Succubus: A LitRPG Series

by A. J. Markam

  She was up in that palace.

  36

  Six hours later when they called off work for the night, I collapsed onto the ground, more tired than I’d ever been in my life.

  We shuffled off to some rickety barracks at the other end of the mine, where the most powerful demons claimed what few beds there were. Not that the beds were that great: basically just pallets stuffed with hay sticking out of a hundred tiny rips in the sackcloth. But it was better than sleeping on the hard floor – which is what I was going to have to do, along with dozens of other less fortunate demons.

  Frankly though, I was so tired, it didn’t really matter to me.

  I lay down, closed my eyes, and I was out. It felt like only a few seconds had passed when suddenly I had a vivid dream of Stig whispering in my ear.

  “Boss! Wake up!”

  “No…” I murmured. “…sleep time…”

  “Boss, snap out of it!”

  I woke up to my body being lightly shaken.

  Standing before me was my tiny imp. And to my shame, I couldn’t help but notice the leather collar around his neck.

  “Stig?!” I whispered. “You came back?!”

  “Of course I did, boss!”

  “How did you get past the guards?”

  “It was easy. They don’t pay much attention except to their booze and cards.”

  “Can you get me out of these?” I asked, holding up my manacles.

  Stig stroked his chin, or what little he had of one. “I could try hitting it with my fireballs.”

  Great – now I was going to be target practice.

  But that was better than being a slave.

  “All right, let’s try it,” I agreed.

  I got up, tiptoed over the dozens of bodies lying on the ground, and made my way outdoors. I looked out through the darkness – apparently the sky was always black here – but there were no guards nearby. Stig and I snuck around the building and hunkered down between the wooden barracks and the craggy canyon wall.

  I held out my arm and braced it against the cliff. “All right – let’s see what happens.”

  The imp summoned a fireball and shot it right at the manacle.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t do a damn thing except burn my arm.

  “Dammit!” I hissed.

  Stig snickered.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Just a little.”

  I gritted my teeth in frustration. “If I can’t get these things off, there’s no way I’m going to be able to go up against Malfurik.”

  “What about those pickaxes I saw you guys using, boss?”

  “I already tried that. It didn’t go well.”

  Stig thought for a second. “We could try hitting it with your staff. Maybe it could break it.”

  My Scepter of the Servant – the one I’d gotten after we killed Jastoth! I’d lost it when Malfurik attacked me.

  “Where is it?!”

  “Under here.” Stig pulled the staff out from a hole in the rocky ground beneath the wooden barracks, then handed it over to me.

  I looked around in consternation. I had no idea how many times I was going to have to hit the manacles before they broke – and the racket might bring every guard in the mines running.

  But it was a chance I had to take.

  I got a good grip on the scepter, then lined it up with the manacle on my left wrist.

  I brought the scepter up and down slowly, sort of like a mini practice swing with a hammer if you only had one shot at hitting the nail.

  One… two…

  As I brought it down the second time, the ivory staff touched the manacle with a tiny clink.

  The metal bracer melted away like it was being eaten by acid, and it fell off my arm in pieces.

  I stared at it in amazement. “What just happened?”

  “I don’t know, but it was pretty great, boss!” Stig said. “No worries about the guards coming!”

  I touched the staff to my other manacle, and it was eaten away, too. It fell apart in ragged scraps of metal, as did the one on my neck.

  I was free.

  As soon as the manacles and collar were off me, every option in my action bar appeared in full color again. Which meant every single one of my spells was now available.

  I checked my game menu. Log Out and all the other options to contact my supervisors were greyed out, but everything else was back to functional.

  “Yes!” I hissed, and pumped my arm in triumph. “Stig, you are the MAN!”

  “I’m a demon, boss,” he said quizzically.

  “That’s right – the best demon ever. Now all we have to do is – ”

  My voice trailed off.

  What I was going to say was, Now all we have to do is sneak back up to the castle, break back in, and go up against the same asshole who imprisoned me before.

  As if on cue, a window appeared in front of me with two quests.

  I Am Spartacus!

  Start a slave revolt in the mine pits of Abaddon, and lead the rebellion to overthrow Malfurik.

  XP: 10,000

  To Hell With The Devil!

  Slay Malfurik and take the throne of Abaddon for yourself.

  XP: 25,000.

  Holy shit.

  In the heat of the moment, I’d forgotten all about my earlier conversation with Grok and the others.

