Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel

by Matthew Sylvester

  Devon took a moment, running through all of the options, trying to spot a flaw. Nothing came to mind.

  'Class job. Pop it through to the briefing room. They should all be there by now.'

  #

  'Drones deployed. Bot screen ready and waiting. Hotston's people are dug in on these two rises. Good to go boss lady.' Kirton sounded positively bored as he confirmed his tasks completed.

  Devon popped a stim, driving the remnants of the hangover out of her brain. Running through the system menus, she smiled at the changes that Kirton had made to Bitch Too's configuration, up-armouring her and increasing the size of the power plant in order to gain more speed, and a longer burn time on its laser.

  The local scripts had been less than impressed when her force had arrived, and absolutely incensed when they'd smash their way into the houses and businesses lining the Main Street. It had taken Hotston and his people to get physical before the mayor stepped in and agreed to lead his people out of the town.

  'The look on that Spaniard's face was priceless. You do realise he's going to take the cost of rebuilding this place out of any pay we get?'

  'We're doing this for the love of Liberty and freedom; not for any gauche dreams of material wealth,' chuckled Devin as she keyed the comm for Mtube, 'Hammer 1, we're all sorted here. Enemy convoy entering village now.'

  Silt rained down from the remains of their building's ceiling as the lead mech thumped past. It was a light mixed-role, more scout than heavy combat. She had no doubt that Hotston's anti-mech launchers would have any difficulty killing it. And MBT followed shortly, driving down middle of the street so that it didn't have to crush its way over the civilian vehicles parked along it.

  'Hotston, weapons free, engage at will.'

  The only reply she got was a series of thundering explosions and a smattering of DPs from her drones marking all of the targets. Across the street a number of bots started firing at the tanks, light lasers scoring the vehicle's armour, whilst missiles and sensor-confusing smoke erupted everywhere.

  'Firing.' The Bitch's 105mm cannon roared, Kirton sending the projectile expertly through a window, whilst the muzzle flash destroyed the wall before them. His target ground to a halt, a glowing hole showing where the anti-tank round had punched through the armour on the rear deck.

  VITAL POINT HIT - TARGET DISABLED - +50DP SKILL SHOT

  'It's not dead!' She yelled as the tank's turret started to slew around towards them, 'Kill it!'

  'As you wish my lady.' Kirton said, speaking as if he was a butler.

  A second shell blasted into the stricken tank. There was a brief pause, then black smoke started to billow out from the second shell's entry point, the tanks Hull Points showing as 1HP.

  There was a huge clang and The Bitch staggered slightly. 'Shit! Find that the bastard!'

  Even though the shell hadn't detonated, The Bitch had still lost 5HP and 20 armour points from her right shoulder mounting.

  'Bastard fired through the damn window!' Muttered Kirton, giving a low whistle, 'Pilot, out of cover, I can't get a clean shot.'

  Every mech gunner had the authority to issue orders to a pilot whilst during combat. Devon obeyed without a second thought, smashing through the wall before them and out onto the main street.

  A second enemy shell screamed past, a high velocity round that left a contrail as it passed mere millimetres in front of them.

  'Shit that was close!' It didn't matter that she was buried behind centimetres of armour, the VR unit made it seem as if the shell had been close enough to tickle her nose. Slewing The Bitch's upper body around, she snarled as their sights came to bear on their opponent.

  A river of light streaked along the street as Kirton opened fire with the tri-barrel. She winced as she saw the temperature gauge on the weapon rapidly rising. With a bright flash the tank exploded, it's turret rising into the air on a column of smoke and fire.

  'Kill! Find us another one, pilot!

  She started to stride along the street, trying to find a tank that hadn't been destroyed by the rest of her command. Any crew she saw she killed, hosing them with the .50 cal guns. The street was lined with the shattered and burning remains of enemy tanks. Taking a quick look at her tacmap, she saw that there were no enemy vehicles left to engage.

