War God's Mantle: Ascension: A litRPG Adventure (The War God Saga Book 1)

by James Hunter

  I turned around to find Asteria totally mopping the floor with the demoness—the shifter snapped with massive jaws and shredded bat wings with her wicked claws. Praxidike was tough, but apparently, even she could be caught off guard. A burst of green light exploded from beneath Asteria’s flailing limbs; the bolt of infernal energy slammed into Asteria’s chest, lifting her up into the air and flipping her ass over teakettle. I whistled softly and darted forward, sword out and ready. Still, I was half a beat too slow.

  The Fury bounded to her feet, and, boy, did she come up swinging. Rage and hate seemed to drive her, lending her even greater strength and speed. Praxidike shot forward, sidestepping a slash from Myrina, then smashing a foot into the Warden’s chest, denting her armor and hurling her back a solid ten feet. Phoebe bolted left, then lunged forward with a short sword—the blade black with poison. But Praxidike wasn’t having it, not at all. She parried the blade with a hooked knife, then swept Phoebe’s bad leg, driving the Rune-Caster to the ground.

  In a flash, the Fury drove the tip of a javelin deep into Phoebe’s chest, pinning her to the ground. The Rune-Caster cried out in pain as tears streamed down her face, and blood pooled around her in a crimson halo. Her goddamn leg, which was my fault, had meant the difference between life and death.

  Before Praxidike could finish the job outright, I dropped my shoulder and barreled into her at full speed. I’d put on damn near a foot since becoming war god, and about a hundred pounds of muscle to boot. I hit her like a fucking freight train. Bone popped as the Fury lurched forward, and before she could recover, I shot one hand out—palm up—and sandblasted her in the back of the head with a Lightning Lance. The attack didn’t kill her, but it sent her reeling like a drunk sailor on shore leave.

  I used the brief moment to jerk the javelin free and hit Phoebe with a Healing Touch. The bleeding stopped immediately, skin knitting itself together nice and proper as her eyes focused. She’d be okay.

  But I couldn’t say the same for me. I’d taken my eyes off Praxidike for two seconds, and, holy crap, did she make me pay for it. Her whip wrapped around my neck and pulled tight, cutting off my airway and coming dangerously close to crushing my throat completely. I wheezed, eyes bulging as visions of Loxo capered through my head. But instead of strangling me slowly, the Fury shot in, bashing her spiked atlatl right into my helmet.

  The hit was a home-fucking-run.

  White stars exploded across my vision, and I dropped like a bag of rocks, my legs calling it quits for the day. I lay on the stone, panting and wheezing, fingers uselessly pulling at the leather cord around my neck as black stole in on the edges of my vision. I pressed my eyes closed, just for a second, but when I opened them again, the whip was no longer wrapped around my throat. Thank God in Heaven above. I didn’t see Phoebe or Asteria, but Myrina stood over me, protecting me.

  Praxidike waited ten feet away, whip in one hand, atlatl in the other. “So, you would give your life for this man? This pitiful excuse of a substitute for Ares? How he coddles you, how he cares. It is unseemly for a bloodthirsty god of war. I’m doing you a favor, Myrina. This is not the legacy Ares would’ve wanted. Let me kill him with honor.”

  Myrina didn’t move. Her quiver was empty, she was bleeding, and she held my War Blade up in defiance. She spoke in a quiet voice. “I love Jacob Merely far more than my own life. And he will, in time, be fifty times better than Ares. The time of such selfish, arrogant gods is over. Long live Jacob Merely!”

  “Weak!” Praxidike cackled. The Fury moved like the wind, hurling two javelins, courtesy of her atlatl.

  Myrina dodged the first, but the second dropped low, piercing her armor and slamming into her guts. My Battle Warden toppled to her knees, blood pouring from her mouth in a sheet, while the War Blade clattered on the cobblestone besides her. No, I’d lost so much! I couldn’t afford to lose her too. In my combat interface, I saw her Health low, but stable, which was damn good because I was incredibly low on Essence. Down to a pitiful nine points. I wanted to heal her, but there wasn’t anything I could do at the moment. This fight would come down to fists and swords.

  I got to my feet—nauseous, my head ringing—and snatched the War Blade up in a jittery hand.

