Neck-Deep In It: A LitRPG and GameLit Series.

by Jason Cheek

  For Zeven, it was like entering Blaidd Ogof Hold again after the triple “A” guild had slaughtered his people. Everywhere he looked, there were ripped apart bodies strewn across the ground with puddles of blood and viscera nearly ankle deep around the beast. Similar to his House of Bruic Diongmhalta, there were only a handful of survivors left fighting desperately for their lives against the monster, but with one major difference. Zeven’s silver-blue eyes flared in cold fury. He was here this time to stop it!

  “You know what that means as well as I do Bristletoe,” a bare-chested Dwarf bellowed from the front of a smithy off to Zeven’s left who had a massive hammer held ready in his meaty hands, “You’re going to need my hammer!”

  “Dagnammit, Hammertoe,” the armored Dwarf leading the surviving Warriors angrily bellowed, “get those younglings out of-”

  Bristletoe’s words were suddenly cut off as Warptooth the Thunderstrike’s tail shot forward in the blink of an eye to pierce the armored Dwarf’s chest. As their leader was jerked into the air by the massive stinger piercing his body, the Mini-Boss let out a bestial roar of triumph as the surviving Dwarven Warriors watched on in helpless dread. I understood why that was a second later, when Bristletoe’s skin turned black and his body began to dissolve from the inside out.

  “Defenders of Kragrock to me!” A female Dwarf Warrior’s voice suddenly cried out, snapping the defenders out of their shock. Another quick use of Identify tagged the female Dwarf as Sub-Mine Leader Thilaelydd Flintgrog, level 36 Defender. Hefting up the massive War Hammer in her gauntleted hands, she rushed the monster’s head as the rest of the Dwarves went back to the attack, doing their best to break through the Mini-Boss’s heavy scales, “We will send this beast back to the dark depths from which it hailed!”

  With a flick of its tail, Warptooth the Thunderstrike contemptuously flung the still dying Bristletoe off of its three-foot-long stinger, before facing the remaining Dwarves. Tearing his eyes away from the monstrous serpent, Zeven rushed for the injured Dwarf on the ground. Mentally including the survivors to his allies list, he hurriedly cast Soothing Wind while the Elite Beithir wheeled around to casually backhand the defensive line pummeling its side. As spear shafts shattered and Dwarves were thrown across the town’s square, Thilaelydd Flintgrog came charging between the Mini-Boss’s forelegs to bring her two-handed War Hammer against the Elite Beithir’s snout in a scale-cracking strike.

  Forcing his eyes away from the ongoing battle, Zeven dropped to his knees by the dying Dwarf’s side while pulling out a Potion of Antidote from the pouch at his waist and recasting Soothing Wind. Though the spell was a group heal over time, it was the best healing spell that he had and he rightly figured the extra healing wouldn’t hurt the Dwarves fighting against the Mini-Boss. As he cradled the Dwarf in the crook of his arm and ripped the cork free of the vial with his teeth, Zeven was shocked to have the potion rudely ripped from his fingers just as he was bringing the vial to the Dwarf’s lips.

  “What are you doing Beasty Boy,” a gruff voice demanded from behind him.

  “The fuck does it look like I’m doing,” Zeven snarled, as Bristletoe’s veins began turning black through his skin, “I’m trying to save this Dwarf’s life!”

  Looking back over his shoulder, the battle momentarily faded from Zeven’s consciousness as he glared in anger at the shirtless Dwarf standing behind him with his hammer raised and ready to strike. The distrustful look on the old Dwarf’s hard face somewhat eased as he took a closer look at the potion in his calloused hand. Letting out a harrumph, his deep-set eyes focused back onto Zeven as the raised hammer lowered a notch.

  “Why would a Beast Kin be helping a bunch of Dwarves,” Hammertoe pointedly asked as if his eyes were weighing Zeven’s soul, “when we wouldn’t have welcomed your kind in our town?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” Zeven snarled in a half-growl, angered in spite of himself at the overt racism within The World, “and because, for evil to flourish,” he pointedly said, “it only requires good people do nothing.”

  “An honorable answer,” Hammertoe gruffly said, giving Zeven a nod of respect, before handing the vial back as the battle with the Elite Beithir continued to rage around them, “Put your potion away Beasty Boy, that won’t do not to stop the vile brew that killing ’em.”

