War God's Mantle_Ascension_A litRPG Adventure

by James Hunter

  I slashed off the arm of a snarling werewolf, then backpedaled, eager to be clear of the line of fire.

  The sound of thunder filled my ears and set my teeth rattling as Phoebe mashed down the trigger. Gunfire never sounded so sweet. Bullets flew—tracer rounds burning like lightsabers—tearing into the hell-spawn army like a hive of angry killer bees. Heads exploded, limbs summersaulted away, and pink mist hung in the air like a ground fog. The scene was horrifying, but I couldn’t look away. Just couldn’t. The godstone pulsed in my chest, sending out spikes of fierce approval at the utter destruction.

  With a scream, Phoebe swiveled the barrel and blew the head off a werewolf and butchered a spider pig until nothing but legs were left. She swept the barrel right, gunning down half a dozen nagas who were trying to retreat, blowing their entrails out of their bodies and removing their brains with a bullet lobotomy. Harpies swooped in, but they fared no better. Phoebe raised the gun and punished them, turning skin into Swiss cheese.

  The bird-crones plunked onto the ground here and there.

  Holy shit, we’d done it … though the north tower was in ruins and the gate was battered to the ground, there were no more enemies coming. Just heaps of the dead or dying. Enough to cover every inch of ground.

  “No time to celebrate, Jacob Merely,” Phoebe said, glancing back toward the city. “This was only a skirmish force. A distraction. Praxidike is hitting the southern wall with their main force …” She paused, lips pursed. “It’s bad, but I think there might be a solution. Come on.”

  “Gayle,” I said, turning on the senior-most bear rider left in the group. “I want you and the rest of your sisters to guard this wall. Nothing comes through, nothing. And if you get movement here, I want to know about it.”

  She nodded in reply and began immediately barking out orders as I climbed up onto the harvester behind Phoebe. Pyracia turned the lumbering contraption around, and then we were off. Though the machine was bulky and terrifying, holy shit could it move. We raced across the field, down the cobblestone path, through the city, and all the way to the southern wall—making the trek in record time.

  Unsurprisingly, the southern tower was gone, but the wall still stood whole and strong. Amazons littered the ramparts, hurling arrows and spears. More worked the huge ballistae, which were staged at intervals. The siege weapons unleashed huge bolts, the size of my outstretched arm, which took out pockets of enemies with ease. On the ground behind us were the catapults, which hurled huge stones cut from the earth, or wooden barrels loaded with boiling oil. All good news.

  The bad news? We were outnumbered. And not a little outnumbered. Ah no. There were a thousand creatures out there.

  “Don’t despair yet, Jacob Merely,” Phoebe said, sliding from the gunner seat, pulling me down with her. “I have an ace in the hole that might help level the playing field a bit. Come on.” She took my hand and pulled me onward, guiding me up a set of rungs to another lookout platform, currently occupied by Myrina. My general paced back and forth, screaming commands, which carried even over the din of the battle. “Protect the left flank,” she yelled, before spinning around, her sword raised. “Javelins on the right—I want pressure on those nagas, damn you!”

  Myrina whirled on us as we finally reached the top, relief washing over her normally stony face as she saw me. “Oh, thank all the gods,” she said, dashing over and grabbing me up in a bone-breaking bear hug. “I thought we were done. But maybe there is hope left. Come, this way.” She grabbed my bicep in a painfully tight grip and hauled me over to a small table, which butted up against the wall at the edge of the platform. There was something on the table, but it was covered by a canvas tarp.

  Phoebe reached out and grabbed ahold of the tarp just as Praxidike appeared, floating above her army, cackling like mad as she looked down on us. “Look upon your doom, War God. Look on your doom and tremble.” Her snake-belt held my helmet. She had her whip, her javelins on her back, and her spiked atlatl. “We will trample your pitiful defenses, destroy the seal, and break the rift wide open so Hades may walk the world again. And there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”

  “Maybe not nothing,” Phoebe said with a fierce go-fuck-yourself grin as she pulled off the bulky canvas. Sitting on the table was the black onyx orb from the forge. The masterpiece she’d built, which allowed her to access the game menu even when I wasn’t around. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I reached out and pressed my palm against the surface. The minute I touched it, the godstone in my chest ignited with a warmth and an energy that made me gasp. Yes, yes.

