The Red Plague: A LitRPG Trilogy (The Last Warrior of Unigaea Book 3)

by Harmon Cooper

  “We’d better go,” I say as Wolf comes to my side.

  “Not until I get my lira, my actual lira!” the merchant that we reverse ripped off shouts.

  “Youth!”

  A blast from Sam’s wand causes red bubbles to move and morph beneath the merchant’s skin. His arms start to shrink, as do his fingers, his legs, his head, and soon, he’s a crying infant trapped beneath a heap of robes.

  “What the fuck did you do to Donny!?” one of the other merchants shouts. “He’s turned into a big baby … Shit! Someone grab Donny! Let’s get out of here!”

  An orc merchant with a severe underbite grabs the robes that once contained adult Donny, ties off one end, and throws it over his back, baby Donny wailing inside. The group of merchants bail, leaving us with one pissed off waitress.

  “Lothar,” I say, “pay the lady.”

  “I am not the wealthiest giant,” he begins.

  “I don’t care what the fuck you are. This is your fault!” I give Sam a look and a nod that says ‘we could just kill her.’ Sam rolls her eyes. “Just a suggestion,” I whisper.

  “Lira, or I alert the authorities,” says the muscular waitress.

  “Which authorities?” I ask, trying to buy us some time. “Hurry the hell up,” I hiss at the giant, who is now going through his meditations box.

  “The Taelian authorities.”

  Lothar’s face goes white. “Gadsaa will find out!”

  “Just give her some cash, Lothar!”

  “I only have Taelian-sized lira,” he says after he finally finds his wallet. “Is this okay?”

  “There is a fifteen percent surcharge for using giant currency,” the waitress says, her hands now on her hips as she glares up at the giant. “Another ten percent surcharge for trying to pass a fake currency.”

  “Why is there a surcharge on giant money?” he asks.

  “Would you like that surcharge to increase to twenty percent?” she asks.

  “Heavens no!”

  “This is your fault,” I remind Sam under my breath.

  “If someone actually had some money … ”

  “I had some lira but for some reason I don’t have it anymore. Maybe someone took it from me while I was sleeping. I slept on a public bench the other night, and in a spaceship last night. Great place to get your ass robbed.” I shrug. “Just saying.”

  “Here!” Lothar says, handing over a fistful of giant-sized bills. He places the money on the picnic table, counts it again and puts an additional bill on top. “And a little extra for your trouble.”

  The waitress raises a single eyebrow at him, and he places another bill on the stack.

  (^_^)

  “What have you learned from this experience?” I ask Lothar after we’ve left the lodge.

  “Using counterfeit lira is a terrible idea.” He stops and polishes his glasses. “What? Is that not the lesson to be learned back there?”

  “You need to learn when to say something, and when to shut up. Am I right, Sam?”

  Sam sits in front of me, her body pressed into mine. I have a hand around her waist and my other hand on her thigh. Not gonna lie: I like my current position.

  “You’re fine just the way you are, Lothar, just be more wary next time.”

  “I know, I need to think before I speak. Gadsaa told me that. Tons of times.” He shrugs. “Well, what’s done is done. We need to get as far into the woods as we can before it gets too dark. There are things in these woods attracted to moving objects.”

  As it turns out, about the only thing in the wooded area attracted to moving objects are mosquito moths, which are terrible little creatures, about as large as hummingbirds. They are the things nightmares are made of, with their pointed proboscises and their powdery wings.

  They come in swarms and there is really nothing one can do about them.

  “Got another!” Lothar says as he slaps his leg.

  “So gross!” Sam waves one away and I try to swat it out of the air, which is kind of hard while riding on wolfback.

  “Let’s just get through this area,” I say over the buzz of the mosquito moths. One already landed and got a bit of blood from an exposed spot on my arm. I can feel the bruise forming now, and as another moth flutters by, I shoot my hand out, catch it, and squeeze.

  Instakill!

  I laugh and wipe the insect goo on my armored leg. “Faster, Wolf!” I call out.