  Praxidike loaded her atlatl. “And so it comes down to us, War God. But if Myrina failed to dodge my javelins, what chance do you have?”

  Before she could throw her javelin, I charged outright, legs pumping, arms swinging. She swung her clublike atlatl in a wicked arc. I tried to knock the blow away with my left forearm, but instead, an explosion of fiery pain radiated up into my shoulder as the weapon shattered my arm. I pushed through the hurt—fueled by white-knuckled adrenaline—weakly swinging at her with my sword. She caught my wrist in her talons, the tips pressing into my flesh, blood welling up, then running down my skin in cherry streaks.

  Finally, we were face-to-face. I smelled her garbage breath. She hissed in my face. “I am as old as time. I rose from the castration of gods. Do you, little god, think you can destroy me?”

  She had me. And she was right. She was stronger. Faster. I was just a gamer dork—

  But then it hit me … I was a gamer dork, and this was a fucking video game. Or close enough that it made no difference.

  I must’ve leveled up since starting this scuffle, which meant there were stat points to be used. I grinned, pulling up my character screen. Sure enough, I’d added three levels in a matter of hours—and I was on the cusp of another level—which made sense considering I’d wiped out an army and killed a mega-cyclops. Those levels were well-earned. Letting my gamer instincts guide me, I dropped ten Attribute Points into Intelligence, boosting my Essence, and the remaining twenty directly into Strength. Then, quick as I could, I pulled up the Path of War Skill Tree and added two Ability Points into “Fury.”

  As I closed out my interface, I felt my body sprout up—chest widening, biceps expanding—and Praxidike wasn’t ready. Not even a little. Fury cost twenty-five Essence, but thanks to my added points to Intelligence, I had just enough to trigger the new ability. As Praxidike staggered and reeled, frantically trying to regain her balance, the godstone in my chest erupted with heat, sending tendrils of white-hot power and rage coursing through my veins. I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, but that was fine.

  I didn’t need to think. The only thing that mattered was violence and bloodshed. Was death. And suddenly I was the embodiment of war, ready to deal death by the truckload.

  I surged forward, attacking with impossible strength. Somehow, Praxidike managed to get her atlatl up in time to intercept my overhand strike, but she might as well have been trying to save herself with a piece of notebook paper. The War Blade sliced clean through the spiked club, continuing straight down, and through her right bicep. She screeched as her arm dropped to the ground, and a geyser of black blood sprayed out like a fountain.

  I grinned, raised one foot, and front-kicked her in the chest with enough force to break concrete. MCMAP was finally paying off. I planted my foot, twirled my sword around in a vicious arc, and slammed it home—right through the spot where her cold, black heart should’ve been. That was for Loxo. For Antiope. For all of the righteously awesome Amazons who’d laid their lives down. More gore exploded from her lips. Her eyes widened. And then whatever malevolent spirit animated her face fled her body. She slid off my sword and hit the ground—a rancid pile of meat, ready for a shallow grave.

  I leaned over and spit on her face. Good fucking riddance.

  Immediately, the remainder of her army turned tail and ran. Sea centaurs broke away, making for the western wall and the waters beyond. A handful of werewolves bolted toward the north while the few remaining harpies shrieked and soared, quickly swallowed by the night sky. We’d done it, for real this time, though the cost had been horrendously high. I surveyed the piles and piles of dead bodies dotting the city. There were countless monsters, but there were plenty of Amazons to keep them company.

  Amazons missing limbs or
heads. Amazons impaled by bronze feathers or barbed arrows. A few burnt beyond recognition. God, what an ugly mess.

  The rage and power I’d felt a moment ago finally guttered and drained away; abruptly I was light-headed, woozy. Exhaustion and hurt hit me like a pickup truck next as all of my injuries seemed to crash back down at the same time. I found myself on my knees in front of Praxidike’s dead body

  The snake around her belly slithered up to me and coiled. “So,” it hissed in a sinister voice, “this is my new enemy. You have done well, War God. Enjoy this little victory. You slew a Fury, which is no mean task. But know this, I have other lieutenants in my hellish army. It is only a matter of time before my forces regroup and destroy the sigil holding my presence at bay, and then I will walk the worlds again. And me, you will not slay. For I am the God of Death. As a parting gift, I will leave you with a kiss, little god.”