  'Good job people, mission complete. Time to go home.' Turning The Bitch towards the withdrawal point, she started to jog, leaving the once-pristine village in ruins.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MISSION - PROTECT THE REFUGEES

  Devon stared at the details of the mission, mouth open, slowly shaking her head as the message sank in.

  'Boss?'

  She looked over at Kirton, her gunner's face screwed up in concern.

  'The village. It was destroyed by the NAC as punishment for allowing us to ambush the convoy. The inhabitants are trying to get to this town,' she pointed rather than attempt to murder the name of the town, 'but it seems that they're being attacked by a band of deserters. We have to protect them.'

  'Eh? Why the hell aren't the knackers doing it?'

  'I'd assume that their forces have been assigned a search as destroy mission after they lost a battalion in that last battle.'

  'Fuuuuucckkk,' breathed Kirton, 'you realise that whilst we're doing this, the knackers will get wind and come to finish us off?'

  'Which is why we're only going to take Mtube, Manaheri, and Suzuki. There's a whole series of missions and sub-missions that the others can complete in the base. We're only a few thousand Building Points away from levelling it up.'

  Kirton smiled grimly, 'Let's hope they don't have to find any bloody cats.'

  #

  'Cats. Again?' Hotston pinched his nose in frustration. Whilst Devon and the other senior pilots were off gallivanting around the countryside, he and his people were scurrying around trying to complete sub-missions.

  'Yeah. So far we have to find Tickles, Chuckles, Fang - he's a right bastard - and Rover.' Grinned Windsor.

  'Rover? What sort of name's that for a bloody cat?'

  'I quite like it,' she said, 'tricks people. Still, you know they all call themselves Mouse Slayer, Bat Bane and He Who Brings Death In The Night.'

  'Um,' he paused, stumped for a moment as she stood chuckling, 'okay. Right. Just find the bloody things. We need automated defences, the techies have to get the power working properly, quartermaster needs to fix the loos and the cyhounds would be really useful too.'

  'I'm only 500DP away from getting my next level. Blood Rage will give me an extra 100 body points. That's a shotgun straight to the chest!'

  He winced, amazed that his friend would be able to take such a bit and still keep fighting, 'Let's hope you never have to try that out. Crack on, get these side quests completed.'

  Returning her salute, he left the command room and made his way to the mech bay, marvelling at how the base had been improved in such a short time.

  'Ah, sir, there you are!' The mech bay command engineer, Jameson Whisk jogged over and snapped off a salute as quickly as he could, 'you're going to bloody love this!'

  'I'm sure I will,' replied Hotston with a smile.

  The mech officer strode off without a further word, leaving Hotston to hustle after him who let trying to maintain the dignitas of his rank.

  Whisk led him to a shadowed recess, a black door with orange, chipped writing. It was in such a bad state that Hotston was unable to read it.

  'The side quest for this was a right bugger. Three gophers, one bloody cat, and a damned romance mission!' Whisk grinned at that last mission, 'Didn't mind the last one actually. These Spanish scripts are...' He paused at the look on Hotston's face.

  'Roger that. One sec.' Reaching into his pocket he brought out a battered-looking pass card, stuck into a slot Hotston hadn't noticed and gave a flourish as the door tortuously opened on hinges that clearly needed oiling.

  Whisk slipped through as soon as there was a wide-enough gap, a muttered 'I'll just get the lights.'
r />   There was a dull clunk and what Hotston would have sworn was a high-pitched squeal of pain followed by roared swear words. Eventually the swearing died down and Hotston blinked as the black void beyond the door was filled with light.

  'Fuck me sideways.' Open-mouthed, Hotston stepped into the room that lay beyond. No more than 15 feet wide, it stretched for at least one hundred feet. On both sides were racks filled with what looked like battlebots.

  Frowning, he looked at the closest unit. The sensors looked more advanced than those usually put on a bot.

  What the hell, he thought as he reached out and ran his fingers over what looked like a hinge.

  'Well spotted sir, you're going to love this.' Jameson stood with a shit-eating grin.