  A blink later, and the gaming menus popped on.

  Oh shit, we were back in business. Hell yeah!

  Quickly I toggled over to my troops and saw—with more than a little relief—that Asteria was still among the living. And more than that, she was back up to full Health.

  You doing okay? I sent the shifter, a grin breaking out across my face.

  Better than ever, thanks to you, she sent, her voice bubbly in my head. Otrere just finished patching me up, and I’m on my way. I think it’s time someone eats Praxidike’s liver. I volunteer.

  I toggled over to the combat screen and glanced up at the black-winged Fury, a vicious smile on my face.

  Was that fear I saw on Praxidike’s face?

  Why yes, I believe it was ...

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Rally

  The storm clouds above looked like black smoke boiling the sky into darkness.

  A roar went up as a dozen octopus centaurs rushed toward the southern wall, ready to tear their way in by brute force. Their tentacles gripped a massive battering ram. Stymphalian swooped down and covered the centaurs, giving the horse creatures a bronze aerial shield that deflected incoming arrows. And in the back, a group of chainmail-clad werewolves pushed forward a massive siege tower of wood and metal, which creaked along on huge stone wheels.

  More siege towers followed. With those things, the horde would be able to just swarm over the wall and flood into the city unchallenged.

  Nope. Not on my watch. Time to put these sons of bitches in check. Using my mental comm link, I started issuing orders. Vara and Sophia, I called out to my two Teleporters, time to get busy. I need my support Elementalists down here ASAP. And someone get me the Shield of Perseus.

  Hippolyta is carrying it, came an immediate reply from Myrina. She’s standing watch over the sigil—a final guardian.

  Good. Leave her there, but get that shield down here now. Archers, I sent, switching tracks, get ready to blast those centaurs with the ram. I’m about to clear the air.

  I raised my sword overhead, the blade glowing with spectral blue light. I’d already seen how susceptible to lightning the Stymphalian were, so it was time to exploit the weakness. In my combat interface, I selected the once-a-day ability Shockwave. As before, nothing happened for a long beat, but then the clouds above sizzled with power as a column of lightning lanced down from the heavens, connecting with the tip of my sword and passing through my body. I’d leveled up quite a bit since last time I’d used this ability, so channeling the power was less jarring, though still far from pleasant.

  The raw electricity rushed out of me, through the wood, and into the ground.

  The air rattled with a sizzle-crack as a hundred jagged bolts of lightning erupted from the earth beyond the wall, streaking upward and into the bronze-feathered monsters circling and swooping above. Many of the frontline enemy fighters died on the spot, their skin blackening, their blood boiling, while Stymphalian plummeted from the sky by the handfuls. The terrible birds smashed into the earth, kicking up rocks and dirt, or careened into hell-spawn fighters, breaking bones and crushing skulls.

  It was a work of destructive art. A thing of devastating, bloody beauty.

  The vicious attack finally petered out, and the world was utterly silent for a moment as everyone stared in shock. That’d teach them who they were fucking around with. And then the silence was broken as the Amazons along
the wall sent up an echoing cheer, before unleashing a fresh volley of arrows into the shell-shocked monsters. I was still worried, though. The attack had been flashy and brutal, but it had only taken out sixty or so monsters, and that was just a drop in the bucket. We had a lot of work left to do.

  “Hold the fort,” I yelled at Myrina while toggling away from my combat interface and over to my inventory, checking to see what weapons we still had online. The manufactured siege weapons were in good shape: we’d lost two ballistae, but we had five left, and our four catapults were operational. The Gatling gun was empty, however, and we’d blown through all of the cluster bombs and napalm—super shitty—but we still had several converted harvesters loaded with more missiles. Six AIMs left, in total. And we also had one charge from the Shield of Perseus.

  Not terrible, though I had no idea if what we had left would be enough.

  So far, the Harrier’s weapons had kept us in the game, despite our early setbacks. Yes, we lost the two towers, but in a sense, they had done their job. They had kept the monsters away from our main walls long enough for us to push them back.

