meet in the main hall at 06:00 GST, 9:00AM Pacific Standard, to recruit a fifth person for the dungeon run, then everyone went their separate ways, leaving Garath on the roof alone with his thoughts.

  After Athios, Daisy, and Warrion had retired for the evening, Garath remained on the roof with the dozing, great white Dragon. Lying there on the ledge with only his semi-transparent MENU panels between him and the star filled night sky, he zoomed in on the World Map to look again at the details of the dungeon he had plans to conquer in the morning.

  Aquawood Depths

  Maximum Party: 5

  Disposition: Hostile

  Monster Level(s): 13-20

  Floors: 1

  ‘Of course it's fucking hostile,’ thought Garath to himself.

  He immediately second guessed his reasoning though. If the disposition of the dungeon was among only four lines of (not incredibly descriptive) information provided, then didn't it stand to reason that there may be non-hostile dungeons? And what would a dungeon even be like on Earth? Would the mall just be buzzing with undead and the purpose be to fight your way to the middle? Would the objective even be clear when they got there?

  He closed his eyes and imagined himself fighting his way through every scenario he could think of, employing his mind and his new Skills and Abilities to overcome whatever monsters and obstacles he would find there. His imagination painted a picture of glory and loot and he smiled, lying there in the warm evening air beneath the sea of stars.

  *You seem to be quite enjoying whatever it is that you are thinking about, human,* came Aldrasyl's deep, calm voice into Garath's mind.

  Startled, Garath closed his panels and sat up. *I was just thinking about tomorrow,* he replied in the silent language of the Dragons, one of a handful of things he picked up when the Fatalistic Accord was struck between the Necrologist and the Ice Drake.

  *Ah. I thought that perhaps you had that dark haired female on your mind,* Aldrasyl speculated, picking his gargantuan, scaled head up from its resting place and swinging his long neck to bring it face to face with the little human.

  Garath looked into Aldrasyl's intense, cobalt eyes with surprise. *What, Athios?*

  Aldrasyl raised one white, draconic brow ridge in response.

  *Fair enough,* Garath conceded. In truth, he had spent a fair amount of time with the indecisive Dimensionalist on his mind. She intrigued him. She wasn't the typical 'gamer girl'. In fact, he got the distinct impression that Athios, not unlike himself, had spent the majority of her childhood alone and that, left to her own devices, found not only endless entertainment from gaming, but also the camaraderie and challenge that her parents and peers could never offer her.

  *Nonetheless, tomorrow occupies your thoughts.* The Dragon nodded slowly. *May I inquire as to what happens tomorrow?*

  *You know, it's funny you should ask,* Garath said, getting to his feet.

  *You found my inquiry humorous?*

  *Well, not particularly, no. It's funny that you should ask because I wanted to ask you for a favor about tomorrow,* the Necrologist answered a little nervously.

  *More of a coincidence then…* Aldrasyl said, more to himself than the Necrologist.

  Garath made a face. He knew that, because of the Fatalistic Accord between them, Aldrasyl had a vested interest in ensuring Garath's continued good health. They had spoken of it on occasion there on the roof at night before the white Dragon left for his evening hunt. Neither the human nor the Ice Drake fully understood the bond forged between them during their fatal battle at the conclusion of The Culling, but they both knew on an intrinsic level that their lives were now tied to one another's. He and the Ice Drake had come to an understanding of sorts and Garath thought that they had even begun to like one another. That being said - even though a mysterious bond connected the Necrologist and the Ice Drake at a core level - Garath knew that Aldrasyl was no pet. With that in mind, he phrased the request as delicately as he could.

  *A few of us are making a bit of a journey tomorrow. It's a fair distance away and would take quite some time on foot and I was wondering if...* he stopped speaking abruptly as the massive white Dragon lurched quickly to his feet.

  *I am not some tamed beast, human!* Aldrasyl's voice boomed and echoed in Garath's mind. *If your request pertains to riding atop me then I suggest you keep it to yourself, lest you become subject to my answer.*

  With that lightly veiled threat, Aldrasyl flexed his powerful legs and kicked off with great beating wings, taking to the sky without awaiting Garath's reaction. He flew west toward the ocean with his long barbed tail dangling behind. Garath found the Dragon's heading odd as the two previous nights the Ice Drake had soared east toward the mountains and the 'unsafe-zones' (depicted in red on the World Map).