  'Spit it out man!' Barked Hotston as Whisk stood silently grinning, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  'They're prototype infantry suits sir. Three metres tall, modular offence and defence systems. A number of variants,' Whisk held his hand up as he counted through them, 'Grunt, plain old infantry; medic, able to fix these suits as well as normal troops; recon, sniper version as well; Support, heavy weapons.'

  'How many?'

  'As many as we need. It's scalable.'

  Hotston leaned against the wall as Whisk spoke, unable to comprehend what the man was saying.

  'How the hell did the Spanish not know about this?' He whispered.

  'Well, seems that a group of technicians went a bit rogue, ploughed a load of money into this and kept it secret. It was a side quest that was just too far removed for anyone to take any real notice of. The first gopher mission alone took me three days. For 5DP. Other players would have ignored it as a glitchy mission. That and the fact that this was an abandoned facility no-one actually bothered about.' Said Whisk.

  'Makes you wonder just how many other Easter eggs the developers have hidden,' muttered Hotston as he started to walk the length of the room, staring in wonder at the suits.

  'Yeah. So, when you gonna get people training then?'

  #

  The suits were big enough for a fully equipped soldier to enter, the systems interfacing with the suit that they already wore.

  Looking around what he could only call the cockpit, Hotston's eyes landed on a head down display with a large red button titled 'power'. Blink selecting it, he twitched as the whole suit thrummed with power, other HDDs and head up displays appearing as the systems came online.

  He blinked on COMMS and was awarded 5 Battle Suit Skill Points as the headphones crackled to life.

  'Control, Hotston here, how do I read over?'

  'Loud and clear sir, out.'

  The next hour was spent running through the various systems, learning to run, jump and shoot.

  This is bloody glorious, he thought as an arc of lightning burned its way through the armour of a target.

  TRAINING COMPLETE - BATTLESUIT TROOPER LEVEL 1 - +500SP - +500DP

  'Well, that didn't take long. Whisk, prepare a training schedule, get everyone through by the end of the day. Devon's going to love this!'

  CHAPTER SIX

  'Tighten it up people! Objective is 500 metres.' Devon winced as she spoke, knowing that all of her people could see the distance marking counting down.

  As they approached the road that the refugees from the town were using, two civilian vehicles raced past, others close on their heels.

  'Those were the lucky ones boss.' Kirton said, 'I reckon that most will be on foot. Especially after all those cars got crushed.'

  'Don't bloody remind me, once we've got these people safe, I'm bloody certain that they'll be wanting compensation, even if they are only computer generated.'

  'Ha, tell'em to bill bloody ECAF HQ!'

  'Shit, would you look at that!' The road ahead was flooded with people, far more than would have been in the small town. Smoke rose in the distance from a number of sources, thick, black, filling the sky.

  'Drones out! Get eyes in the sky. Task all bots to push past the column and create a skirmish line. Devon sketched lines on the map company map as she spoke, 'Hammer, take the hill. Stay behind the crest and use the drones to target. Hit the enemy as soon you see them, we have to keep them as far away as possible.

  She pulled up the mission parameters, pushing them into a screen that she shared with the whole company.

  the mission itself was quite simple. Protect the refugees. The criteria for success were much more detailed.

  A Major Victory would see 95% of all refugees escaping and a 1000DP award.

  90% was classed as a Critical Victory. But that only came with 500DP. Something which would have been great for someone just starting out, but which at her rank didn't justify the effort. It was more a morale thing for them all. they'd destroyed the town these people lived in and they owed them.

  85% saw a Minor Victory. The last category in in the victory set. After that was Crushing Defeat. Which not only came with no DP bonus, it also set script moral to 'Defeated' and NPC morale to Distrust. Something they hadn't had to worry about in France.

  'Angels, Katana get close. Scan the civvies for enemy troops, we'll hang here and wait for the column to pass. Use us as the pivot point for when the enemy attack. We'll be the centre of the line. Out.'