  Next, I pulled up my Amazon roster, checking the status of each. One KIA—Antiope, as expected—but everyone else was alive. Alive was not healthy, however. Many of the Wardens were hurting bad, and the Beastiamancers up north were beat to crap. Poor Euryleia and Buttercup were each lingering at just over fifteen percent life. That couldn’t stand. Since I’d been battling without my helmet, I hadn’t used any Essence in nearly six hours, which meant I was topped off at 335 Essence Points—time to get my Cleric on.

  I cracked my knuckles and made it rain Health. I started with those who were closest to death and worked my way up. One after another, I healed the top fifteen most grievously injured Amazons, burning through 165 Essence Points inside of thirty seconds; by the time I was done, though, everyone on Team War God was sitting above seventy-five percent Health, and with my two Water-Witches inbound, it would damn well stay that way.

  A bright purple flash in my periphery caught my attention.

  Vara and Sophia had finally showed up to play, and each of the Teleporters carried an Elementalist with them. Calla, the Flame-Witch, reeled from the sudden shift and fell against me. Her body burned hot, which made sense since she dealt in fire.

  “Calla, I want that siege tower roasted,” I said, thrusting a finger out. “Burn the motherfucker to the ground.”

  “My pleasure, War God,” the Flame-Witch replied, finally steadying herself. She took a deep breath, pressed her eyes shut, inhaled deeply, then threw both hands forward, unleashing a geyser of blue-white flame from her hands. The spell washed over the incoming siege tower, tongues of flame lapping at wood while fingers of heat caressed enemy flesh. Monsters howled and fell away in droves, but still more came.

  Calla fell to her knees, breathing hard, sweat dotting her face. It had taken all of her mojo, but she’d stopped the siege tower from reaching the wall.

  “Hell yeah! Now Sabra, I want you to use your powers as a Forest-Witch to block their path with vegetation, make it impossible for them to roll in more siege gear.”

  The Forest-Witch gave me a curt nod and raised her hands to the sky, an aura of emerald magic swirling around her as she chanted. The forest responded at once: huge tree boughs surged out—obscuring the path Praxidike’s forces had been using for transport—and vines crept out to snare feet and ankles. Rose bushes exploded from the ground, the stems covered with barbed thorns as big as my pinky. Not deadly, but damned inconvenient, and Praxidike would have a helluva time rolling in more siege equipment.

  “You think you’re the only one with magic!” the Fury shrieked, rising higher into the air.

  Instead of doing the whole villain banter thing, I ordered my archers to engage while I blasted her with a Lightning Lance.

  Power surged from the godstone, down my arms, and arched through the air—

  But a magical dome of green light flashed into existence in front of the demoness, deflecting arrows and magic with equal ease. A rough chant escaped from her mouth—the words jarring and painful inside my ears—building to a terrible crescendo as she clapped her hands. The dead Stymphalian melted, and a platoon of nearby centaurs shrieked in agony as the bronze from the birds swirled around them, fusing with their skin.

  The process looked hellishly painful, but when she was done, the screams stopped, and the centaurs rose, covered head to toe in gleaming bronze armor.

  Praxidike cracked her whip in the air. “Attack!” she shrieked. “Crush their walls. Drive them back. Feast on their flesh!”

  The bronze-covered centaurs rushed in with unnatural speed and immediately laid into the walls, their huge fists smashing into stone, dishing out impossible damage. Cracks spread up from each strike like breaking ice, and bits of rock and mortar flew free. Those monsters were literally punching their way through the walls. What the fuck? My Amazons engaged, launching arrows straight down with no effect—that bronze armor was crazy-tough. To make matters worse, harpies exploded from the trees, taking wing.

  They harried the Amazons brutally, giving the bronze centaurs all the time they needed.

  The wall shuddered, bucked, swayed, then fractured—a huge fissure running up the center. I pulled up the interface and scrolled over to MANAGE ISLAND, but it was too late. The stone fell inward with a rush, crushing a Warden manning one of the catapults. I watched in horror as a stone smashed through her legs and pelvis, blood leaking out around her in a pool. Oh shit! Otrere, the Water-Witch, was by her side in a flash, hands pressing against the Warden’s temples.

  She was too late.

  And then the centaurs were scrambling through the gap in the wall, pushing in, immediately laying into the catapults, smashing them to pieces. And they weren’t alone. A pack of werewolves and a platoon of nagas followed on their bronze-covered heels, scattering once inside. The Wardens on top of the wall were busy with the harpies, so it was up to a handful of beast-riders and support casters to contain the breach. Myrina leapt from the platform, hit the grass, and rolled back to her feet, wading into the fight, dancing through the wolves with lethal grace.