  “There are an uncomfortable number of these creatures for this time of year,” Lothar says as he slaps one that has landed on his forearm. His meditations box squeaks along as it tumbles over rock and root.

  “I know you’re tired,” I tell Wolf. “But maybe if we get out of this area … ”

  The Tagvornin beast gets the point and starts running faster than he has run in hours. Sam laughs, holding on as tightly as she can, and I hold onto her, because Wolf doesn’t have a saddle and he especially doesn’t have a two person saddle.

  I share a little laugh with the voice at the back of my skull.

  Wouldn’t that look stupid, a double-saddled wolf.

  We tear out of the forest and into a meadow with a small pond and a little shack on its other side, a light on inside. I’m about to suggest we move along when a bearded man with a limp kicks open the door, lantern in hand.

  “A giant? Shit!”

  [Hermit, level 40]

  I get off Wolf, and as I walk over to the man, I think about equipping my Masking Hat. No sense in scaring him, but then again, Sam is a Player Killer too, so he’ll find out at some point. And besides that, one doesn’t become a Level 40 hermit without meeting a Player Killer and surviving a ton of shit.

  “I’d clear out if I was you guys,” he says, his accent East Coast all the way. “Damn mosquito moths take over the meadow every night, let me tell ya.”

  No quests, I think, we have a timeline.

  “Sorry, can’t help you there.”

  “Help me? I don’t need help, that is, unless you have some way to nuke the whole goddamn meadow and keep my house here intact. Anyway, Player Killer, I heard some noise, which was likely the giant trotting along, and so I decided to check it out.”

  “Great, we’ll be on our way then.”

  “But if it is a quest you’re after,” he says, running his fingers through his long and pointy beard, “I bet I can conjure something up.”

  “We’re beyond quests at this point,” I say.

  “Too high up on the food chain for a quest, are you? Can’t help an old man out?”

  “You’re a Player Character, like me. We don’t need a quest. For once, we’re not here to play the game.” I turn my back to him and see Sam, Lothar, and Wolf. The giant is clearly tired. He sits on his meditations box, watching me for any signal.

  “You aren’t wrong about that, and I didn’t get to my current level by forcing people to do menial tasks for me. What are you looking for in these parts? A place to stay?”

  “No, we need to travel for the rest of the night. If anything, I need a place to brew some tea.”

  “Can’t help you there.” He chuckles. “Well, I suppose I could help you, but you’d have to help me monetarily if you get my drift.”

  “If it’s money you want,” I clear my throat, “it’s money we have.”

  “Good, give me three thousand lira and I’ll cook the tea up for you, quick too, before the mosquito moths appear.”

  “Let me talk to my, um, guild banker.”

  “The woman monk over there?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “My house is the same. Mother controls all the money.”

  I cringe a bit at his toothy grin. “Mother?”

  “It’s what I call my wife. Is that strange to you?”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  “Animals?”

  “No. I’m allergic.”

  “Is she older than you?”

  “Same age.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the her
mit. “No, calling your wife ‘Mother’ isn’t strange.”

  “Mother only lets me log in after she’s gone to bed.” He points at his temple. “But I got a Somnium skip box. That’s why I’m at such a high level. I really don’t do anything that’s risky. No sense in it. Unigaea is a scary place, but it’s fun, and that’s why I’m glad Mother lets me log in.”

  You weird fucker, I think as I walk back over to Sam and give her my biggest, most sincere shit-eating grin. “He’s an old Player Character hermit, and he wants three thousand lira to boil some tea for us.”

  “No more tea,” Lothar says.

  “Shut up. Also, he calls his wife ‘Mother.’ I don’t know why that is of any significance, but I do think it’s something to be wary of.”

  Sam snorts. “Maybe they have children.”

  “I already checked.”

  “Did you ask if she was older than him?”

  “Same age.”

  “Animals?”

  “He’s allergic.”

  “He’s a weirdo.”

  “So judgmental you two are!” Lothar sighs miserably. “I’m tired of walking. To be honest with you both, I feel like reading and I wouldn’t mind a conversation, even if the hermit is unorthodox. I suppose most hermits are unorthodox, if you think about it.”