  Settling back into her pilot's couch, she watched the various unit icons as the other mechs set about fulfilling her orders. Her stomach twisted as she watched the river of refugees flowing towards them. The game was so real that it was impossible not to empathise with the scripts. Only the most broken of players failed to feel anything for the people.

  'I've just had a thought, boss,' Kirton's voice broke her out of her reverie, 'these aren't real civilians are they boss?'

  Her mouth dried at the thought. Hand shaking, she selected the mission parameters, reading through them, desperate to make sure that she hadn't missed something. She hadn't.

  'No, they're scripts alright.'

  'Thank fuck for that. You do realise that we're going to be going up against civvies press-ganged by the knackers though?'

  'We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. The Spanish won't be happy.'

  'Yeah, but it would be way worse if they were having to kill their own people,' Kirton said, 'this way, they can just blame us at the end of things.'

  She hadn't thought of that. Her mind reeled at the thought of having to shoulder the blame for any Spanish casualties.

  'Heads up, drone approaching the column.'

  'Shit.'

  #

  'Knobkerries, five rounds, on my mark!' Devon cursed as another of her company's battlebots dropped off her command screen. The enemy had so far refused to reveal themselves, attacking at long distance with missiles and shells. It was only through their battlebots engaging them that they were briefly able to tell where they were.

  The refugees had fled to the four winds as soon as the enemy fire started. Scattered belongings littered the area as did the refugees as they tried to escape the area.

  'Angels, they're going to try and flank us. Bot-251 just dropped off the plot.' She set The Bitch in motion, determined to get to where she thought the enemy were going to appear.

  'Incoming! They're dropping in!' Manaheri's voice was taut with tension. Plots started to appear on the map, stalks extending beneath them showing that they were above them. The stalks rapidly shortened as the enemy mechs plummeted to the ground.

  'It's a trap! They're not deserters!' Devon slammed her hands together, rage all but blinding her.

  Tracer and pulses streaked from the Demons as they tried to destroy the enemy mechs before they landed.

  'No!' Devon screamed as an enemy mech slammed to the group, pulping a family of refugees, the impact sending others flying, 'gunner! Target!'

  Kirton let rip at the enemy mech as it straightened from its landing crouch. The heat readouts for The Bitch shot from green to red in seconds as Kirton fired everyone weapon he could.

  Every shot hit home. Stumbling under the weight of fir
e, the enemy pilot tried to return the favour, their shots going wide. As an arm was blown clean off, escape panels started to blow off from the stricken mech, quickly followed by escape capsules.

  'Oh shit,' whispered Kirton as the enemy mech went critical. The explosion was devastating, the torso utterly destroyed in a cataclysmic explosion that obliterated everything around it for 75 meters.

  REFUGEE CASUALTY RATE +5%

  'Demons! We can't fight them here; the refugees are being massacred!'

  'Can't. Leave.' Manaheri gasped over the comm channel, 'they're killing them.'

  It was true, the casualty rate was rising as the enemy mechs laid waste to the civilians.

  'Banzai!' Suzuki and Katana platoon swarmed a much larger Scimitar class mech. Blades glowing they appeared to flow like lightning over the enemy.

  The Scimitar pilot launched a vicious punch at Katana 2, the huge chain blade it had instead of a hand sending sparks flying as 2 blocked the blow.

  Momentarily checked, the Scimitar was helpless against the fury of the other two. A jumping cut cleaved the arm clean from the mech, whilst Suzuki threw himself into his knees behind the Scimitar, sending it flying as 2 threw her whole weight against it.

  Three, rebounding from its first cut leapt meters into the air, tip downwards as it crashed down onto the chest of the doomed mech, sparks and gobbets of molten metal flying in all directions as the white-hot blade drove into the pilot's compartment.

  'Kill! Good job Katana!'

  Manaheri came back onto the channel, 'mech hunters dropping!'

  It was true, infantry were dropping all around them. Kirton let rip with the .50 cal, the heavy slugs blowing a group of enemy troops apart as they struggled to set up an anti-mech launcher.