  This was it. The game was giving me a way to rescue Alaria.

  Which was kind of freaky, because now it was naming quests after conversations I’d had.

  But I pushed that aside. I had more important things to think about.

  I hastily hit ‘Accept’ and whispered, “Stig, I have to go back inside the prisoners’ barracks.”

  He frowned. “Why do you want to do that, boss?”

  “Because if we want to save Alaria, we need to start a slave revolt.”

  I crept back inside, with Stig standing watch at the door for any mine guards.

  I found Grok in one of the lower bunks and gently shook him by the arm. He woke with a start and pressed a crude copper knife to my throat.

  “Wha– human?” he hissed angrily. “What are you trying to do?”

  “Start a revolution,” I said with a grin, and touched the ivory staff to one of his manacles.

  Like magic, the touch of the staff ate away at the metal, and it crumbled to dust.

  Grok pulled back and gasped in shock. He looked at his arm as though he’d never seen it before – which was sort of true. The manacle had been on there so long that the skin had grown up around the edges, and the underlying color was far lighter than the rest of his body.

  “It’s not possible…” he whispered.

  “You said you would be the first to join my rebellion if I could free you,” I whispered. “You ready, or do you want to spend the rest of your life in these damn barracks?”

  He looked at me, and a grin slowly spread across his face.

  “I think it’s time to fight for the thing I want to live for, human.”

  We set to work quickly, Grok waking up the prisoners and explaining what was going on, and then me touching the staff to their manacles and collars.

  There were a few who shook their heads in fear and refused to be released from their shackles, but that was only a handful amongst the 70 or so in the barracks. The rest eagerly listened to me and Grok as we whispered to them in the dark.

  “We can’t do this alone,” I said with Stig standing next to me. “We have to storm the castle, and we have to destroy Malfurik. And if we’re going to do that, we need the help of thousands of others.”

  Someone whispered harshly, “Why can’t we just escape?”

  “Grok?” I said. “Why don’t you take that one.”

  “Because unless we destroy the oppressors, they will hunt us down. This is an affront to their power and they will not stand for it. We must either kill them or be killed.”

  “Anybody who’s got a problem with that can stay behind,
” I said. “This is strictly a volunteer mission.”

  “Many of us will die,” one of the demons said.

  “Yes – but if all we work together, many more of us will live. And the ones who die get to go out on their own terms, not as slaves – and maybe take down a few of the bastards who tormented you for years.”

  My argument won over more than a few of the holdouts.

  “What do we do?” one of the others asked.

  Spartacus was my blueprint.

  “First we kill the guards,” I said. “Then we go free more allies.”

  We went and found our picks in the darkness, lying by the chains on the ground. Apparently the guards were so overconfident in their prisoners’ submissiveness that they didn’t even bother to lock up a bunch of deadly weapons every night.

  Their mistake.

  I told everyone beforehand how important it was to remain quiet, and they all got the message.

  When we finally crept up on the guardhouse, there were only a handful of night watchmen. They were gambling with dice on the ground, snorting and laughing and drinking, completely unprepared for what was about to hit them.

  I held up my hand, motioning Stig and everyone else behind me to wait – and then I hit all five of the guards with Darkfire.

  They turned around in surprise, and were immediately swarmed with a silent mass of prisoners who hacked away at them with their picks. God knows they’d had plenty of practice over the years.

  The guards were dead before they hit the ground. I didn’t even have to fire another shot.

  We quickly climbed the stairs to the top of the cavern, then went to the next mine over.

  “How much time do we have?” I asked Grok.

  “Six hours to sleep, and only one has passed.”

  Five hours to build an army. It was doable – if we split up.

  I explained to everyone what I would need them to do. I was going to stay in this camp, but they would have to spread out to the other mines and start silently killing the guards. Once they had slaughtered the overseers, they had to bring back all the prisoners to me, where I would remove their shackles.

  “Think that could work?” I asked Grok.

  “It’s worth the risk, human.”

  I waited there in the valley with Stig for what seemed like an eternity. During that time, I thought of Alaria and what she was doing up in the castle – or what was being done to her. I cringed and prayed to the videogame gods that they would spare her long enough for me to show up with the cavalry.

  I heard a few cries throughout the canyons, here and there – night guards as they bit the dust. But overall, my pickaxe assassins were impressively quiet. Within minutes, a steady stream of prisoners began running up to me with pickaxes in their hands, their manacled arms held out in supplication. Help me.