  “So three thousand lira, then, Sam, hand it over. And Lothar?” I look up at the scholarly giant, whose oval glasses now rest on the end of his nose.

  “Yes?”

  “What are you going to tell the hermit about our money?”

  “You mean our fake currency?”

  I bury my head in my hands as Sam laughs.

  Lothar chuckles too. “Don’t worry, Oric, I won’t say anything this time. I’ve learned my lesson: if there is something shady afoot, and I am somehow part of it, any type of verbal confirmation is exceedingly unhelpful.”

  Chapter Ten: Skeletal Wolves and the Necromancer that Loves Them

  The giant keeps his word, and after the monetary exchange is made, the old hermit brews a most excellent tea. Smells a bit odd, but it’ll get the job done. Lothar chugs his down, grimacing at the taste. Wolf won’t touch the stuff, which means I have to figure out a way to force it into his maw, which I do, and which involves tackling him and holding his mouth open as I pour it in.

  For another thousand counterfeit lira, we are given a lamp which provides lighting for Sam, Wolf and I, but not so much for Lothar. It’s a cold night, with some snowfall to boot. Breezy too, and as we travel deeper into the dark forest, I occasionally get a whiff of burning wood.

  “There’s no telling who lives around here,” I say just to say something.

  Sam yawns and leans her head back, so it now rests on my clavicle.

  “Getting tired there, Sammy?”

  “We’ve been at it all day,” she says. “Take your gauntlets off; they’re digging into my arms.”

  “It’s Lothar and Wolf who’ve been doing all the dirty work,” I remind her.

  Wolf skids to a halt, bristles. He barks at the darkness that lies ahead.

  Lothar, a few paces behind us, stops and brushes a tree limb out of his path. The giant’s movements are loud, brash, his meditations box skidding on the ground behind him.

  It’s a wonder we’ve made it this deep into the woods without stirring up some trouble, which is why I’m not at all surprised when I hear something clack onto the path before us. The light from the lamp isn’t bright enough for me to actually see what has made its presence known, and handles have yet to appear …

  “Stay here,” I tell Sam as I get off Wolf. “And hold the lamp.” My blade unsheathed, I keep it at the ready as my eyes adjust to the space before me.

  “What do you think it is?” Lothar is answered when a skeletal Tagvornin wolf with flesh hanging from its ribs steps out of the forested gloom.

  “Easy,” Sam says as she hops off Wolf. She holds the lamp out at an angle so we can get a better view of the beast.

  “This isn’t good,” I say as another mangled, skeletal wolf approaches. Wolf snaps his teeth and barks at the two skeletal mutts.

  “Your wolf,” says a scratchy voice says from the blackness before us.

  Purple smoke, its outer edges electric, billows up from the ground and a woman steps out, her skin glowing white. Wisps of hair jut out of her head; her eyes are yellow and she’s completely nude, the skin sagging off her bones.

  [Necromancer, Level 20]

  A skull-topped staff forms in her hand and she holds it before her as more Tagvornin wolves, each in various stages of decay, come forward. They gnash their teeth, and as they do, bits of rotting flesh flick into the air.

  The necromancer floats a foot above the soil.

  “Your wolf,” she says again, her voice the final gasp of the living. “The rest of you can pass. It is the wolf I’m interested in.”

  I glance at Sam just in time to see her lift her wand and cry, “Metastasize wound!”

  The whirling pink blast strikes the necromancer and the magic quickly filters away. A horrific smile paints across her face. “Kill them.”

  The necromancer’s wolves descend upon us, barking and snapping their teeth together. I keep waiting for Sam’s magic to take effect, for the necromancer’s wounds to kill the devil woman.

  “Let me help!”

  To my surprise, Lothar stomps by and crushes one of the wolves with his huge-ass foot.

  Instakill!

  “Shit!” I say, feeling the quake beneath me, the sickening sound of crunching bones meeting my ears. I spring into action, wielding my Splintered Sword like a madman. The light from Sam’s lamp along with the purple electricity coming off the necromancer is paltry at best; most of my swordplay to come is done defensively.