  “The hole in his chest has already closed from my heals,” Zeven protested as he looked down in confusion at the Dwarf in his arms, “this should stop the poison that’s eating away the inside of his body!”

  “It’s digestive acid, not poison, Beasty Boy” Hammertoe brusquely explained, nodding at his friend’s staring eyes, “He’s just a dead meatsack of liquified innards now.”

  “But I healed him,” Zeven said, feeling a little green around the gills as he noticed that the Dwarf’s entire body was more like a bloated sack than a corpse. Not that there wasn’t enough death and destruction to go around. Still, there was something about being turned into an instant meatsack that was just wrong.

  “The name’s Hammertoe,” the old Dwarf said, introducing himself as he dragged Zeven back to his padded feet.

  “Zeven,” Zeven numbly replied, as he recorked the vial and slipped it back into his pouch. Before either one of them could say more, Warptooth the Thunderstrike threw back its head in agony from a particularly brutal hit from Thilaelydd Flintgrog's Warhammer.

  “How about giving us a hand killing this abomination,” Hammertoe asked, giving Zeven a fierce clap on the shoulder.

  “Or die trying,” Zeven solemnly agreed, as they both traded a nod.

  “Grandfather, you can’t go,” a little girl’s voice cried out from the open doorway to the smithy with two smaller children hiding behind her back.

  “Hide yar arse back inside,” Hammertoe roared, his fear for the children plain to see on the old Dwarf’s hard face. As the children shrank back into the smithy, he tried to explain his reasoning. “The beast targets anyone it sees trying to escape.”

  “It’s okay,” Zeven said, looking back the way he’d come to see the cub still huddled in-between two buildings at the edge of town. There was no way the little guy was going to be much, if any, help in this fight. “BC, guard the children.”

  “Bbbwwwaaa gggrrr bbbaaaa,” Bright Claw bravely bleated, before hightailing it into the smithy.

  “Let’s do this,” Zeven said, turning to Hammertoe with a nod.

  Adrenaline surged through Zeven’s veins as he charged next to the old Dwarf into battle. Without even a conscious thought, he began casting back-to-back Soothing Wind spells as his eyes took in the epic clash going on in the town’s square. The immense serpent bodily throwing itself at the defenders, the six surviving Dwarves barely standing on their feet and fighting for their lives, and the handful of cracked scales that still hadn’t given out yet.

  Even though Zeven knew it was a hopeless battle, none of that mattered to him as he drew his Spirit Lochaber of Chieftain Diongmhalta back to strike. If he died here from a horrible death, then so be it. Zeven wouldn’t let another town be slaughtered from monsters without a fight if he had anything to say about it. As the flank of the Elite Beithir rose up before them like a two-story house, the old Dwarf surprised him with a powerful shout.

  “Spirit Cleaver!”

  Bluish-white runes suddenly began to glow on the Dwarven Smith’s skin. Spreading out across his bare chest and back, the runes ran down his arms increasing in brightness until they reached the shaft gripped in his hands. Immediately, the runes shot up into the head of the hammer, flaring to life and forming a bluish-white glowing blade. A split-second later, the smith’s hammer was turned into a wicked glowing bearded axe.

  There was no time to wonder at what rune magic the old Dwarf was using as they threw themselves at Warptooth the Thunderstrike’s unprotected flank. Leaping high up into the air, Zeven used all the strength of his muscular body to drive the polearm’s wide blade deep into the serpent’s side as the thick blue scale he struck
shattered on impact. As the Mini-Boss threw its head back and roared in agony, he swung his lower half forward like a gymnast, using the weight of his body to rip the blade down through the Mini-Boss’s side, creating a nine-foot-long gash in the Elite Beithir’s side.

  Zeven was drenched in the spray of hot blood and viscera as the Spirit Lochaber’s blade became bound in the monster’s flesh. Swinging his legs forward, Zeven planted his feet against the serpent’s side and launched himself away in one smooth motion, yanking the polearm’s blade free. As he shot away from the monster’s side, he saw Hammertoe yanking his hammer back to strike the beast again as the Elite Beithir went completely berserk.