  Garath hoped he hadn’t upset Aldrasyl too much with his request, but it was worth a shot. Riding Aldrasyl to the dungeon would have only taken minutes. On foot, the ten mile trek would take close to four hours each way. They would be able to speed up their pace with Athios' Ally Transport Skill but, as he had learned on their trip back from the coast earlier that day, the Dimensionalist definitely had her limits.

  Weary from a full day (and even the thought of walking for eight hours the following morning), Garath made his way back to the ground floor of the headquarters building and crept down the corridor to his shared living quarters. He quietly turned the handle and pulled on the door.

  As soon as the tiniest sliver of the door creaked open, Tarzan shot out of it like a horse on the track. She sprinted down the hall and disappeared around the corner. A late-night surge of energy was not uncommon for the feline, so Garath dismissed it without a second thought and entered the room - leaving the door open just a crack so that she could come back in if she chose - and curled up on the marble floor on his side of the room. With his smelly old gym bag (only made even less comfortable by his 300% increased sense of smell) as a pillow and a spare hoodie as his blanket, Garath tried to sleep. He tossed and turned, struggling to get comfortable until, finally, he drifted into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 26

  Guild.

  “What the FUCK is that noise?” Warrion shouted, waking Garath from his restless slumber early the following morning.

  “Shut up,” moaned Garath, turning over on the gym bag. He tried to fall right back to sleep but the damage had already been done. He rolled back over to face Warrion, sat up, and let the sweatshirt he had been using as a blanket slide to the floor as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Why are you shouting? What time is it? What the FUCK is that noise?”

  “Because of that FUCKING noise, early, I don’t know but I really wish it would stop, and I don't fucking know,” he said angrily. “Did I miss anything, sir Garath? ...and what is that smell?” asked Warrion, eyeing the shirt he had taken off and left on the floor before bed with a crinkled nose.

  Neither of the two late-twenties gamers could be described as a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. The sound that had disrupted their peaceful dreaming was like a classroom of sugar-hyped children with cowbells all competing for eardrum shattering dominance - muffled only by the single wall between the room Garath had chosen and the main hall. The choice of rooms had
made sense at the time, it was the only classroom located between the main hall and the restrooms, it was even close to the north exit – but maybe, he thought with his head throbbing, choosing a domicile next to the heaviest trafficked area in the entire building had been a poor decision.

  Groggy, grumpy, and parched, Garath exited the classroom-turned-sleeping-quarters. He turned and plodded his way to the men’s room to empty his bladder and quench his thirst before investigating the source of the ruckus.

  It was a wonder and a luxury that the indoor plumbing was still functional. Gary had explained to him that the plumbing system in an old building like their little stronghold depended mostly on pressure and gravity, not electricity. The entire Raid Group knew it wouldn’t last forever but, as Garath’s uncle Darren used to tell him, “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

  Garath willed his MENU panels into existence in front of him to check the time, then closed them. As he exited the restroom, Garath barely noticed Tarzan sitting demurely, waiting for him in the corridor. With bodily functions fresh in his mind and a cat that used to do her business in a box inside his old apartment sitting on the marble floor in front of him, something struck his curiosity.

  “Tarzan, where have you been potty-ing for the last couple of days?” he asked.

  “Meow,” she replied, then looked away, uninterested in what he had to say.

  “Don’t give me that shit,” he chided her. “I know you understand me.”

  *Ask your skinny friend,* came Tarzan’s reply into his mind. Garath didn’t know what to make of that and the fuzzy feline had already slunk off and slipped out the open doors of the north-side exit before he could ask.

  Bladder relieved and thirst quenched, the Necrologist set off to identify the source of the ruckus that had so rudely stirred him from sleep so early in the morning. The glare from the sunlight pouring in through the east-side windows reflected off the marble flooring in the main hall as he entered, shooting daggers into his still-sleepy eyes. He had to squint to catch a glimpse of the culprit creating the copious cacophony.