“That little guy has a screw loose. He came to the storehouse a little while ago and demanded Creeping Poisontail seeds. They’re easy to buy, but I asked him why he needed them. He just stamped his foot, blushed and kept demanding. Good thing that shaman was nearby, Ryg-tyg-har or whatever his name is… He explained that the little one dislikes the dark ones — they scare him. There’s a particularly fearsome ogre with two heads — he makes fun of the little guy, keeps trying to pick him up by one leg. So Trixie decided to plant poisontail in their camp, hoping they’d run away from the island. You keep an eye on him, young ones, or he’ll chase away all your allies!”
“Some help from the Sleepers,” I muttered. “Like a saboteur! We should send him to be a gardener for our enemies!”
Manny sighed heavily, exchanged glances with Gyula and answered:
“I’ll talk to his grandpa. Although you could do it yourself, Patrick. Old man Furtado is around here somewhere — Trixie got a capsule for him too. He mines ore with the best of them.”
“Good. Alright, let’s get back to business. We’ve dealt with one thing — if we don’t find another way to get Concentrated Life Essence, then I can enter the Games.”
“We can all fight there, even Tissa,” Infect said. The look on his face was clear — mentally he was already there, winning the Demonic Games, standing on the podium, accepting his trophy, bowing to the applause of the crowd, bowing…
“What makes you think you got what it takes to win, kid?” Gyula asked, frowning. “Entering is just the start!”
Since his friends had died, the builder’s hatred for the Destroying Plague burned hotter than anyone’s. Once he learned that the Nucleus could be destroyed with the help of Concentrated Life Essence, he lit up with the hope of vengeance and a determination to do all he could to help me.
“Firstly, Scyth can’t leave the fort,” Infect objected. “Secondly, there are a few days left until registration ends, and the Games themselves could go on for a month. Thirdly, they will require…”
“Hold on a sec!” I banged my clay coffee down on the table with a thud. “Can anyone tell me concisely and specifically how the Demonic Games work and how the winner is determined? To be honest, I don’t get it: how can a chef defeat, for example, a champion of the Arena? It makes no sense… Everyone is at different levels too! Imagine if ordinary sandbox players had become champions of the Junior Arena instead of us. How can they go up against winners of an adult tournament?”
There was a pause. Irita, Infect and Crawler exchanged glances, deciding who should answer. Flaygray roared through the silence:
“Eniko! My wine barrel runneth dry! Bring me a fresh one at once! And not that elvish piss, get me something…”
“Something that burns!” Naga interrupted him. The succubus ran her gaze across the table, winked to Gyula and Manny, stopped at me and said: “Let me answer your question, Scyth. Azmodan may appreciates nothing but brute force, but Belial, on the other hand, likes to see who is sharp of mind and ready to step on heads to achieve their goals. Diablo prefers those who are strong, but at the same time cunning and treacherous. How do you figure that out?”
A noise came from the kitchen — Eniko was rolling a cask of Cali Homebrew, Aunt Stephanie’s special recipe. Bomber and Crawler launched themselves out of their chairs and elbowed each other in their rush to help the girl. She refused with a laugh and sent the boys back, rolled the barrel to the satyr, who was stood rubbing his hands in glee.
“Don’t burn your throat, Uncle Flay.”
The satyr mage, whose element was fire, laughed so hard he choked and coughed. Nega whipped him in the back — a top-level player like Hinterleaf would have died to that one hit, but Flaygray didn’t even twitch, just stopped coughing.
Now that they had something to drink, both he and Nega forgot everything else and it was the boys’ turn to talk. Interrupting and correcting each other all the way, they told me the following:
The Demonic Games differ sharply from all the other tournaments of Dis. As it turns out, they are a global reality show that begins in real life and in Dis at the same time. The participants are brought to a secret location and housed together. At first, each one undergoes a range of tests that measure physical strength, agility, intellect, stamina, stress capacity and much more. All that data then determines the stats of a newly generated character.”
“So I have a chance,” Infect said. “Everyone will be on a level playing field.”
“Not exactly,” Irita shook her head. “Abilities and crafts will remain, but will drop down to level 1 of rank zero. Don’t celebrate too soon, Scyth, if you think it’ll be a piece of cake for you. The place in Dis where the Games are held is considered cut off from the other planes, so all abilities provided by divinities will disappear.”
“Okay, so they gather the contestants, make them new characters, toss them to some distant plane of Dis, and then what? How do they compete if they’ve all been put on the same level?”
“The contestants appear in a small town surrounded by an impenetrable barrier. Something like a pocket dimension,” Crawler answered. “The place is supposed to be cursed. A few surviving NPCs sell potions, weapons and armor. At the center of town, there’s a sinkhole that goes down six hundred and sixty-six floors deep. On each floor are demon mobs of the same level as the floor number. The lower you go, the stronger they get. Passage is always blocked by a boss whose strength scales with the number of enemies. A killed boss drops some strong gear and doesn’t revive. Some prefer to fight each boss in the hope of experience and loot, while others want to follow behind the rest, taking no risks and leveling up on mobs. They don’t respawn, by the way, so it’s important not to lag behind the group, otherwise only the strong monsters will be left, and you won’t be able to take them out on your own.”