  Luckily for Zeven, the kick-move to free his Spirit Lochaber had saved his life. As he shot through the air for a good five yards, Warptooth the Thunderstrike whirled around with a clawed foreleg to crush the insignificant insects that had injured it so severely. Though, while Zeven was only clipped by the blow with his legs, the old Dwarf took the brunt of the crushing blow as his entire body was smashed into the cobblestones. That was as much as Zeven caught as he was sent tumbling head over heels to crash into the ground a good ten yards away.

  “Oof!” Zeven unconsciously exclaimed as he smashed hard into the cobblestone ground, before flopping over and over again through the small lake of bloody ooze around the monster. Somehow, Zeven was able to turn the movement into a controlled tumble as he somehow managed to hold the Spirit Lochaber’s blade far enough away to not take off his own head, before coming to a sliding stop that he used to bleed off the remaining velocity. Pushing his face up out of the viscous liquid, Zeven realized to his horror, after catching a solid whiff of the caustic substance, that the disgusting pool of blood was the half-digested innards from the Dwarven townspeople. Though, before he could even think about being sick, an intense actinic glare and thunderous blast forced Zeven to squeeze his eye closed.

  Smashing his face down into the acidic pool of bloody goo, Zeven protectively covered his head with his free arm as actinic flashes and thunderous roars rang out over his head again and again. It was like the Mini-Boss was in a berserker rage and destroying everything around it. Even with his furry arms covered in the viscous substance, Zeven’s fur began standing on end from the electrical discharges being released into the air as his Bark Skin, Nature’s Protection, and Spirit shields were ripped away from just the peripheral damage coming in from the unique attack. Even as his body began to be hit with waves of agony that locked up his muscles and blackened his fur from the tendrils of electricity entering into his mouth and eyes while the pool of bloody goo that he was lying in began to boil, a system window popped open before his eyes catching him by surprise.

  Warptooth the Thunderstrike’s lightning breath strike peripherally hits you for two hundred points of elemental damage.

  You have been stunned from the lightning breath strike’s secondary effects for thirty seconds.

  Zeven’s eyes widened in shock as he read through the scrolling messages of the Elite Beithir’s devastating breath attack. A lightning attack with a long stun was fucked up as hell. How in the hell would even a large raid of players successfully take something like this down? As those anxious thoughts ran through Zeven’s mind, the next lines on the system message brought him up short.

  Due to the special attributes of the Dirk of Torrac Tor’Narc that you're wearing, the stun affect from the lightning breath strike attack has been nullified.

  *Dirk of Torrac Tor’Narc special attribute that is in effect: Nullifies psychic and magic incapacitating attacks, when combat is initiated, to owner and their group or raid.

  As the orgasm of destruction and death came to an end, the Elite Beithir reared its head back to the sky and roared in triumph.

  Taking care so as not to make Warptooth the Thunderstrike aware of his unaffected condition to the stun, Zeven slowly raised his head out of the viscous fluid just enough to look around at the devastation around him. Except for the small smithy near the entrance to the mine where Bright Claw and the Dwarven children hid, the rest of the town’s buildings had been gutted by whatever special attack the serpent had been using and were now on fire. All of the Dwarven defenders were down, including the old Dwarven smith.

  While Zeven didn’t know if any of them had survived the brutal breath attack, it didn’t much matter as the Elite Beithir was going around to each of the fallen Dwarves and eating them. Even as he helplessly watched, Thilaelydd Flintgrog's armored body was snatched up into the serpent’s jaws. In the half-second it took the serpent to lift the body up off the ground and flip it properly into its jaws, Zeven clearly saw the look of terror in the Dwarven woman’s still living eyes as her helmet fell free, before she was gulped down whole.

  Zeven’s blood ran cold as he saw that the massive wound that he and Hammertoe had made on the Elite Beithir’s torso was already beginning to close up. In that moment, he realized that the Mini-Boss was using the bodies from both the living and the dead for healing. It was similar to that of a player without the ability to cast heal eating and drinking after a battle to recover from the damage they’d taken.

  As Warptooth the Thunderstrike moved in-between the downed bodies engrossed in its gruesome task, Zeven felt the rage and fury from the injustice of it all welling up inside of him. It grew to the point that he felt like his head was going to explode. Looking at the quarter sliver of his hit point bar, Zeven made a silent promise to himself that he wasn’t going to just lie here and let the bloated Mini-Boss simply eat him, nor was he simply going to blindly charge the Elite Beithir and be slaughtered without doing anything to hurt the monster as a desperate plan began forming in his mind.