  For a minute, I felt overwhelmed. Defeated.

  How could we come back from this? I wasn’t sure, but I buckled down and focused on the game.

  I’d played dozens of scenarios like this. In each, there was always a point when the odds seemed completely against me. But there was always a way. Always. Though admittedly, sitting on my chair, in front of my monitor, had been a lot easier. This was more like playing a video game with a serial killer in the room, trying to chop off my hands. It did add a certain spice, I must say.

  Beastiamancers on bears and bulls rushed in to fill the gap, shredding wolves and hammering into bronze centaurs. Their riders lashed out with deadly efficiency—slicing with swords, impaling with spears, blocking heavy blows with circular bucklers. Even the Rune-Casters fought, firing oversized bolts from clockwork crossbows. And then, in a stroke of absolute awesomeness, a defiant eagle’s shriek pierced the air.

  I glanced up and saw a blue-feathered eagle diving down with Loxo the Huntress clutched in her talons. Asteria. And behind my shifter general was a handful of aerial Beastiamancers, led by Toxaris on her majestic Pegasus.

  About time we caught a break!

  Asteria swooped low, dropping Loxo from twenty feet up, before wheeling around and tearing through the harpies. Blood and gore followed in her wake.

  Despite the fall, Loxo landed lightly on the balls of her feet like a cat, fifteen feet from the breach. Strapped to her back was the Shield of Perseus. Holy shit, this was a game changer.

  I’ve brought a present, she purred at me through the link, trailing a hand down her front then shooting me a wink. I also brought this shield, she finished, fishing the thing from her back and slinging it over her left arm. Now what’s the play, War God?

  I’ll lay down some cover fire, I replied. You get through the gap, and hit those sucker
s with the shield.

  Loxo’s voice whispered seductively in my head. Oh, Jacob, I love it when you’re dominant and take control. She grinned up at me again, and then she was darting forward, dancing through the inrushing creatures like smoke and water. I focused my power, thrusting my hand forward and unleashing a barrage of Lightning Lances on any enemy that even got close to Loxo. In no time, I’d cleared a pocket for her, though I knew it wouldn’t stay clear for long.

  Already, Praxidike seemed to realize the threat and was whipping her troops into frenzied action—like literally whipping them. With a fucking whip. But she was half a beat too late.

  EVERYONE, I sent through the mental link, mass messaging every Amazon in my control, EYES SHUT IN THREE … TWO … ONE ... I pressed my eyes closed as a brilliant flare of steely gray light enveloped the world, followed by a wave of biting, arctic cold. As soon as the sensation passed, I cracked my eyes and a shit-eating grin exploded across my face. Loxo had done it. True, the whole army hadn’t been petrified, but two out of every three had. Stone statues littered the field, all frozen in various states of battle.

  “Attack!” I screamed, turning my Lightning Lances on the handful of remaining bronze-plated centaurs. Blades and arrows might not have been effective, but lightning sure was. The centaurs fell, and as they did, the tide of battle seemed to shift around us. Suddenly, we were winning, and the momentum was in our favor. The catapults were gone, but the ballistae resumed firing, and the archers launched a fresh wave of arrows. The heavy cavalry on the ground rushed forward through the breach.

  They smashed statues as they ran—stony debris thudding to the ground—and as they moved, Praxidike’s remaining forces broke like cheap plywood. They knew this was game over for them, and they weren’t quite so motivated to die needlessly.

  I expected Praxidike to scream, to cuss, to make wild threats. I didn’t expect her to laugh.

  But that’s exactly what she did, and when I looked at her, I saw why.

  Somehow, the Fury had managed to ensnare Loxo. My Huntress dangled in the air, Praxidike’s whip wrapped tight around her throat like a noose. Loxo’s feet dangled wildly, her face beet red as she clawed at the leather cutting off her air supply. And the whole time, Praxidike laughed. “You fools,” she said after a time, “you think this was the real threat? That I would put all my efforts into a few harpies and a handful of mindless beasts? Never.” She clenched her hand, and the whip seemed to tighten, Loxo’s gasping intensifying.