“The aim of the Demonic Games is to reach the bottom of the dungeon and fight the final megaboss,” Infect interjected. “His defeat signals the end of the Games.”
“And if nobody defeats him?”
“Nobody ever has,” Bomber chuckled. “I was just thinking — I should join too. I mean, if the organizers really equalize the character stats to real-life strength, well — I’m stronger than all of you!”
“Wait,” Crawler put up a hand. “The final boss, who is a general of the higher demons — the princes of the Inferno — has never been defeated, it’s true, so the winner is the last to survive.”
“So if you hide somewhere and wait until the boss takes everyone out, you win?”
Crawler shook his head:
“The last survivor of those who fought. But in the Games, there isn’t really anywhere to hide anyway. Inactivity gets you a penalty.” The gnome thought for a moment. “And the penalties for dying are high: minus a level, and you only have two lives in total. If you die without experience in supply, you don’t revive again.”
I’d already encountered mechanics like that before, where you lose experience and then your character… That’s right, in the Nether! Snowstorm must have used reused those ideas for the Demonic Games.
“You level up very fast,” Irita added. “Killing a mob equal to your level gives you a point of experience. You need two points for level two, three for level three and so on. It’s all really sped up, and skills level up fast too. Usually the Games fit into a few days, but they have stretched out for a month before! That said, only eight hours a day are spent in Dis. The rest of the time, the contestants speak in real life, discussing events and weaving intrigues, and the audience sees it all. They also get to vote for random buffs and debuffs for individual contestants. They determine the best and worst players of the day, and they often base that on behavior in real life, because the Games aren’t just limited to Dis.”
She kept talking while I marveled at my own ignorance. How did I not learn about this in so many years? According to my friends, the popularity of the Demonic Games had long since surpassed the Olympic Games.
“A
ll the mobs from the Inferno are there, and they’re angry as hell,” Infect said. “Their defense and damage is dynamic and depends on the players’ average stats. That means lots of people make alliances right away, in real life too, and then level up together. That makes it easier to defend against other teams, and farm experience…”
He wanted to say more, but the clap of portals and a shout from Trixie outside interrupted him.
“Strangers, strangers!” the little man wailed, pointing his finger out the window.
The Montosaurus roared, then Iggy chittered furiously and Crusher howled. Thunder rumbled.
All the council attendees jumped up from the table to the sound of falling crockery and grinding chairs. Bomber was sitting closest to the door, so he was first to it. When he opened it, the titan froze at the threshold, stared out in amazement and lowered his head.
“Good evening,” the dwarf standing before him rumbled. “My name is Raidohelm. I’m from the Green League. I seek Scyth.”
The dwarf wore a helmet that looked like it belonged on a builder, a rough boiler suit made of thick cloth and high metal-studded boots. Bomber let him in and silently pointed me out. The foreman of the builders from Kusalarix! I realized. They were supposed to arrive that morning, during the battle at Tiamat’s temple, but I’d closed the portal too quickly then. Now it seemed they’d gotten here themselves — Kusalarix must have marked where the coins were activated.
“Mr. Scyth,” Raidohelm nodded. “Rank-three builders’ brigade reporting for duty to erect the Awoken clan castle. The order has been paid for by the Green League, including the rapidity surcharge. We are ready to begin at once!”
Nega, apparently out of mischief, immediately enchanted the foreman with Charm, and his gaze was drawn like a magnet to the curves of the incredibly beautiful dwarf woman whose form the succubus had taken in his eyes. The dwarf’s eyes glazed over, his lips turned up in an idiotic grin and his breath turned heavy and fast.
“Nega, stop that immediately,” I ordered.
Muttering something unflattering in the boss’s direction for not appreciating a good prank, the succubus lifted the spell. Raidohelm shook, blinked and moved his eyes to me.
“Welcome, master builder,” I said. “Allow me to introduce our chief builder Gyula. He built this fort, he’ll bring you up to speed. As for materials…”
“We have all the materials we need,” the foreman interrupted. “Direct deliveries from the stonemasons’ guild. Lady Kusalarix has not stinted, it is all the very best. You are even to be connected to the portal network of the transport guild, with maximum range.”
“You sure you have all the materials you need?” Gyula asked, smirking. “Got any Corrupted Adamantite?” The dwarf shook his head, his beard of a dozen braids interwoven with golden thread sweeping the floor. “Right,” Gyula went on. “We do, and we’ll use it for…”
“…nails, fixtures and plating on the fortress walls!” Raidohelm interrupted shamelessly. It was clear that he valued his time and had no love of long discussions. “Spare a Grand Master Builder your tips, colleague. The plans do not contain Corrupted Adamantite, but we can easily swap out the Enchanted Steel for it. And I doubt you know how to make an alloy from it to increase its durability by 14%, am I right, colleague?”
Now it was Gyula’s turn to shake his head.
“Right!” Raidohelm cut him off, stamping in vexation so hard that the wooden floor splintered.