  The snake reared back and struck, plunging its fangs into my neck. I reacted in an instant, grabbing its slithering body and crushing its scaled head in the palm of my hand. But as the venom hit me, I knew I hadn’t been talking to a snake. No, for the first time, I had been addressed by Hades, the god of death, the ruler of the underworld.

  Now I knew how Eve felt.

  I was trying to say something—trying to message my generals—but my mind felt foggy, my head heavy, and the gaming system seemed unresponsive.

  As I wobbled on my knees, I watched Asteria touch down, now in eagle form. Once again, I fought to form words, but my mouth seemed to be in open rebellion. So instead, I simply sat there and watched as eagle Asteria hopped over to Praxidike and dug her beak into the fallen Fury’s belly. She’d said she would eat the demoness’s liver, and Asteria was as good as her word. I smiled before blacking out. My last thought was one of deep irony.

  What if I’d killed Satan’s winged helper only to be killed by the Devil himself?

  FORTY

  Victory and Pizza

  I opened my eyes some time later, the familiar feeling of a mattress beneath me and a luxurious sheet draped over me. Groggily, I swept out a hand, fingers brushing over warm, smooth skin. Asteria. I groaned, flipped onto my side, and pulled the shifter toward me, breathing in her smell. She wriggled and giggled in response, scooting over in an instant, arching her back and pressing her hips into my groin.

  I took a minute to enjoy Asteria’s warm body, so cuddly and sleepy, before cracking my eyes and taking a look around. Rays of sunlight streamed in from the terrace; the curtains fluttered in an ocean breeze carrying the tang of the sea and something else … the delicious smell of bread, cheese, and red sauce all dancing together in the amazing aromatic tango that could only mean one thing: pizza. Reluctantly, I pushed myself away from Asteria and sat up, sniffing at the air.

  Ah, yep. Pizza.

  Both Phoebe and Myrina were in the room with me. The Rune-Caster sat at a nearby table covered with a miniature model of the city and island. She was tinkering with a crossbow, her brows knit in concentration. The Battle Warden sat in a blocky wooden chair to my right, leaning forward, elbows against thighs, staring at me.

  I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, having a strange, wordless conversation. She loved me. I loved her. But it was more than just a romance. We were comrades in arms, war buddies, and soldiers. We’d beaten the odds and defended the sigil. Ares had retreated to the temple and died. We’d retreated there and outwitted our foe. But we’d lost some really good people to do it. Loxo’s death loitered in the back of my head, as did Antiope’s kiss before she sacrificed herself at the north tower.

  “Good morning, War God,” Myrina finally whispered.

  “Good morning, General. Is that …” I faltered, sniffing again. “Is that pizza?”

  Asteria stretched and yawned, flipping over and nuzzling her head against my chest, one arm draped across my stomach. “Oh yes, War God,” she mumbled. “Delicious pizza. So good. Not as good as Praxidike’s liver, but a close second.” She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. “Phoebe figured out the recipe from your mind.”

  “I thought it would be the perfect gift to welcome you back to the land of the living with,” Phoebe said with a grin, setting her crossbow aside. And for what it’s worth, my dude, I am glad you made it back. You were touch and go there for a little while. I totally thought the poison in your blood might take you, but thankfully one of our Water-Witches survived. I bandaged you up and treated your wounds with an antibacterial salve, but truthfully, you owe Otrere your life. She brought you back from the edge with her Healing Touch ability.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you three made it, too. I’d be lost without your help.” I smiled and flipped the sheet aside, pleasantly surprised to find they’d actually left me with underwear. These gals were finally learning. My stomach rumbled as though I hadn’t eaten in days. “Out of curiosity, how long have I been under for?”

  “About thirty-six hours, give or take,” Myrina replied, retrieving my helmet from the nightstand and passing it to me. “We’ve done our best to clean up the destruction, but there is much work to be done, War God. Walls to repair. Towers to rebuild. Amazons to fashion.”

  I pulled up my interface and accessed the troop roster. My stomach sunk at what I found.