  I blindly swing my broken buster sword in front of me hoping to hit something.

  -92 HP! Critical hit!

  I send one of the skeletal pups sideways just as a terrible pain runs up my right arm. Another wolf has latched onto my hand, its infected teeth digging in deeply as it drags me to the ground.

  “Fuck! It’s got my hand!” I start bashing the wolf’s head with the hilt of my sword. -46 HP! -38 HP!

  We hit the ground and Wolf tackles the creature, its teeth shredding the skin from my hand as the two roll away.

  I cry out in pain, my hand and wrist a clump of flesh and broken fingers.

  Stumbling aside, I swipe my sword in front of me and hit a tree, which sends me backwards.

  “Oric!” Lothar kicks another wolf; the skeletal terror whimpers as it flies through the air.

  I feel Sam reach for my arm and I whip it away from her. “Stay back!” I shout to her. As Wolf engages a pair of skeletal beasts, I sheathe my Splintered Sword and retrieve my crossbow pistol from my list.

  “Fuck you, Oric, I can handle myself! Future Encumbrance!”

  The reticle appears on the necromancer’s chest and I fire off a shot, only to be blocked last minute by a Tagvornin zombie wolf.

  -81 HP!

  The zombie wolf recovers and goes for Wolf, its loose hanging jaw snapping wildly. Before it can get a bite in, a blast of pink energy takes out the nightmare creature, Sam’s delayed strike finding its mark.

  I fire off another shot, which meets the same fate as the first.

  Wolf snarls as he rolls on the ground with one of the skeletal canines, both of them snapping their jaws as they try to get a bite in.

  “They’re too fast!”

  My crossbow pistol back in my list, I bring my sword back out and wince at the pain in my shredded hand. The digital adrenaline does little to alleviate the injury; I’m lucky the fucker didn’t get my left hand, southpaw that I am, but from what I can tell so far …

  Rage.

  “No!”

  I fall to one knee as a wave of pain burns up my arm. I hear Wolf snarling, gnashing his teeth, the sound of dog feet cutting through the dirt and leaves on the forest floor.

  There are too many.

 
; The damn skeletal wolves will overwhelm us if we don’t get a grip on the situation soon.

  “Get back, Oric!” Lothar charges forward, the ground quaking as he kicks another dog.

  “Chrono Stasis!”

  A blistering spark of energy goes from Sam’s wand to the necromancer. The floating hell spawn’s yellow eyes go wide as she realizes that she’s now moving in ultra-slow motion.

  The necromancer starts to raise her hand, but everything has been sped down to a snail’s pace, a frozen snail at that.

  “Hurry, Oric!” shouts Sam.

  I sprint towards the necromancer; a skeletal hound goes for me and somehow misses. The beast skids, and as it is about to make another attempt, Lothar comes in with a kick that sends the maimed mutt sailing into the forest.

  My right hand is completely fucked from the bite. Luckily, I’m a southpaw. I bring my Splintered Sword up and over my shoulder, using all my might to cut the necromancer down, who is still in the process of getting her hand up to cast a spell.

  Instakill!

  The top half of her body goes one way, still in fucking slow motion, while the bottom half goes another. The zombie wolves surrounding us fall immediately, dead as they were when they were raised.

  I take a step back, watching in horror as the necromancer’s face moves slowly through the air, her expression of anguish accented by Sam’s lamp. As soon as the top of her torso nears the ground, time – for her anyway – speeds back up.

  Her torso bounces to the right, and she lets out one last gasp as her yellow eyes roll into the back of her head.

  The pain spreads up my body, filling me with a blistering warm sensation as if I’m being boiled from within.

  I go to my knee, try to steady myself, and that’s when I see a big hand reaching for me.

  (^_^)

  Freezing water from Lake Michigan washes over the shore. The sound of the waves, the spritz of the cold water, the majesty of it all.

  I am at home.

  A corona of light from a crimson sun does little to warm my skin. My breath visible, I push myself out of the sand and shake the water from my hair.