Flaygray and Nega, who had done the same many times with their hooves, clucked their tongues in approval. The dwarf made as if he didn’t see the demons — he must have been used to dealing with all sorts of customers. Gyula sighed, moved the guest aside a little and started ‘fixing’ the damaged floor.
“When do we begin, Mr. Scyth?” Raidohelm asked, glancing significantly at the clock.
“Right away, just like you said.”
“Then you must end your meeting, because we’re going to have to empty the fort…”
Chapter 6. One Head is Good, But Two is Ogre
THOSE MEAN DWARFS shooed Gyula out too, no matter how he protested. The bearded little people weren’t about to give up their trade secrets no matter how many piles of gold the Green League gave them. The only thing they gave ground on — and that for the sake of their own safety — was that each builder (and there were three hundred) must immediately report the appearance of any strangers to Raidohelm, and he — to me. Mogwai could appear at any moment, or any of the other legates.
The almost three-thousand-strong population of Kharinza had to be moved to Mengoza. Thankfully, I still had the gold baton-beacon for the Great Portals and the activating coins. On the reptiloid island (although there were no lizardfolk there yet in this version of Dis), Gyula began the construction of a Small Fort consisting of three structures: tavern, barracks and storehouse. It could take over a day to build.
The cultists of Morena left us for a time, returning to Shad’Erung, but the kobolds and troggs needed no roof over their heads and preferred the caves in the mountains. The workers went the same way to explore new ore deposits. I sent Ripta and Anf to protect them and assigned them Crusher and Iggy, for company. Unlike Kharinza, there were mobs here, and they were over level 300.
My friends also planned to stay on Mengoza, to level up the workers — they all needed to hit level 100 to rank up. In addition, Irita started picking out flying mounts for all the clan officers, for mobility and patrolling the island. The sight of the Ruins of the Departed put a smile on Infect’s face. He raised his pick and rushed off to start his archeological dig.
I, on the other hand, planned to climb out of my capsule and get a bite to eat. I had a long shift of immersion ahead of me — to farm Serendipity for Fortune and seek Oyama, Supreme Grand Master of Unarmed Combat. As for how to withstand the heat of the desert, I already had some thoughts.
But how to handle the frost of Holdest? Despite Behemoth’s warnings, I still wanted to try the Balancer again. I couldn’t use Depths Teleportation to get into the Nucleus’s lair; I’d have to go on foot to the spot beneath which the underground cave lay. How would I get down there? I had a personal drill, but would he survive on Holdest? Sharkon was a desert beast; he might die there…
I summoned Monty and Storm and ordered them to patrol the zone and keep mobs from interrupting me, then sat in the shade of a lone tree with wrinkled, cracked bark and started to rack my brains. The dwarf builders had interrupted our short breather in the tavern while we held the clan council meeting, and now there was no excuse to relax. But before sprinting off like a headless chicken to take action like I usually did, I decided to come up with a clear plan.
What did we have? The Triad and the United Cartel were looking for me, but Hairo had taken on that problem. My parents were safe — the Moon wasn’t Earth; all the resorts were under forcefields, and you couldn’t just walk into a hotel there.
Next. The preventers didn’t know where to find me, and Mogwai was unlikely to share his intel on Kharinza with them, so the Alliance was the least of my troubles. Especially since they’d spent their strongest artifacts in the battles with Shazz the lich — just a shame the fight at the temple didn’t happen. So Hinterleaf still had his Conjoining of Souls, which meant Modus was best avoided.
The Destroying Plague — that was the true danger. It bothered me that Kharinza still had that instance with the Plague Vector and the lich Uros. Sure, Behemoth had cut it off from the Nucleus, but the destruction of Tiamat’s temple had weakened the Sleeping God! In light of recent events, that fact had flown from my mind. Clearing the cave was a priority. Not used to putting things off, I jumped up, but then made myself stop and sit back down again. I couldn’t put off the cave for long, but a few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. That lich had lived there for years; he’d wait.
Our main danger was the Elites, and Mogwai in particular. Unlike the Nucleus, who was currently more focused on expansion, the legates had two things on their minds: the rewar
ds for eliminating the Threat and the fact that I was now their main opponent. No other players could hold a candle to them; any legate could take out a full raid of preventers. I myself had proved that.
How could I deal with the legates? It wasn’t even an issue of how to kill them. I’d already done that and they just revived again, although with less experience, but regaining what they’d lost was no longer a problem for them: they could just go to the Lakharian Desert, pull a bunch of mobs and fire off Plague Fury. How to neutralize them? Set up some traps like the one Eileen put me in? Then the legates would be close to each other and they could just kill themselves to get free (I remembered dealing damage to myself). What if I spread traps across different zones? Eight (or nine, now?) similar cells and just as many castles. Where would I get them..?
The most reliable trap seemed to be the Nether, but if I made a rift (although I didn’t even know how to get to the instance on Terrastera where I could learn the skill), then the legates would get there with all the abilities of the Destroying Plague — if Three’s theory was right, of course. With Immortality they’d level up so fast that there’d be no holding them back without Three and Nine. And anyway, using the Nether was unrealistic for now.
Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series Page 8