  I was back down to twenty Amazons; over half my army had perished in the assault. I still had three of my Elementalists, both Teleporters, and three of my four Rune-Casters. Aside from Asteria, only four Beastiamancers had made it. Toxaris had somehow survived the battle, as had Euryleia and her furry mount Buttercup—which made me inexplicably happy—along with a bull rider and an eagle rider. The rest were Wardens, including Hippolyta, which was a relief.

  We’d lost so many people, but we had made our stand against literally thousands of monsters and a host of terrible demons. Part of me still couldn’t believe I’d killed Praxidike.

  “Well, I’m feeling hungry as hell,” I said, closing the interface as I stood. My gear was painstakingly laid out on a table nearby, so I headed over and started dressing. “You three game to grab a piece of pizza, then give me a tour?” I asked, tugging on my boots.

  There was a long awkward pause, my three generals sharing a silent look. There was something going on, something they weren’t telling me. Finally, though, Phoebe stood and offered me a nod and a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I knew her well enough to tell she was worried about something. Something big. Myrina finally dipped her head.

  “There is something we must show you, War God. It is important. Come.”

  I finished dressing, and the three of us made our way down from the palace. Mercifully, Hippolyta was standing guard at the entrance, and she had a tin plate with three slices of fresh, steaming hot pizza. Basically, she was an angel. “I could kiss you,” I said with a smile, accepting the plate with glee.

  “I’ll take you up on that, War God,” she called at my back as my generals led me away from the palace and toward the temple. I ate as we walked, savoring the gooey cheese, the flaky crust, the perfect blend of tomatoes and olive oil. There was no pepperoni on the island, but the chef had topped the thing with thin slices of arachnaswine, which could’ve passed for Canadian bacon. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. There were more guards standing watch at the entrance to the Temple of Ares—Euryleia, leaning against Buttercup, and Calla, the Elementalist.

  Both women offered me polite nods, but I could see worry loitering behind their gazes.

  My generals led me up the steps, through the entry hall, and into the main sanctuary housing the statue of Ares and the all-important sigil. My steps faltered as we entered the room, and suddenly even the pizza in my hand seemed unimportant, since my appetite was gone. A huge crack ran up the center of the floor, and the statue at the far end was damaged. The sigil still burned on its surface, but the light was fading, flickering, weak.

  I dropped the tin plate, one hand going to my mouth. “What in the
hell happened?” I whispered, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

  “When Polyphemus Omega toppled, the earthquake was intense enough to damage the structural integrity of the temple,” Phoebe said flatly. “I believe the damage to the building can be easily repaired, but the sigil?” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No such luck. It will hold, but not for long, Jacob. Even without another incursion, the seal will likely hold only another month—and that is a generous estimate.”

  “It could be as little as two weeks,” Myrina said. “Two weeks, and Hades walks again. And more troubling still—with the sigil weakening, the Hades temple to the south has …” She paused, searching for the right word. “Reemerged.”

  “Yep,” Asteria said, bobbing her head in agreement. “I saw it myself, War God. The place is swarming with monsters, and someone is rebuilding the city around the temple.”

  “Wait,” I said, raising my hands to fend off the onslaught of information. “You mean to tell me someone is building a rival city on this island?”

  “Yes,” Myrina offered with a grunt.

  “And it’s not just someone,” Phoebe added after a beat, her voice sounding particularly nervous. “Asteria saw a flag flying over the temple.” She reached into a leather pouch at her side and withdrew a sheet of thick paper with a symbol etched on it in ink. On it was a picture of a coiled rattler sitting on top of a jet. It was the unit patch for the Death Rattlers—my attack squadron. Below the symbol were three letters: EEE. “That marking is on the flag.”

  Earl Echo Earl.

  Things started to click into place. The werewolves in chainmail. The cyclops’ laser beam. How Praxidike knew about the helmet and what my weapon capabilities were. Before going down, I’d heard Sugar send a transmission that Earl Echo Earl had gone down. What if he’d made it through the barrier, too, and had somehow survived the crash? It had happened to me, why not him? But instead of stumbling into Lycastia City, what if he’d unwittingly stumbled into the Temple of Hades? What if he’d been drafted into Hades’ army?