  The first thing Zeven did was recast Bark Skin, Nature’s Protection, and Spirit shield. Next, he made an okay sign so as to be touching himself and began casting Soothing Touch. Though it was a low-level healing spell, it wouldn’t give away the fact that he was healing himself to the Mini-Boss like Soothing Wind would’ve. As he continuously cycled the spell, Zeven saw Warptooth the Thunderstrike move to where Hammertoe laid. Unable to do anything to stop the travesty happening before his eyes, he helplessly watched the smith’s hammer slip from the old Dwarf’s unmoving fingers as the Elite Beithir snatched him up in its jaws and gulp him down.

  The unrelenting fury building up inside Zeven spiked as the monstrous serpent began its slow approach to him. It was almost as if the Mini-Boss knew he was still alive and was purposely doing its best to fill him with helpless dread at his coming death. That thought alone filled him with a berserker’s rage as a red haze began forming over his vision. As the massive head reared over his unmoving body, Zeven fists tightened around the polearm’s shaft as his body tensed. He’d only have one chance to make this work. As Warptooth the Thunderstrike’s jaws opened and the massive head dipped to snatch him up, Zeven sprang to his padded feet and bellowed.

  “Choke on this!” Whipping the Spirit Lochaber of Chieftain Diongmhalta up perpendicular to the ground, Zeven launched himself into the back of Warptooth the Thunderstrike’s open maw. Using all of his pent-up fury and the strength of his entire body, he thrust the wide blade deep into the roof of the serpent’s mouth. Feeling the hook at the base of the blade catch on solid bone, he hurriedly forced the pointed base behind the tongue, hitting the exact apex of the open jaws by pure luck alone.

  Wrapping his clawed fists around the polearm’s shaft, Zeven held on for dear life as he cast Soothing Wind, while praying that the monster didn’t think of using its breath weapon to fry his furry ass or hoping that it was completely out of mana. Either would work as far as Zeven was concerned as he felt the Elite Beithir momentarily freeze up in shock, when it suddenly realized it couldn’t close its mouth. Immediately, Warptooth the Thunderstrike began spazzing out. As Zeven did his best to hold on for dear life, the serpent began flailing its massive head back and forth as it tried to dislodge him from its jerky movements alone. When that didn’t work, the Mini-Boss began slamming its head ag
ainst the cobblestones of the town’s square to no avail.

  To Zeven’s unknown luck, the Elite Beithir’s mouth was more similar to that of a lizard than that of a serpent. That meant it couldn’t simply dislocate its jaws to expel its prickly prey or the shaft that was currently forcing its mouth wide open. Not that such a thing was normally a problem between the Mini-Boss’s lightning breath attack and its highly corrosive saliva. It only became a problem when its mana reserves had been thoroughly drained, which was exactly what the serpent had been forced to use in crushing the heavily armored Dwarven Defenders that had been protecting the Mining Town of Kragrock. Not that Warptooth the Thunderstrike didn’t try to use its breath weapon to fry the annoying insect stuck in its maw, but without the mana reserves, that was all but impossible.

  Seeing the arcing sheets of blue-lightning cascading around him but not quite forming into a proper blast, Zeven knew he only had one chance to get this right or he was going on a one-way trip to the nearest graveyard. Ignoring the corrosive saliva and the jolts of electricity that quickly began burning through his magic shields, he waited with baited breath for the right moment to act, feeling like he was in the center of a lightning storm. Even when his shields completely burned away and the highly corrosive saliva began eating away at his flesh and clothing, Zeven stoically waited as he accepted the agony of seventy-five percent realism for a chance to hurt this beast. It wasn’t until the Mini-Boss laid its head against the cobblestone ground and brought a long claw of its foreleg up to its mouth to dislodge him that he judged the time was right.

  There was no hesitation or question as to what he needed to do. Squatting down, Zeven tensed his body while releasing his death grip on the Spirit Lochaber’s shaft. Uncoiling like a massive spring, he sprang forward driving his clawed fist into the soft palate of the serpent’s mouth with everything that he had. Forcing his fingers open, Zeven dug his claws into the meaty flesh as he punched his other clawed fist deep into the soft tissue causing the Mini-Boss once again to go berserk.