  I touched their manacles and collars like a priest giving out some sort of benediction. One by one their bonds fell off, and they raced off in groups to free their brothers in the other valleys.

  First there were 50 who approached… then 100, 500, 2000, until a sea of faces of all different shapes and colors looked out at me – not only from the bottom of the mine, but from the rim of the canyon overhead.

  Grok fought his way through the crowd to me.

  “Is that it?” I asked him. “Has everyone been freed?”

  “We’ve killed every single guard surrounding Abaddon – and almost every single prisoner has pledged themselves to your cause. What do we do now?”

  I looked up at the faces staring down at me. They had finally regained their hope; now they were looking for a leader.

  “We attack the castle,” I yelled out, my voice echoing through the canyon. “Me to save the woman I love, and you to take back your freedom once and for all!”

  A deafening roar went up around me, enough to shake the very foundations of Abaddon.

  ‘I am Spartacus,’ indeed.

  37

  Our little pep rally had been heard by the guards, but that was all right – the enthusiasm and fury it generated more than made up for the lack of surprise.

  You should have seen the looks on the palace guards as 8000 former slaves headed towards them with pickaxes in hand. I’m sure a few of those guards shat their metal-plated britches.

  I softened up the ranks first with dozens of shots of Darkfire, then continued to hit them with Doomsday as the prisoners surged forward. There was the clank clank clank of a thousand picks against the demon guards’ armor, but in combination with my spells, the bastards went down like flies.

  We stormed into the castle, swamping any guard that got in our way. Spears were thrown, but that was the extent of their ranged weapons. No archers to deal with.

  Everyone inside the castle dropped like flies, too.

  A sea of demons swarmed into the throne room with me as the nucleus. And there was the boss man himself – the giant with a million hit points. Malfurik stood up from his throne in shock as he saw us burst through the throne-room doors.

  I could see what he was looking at, since our army was reflected in the giant mirror behind his throne – and I’ve got to say, it was pretty damn impressive.

  Bound to the throne by a long golden chain, Alaria sat there slumped on the ground, despondent. When she saw the crowd surging towards, she reacted in confusion – but as soon as the front ranks parted and I stepped out with Stig, she cried out with joy and leapt to her feet.

  Even from 50 feet away, I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “So you have your own army,” Malfurik jeered. “Let us see if you are willing to sacrifice all your pawns against my queen.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Hold on!” I shouted to my foot soldiers, and they all stopped on a dime.

  Without any of them wearing a slave collar, it should be pointed out.

  “No?” Malfurik chortled. “Then, little slave king, you can face my queen alone.”

  Malfurik snapped his fingers, and suddenly Alaria put out her arms. Fireballs glowed in the palms of her hands.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief as I stared into her eyes.

  Tears coursed down her cheek.

  “I can’t resist him… I can’t disobey. He’s my master now,” she cried.

  She threw her fireballs at me. They exploded against my body, taking off a good chunk of my hit points. I turned back to her and saw her shaking, her entire body wracked with sobs.

  “Kill me,” she begged. “Kill me before I have to kill you.”

  “I will let you choose, little warlock,” Malfurik laughed. “Kill your succubus, and I will let your army go in peace. Try to save her, though – or attack me – and all of you will die.”

  I gazed into Alaria’s tortured eyes and tried to figure this puzzle out. I reasoned that after I killed her, nothing would actually happen – Malfurik would just summon her back again –

  “And if you are thinking that she would be resurrected like you, little warlock, know this: the spell I have put on her prevents her from ever being resurrected again. When you kill her, she stays dead – forever. Make your choice.”

  Dammit.

  I would have gladly sacrificed myself to save her.

  But I wouldn’t force my army to do the same. Not after everything I’d learned – the hard way, I might add.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  Fortunately, one of my lieutenants did.

  Grok stepped out from the front ranks and shouted defiantly at Malfurik, “No one asked me for my choice!”

  Another demon shouted from the throng, “Nor me!”

  Dozens, then hundreds of voices rose up: “Nor me!” “Nor me!” “Nor me!”

  My heart soared in my chest as I turned to face my soldiers. “Anyone who wants to leave can go! But anyone who stays, fights!”

  Every single voice in the hall answered out as one:

  “WE FIGHT!”

  The entire crowd roared and raced
towards Malfurik.

  The demon lord bellowed in anger. He blasted the front lines with rays of black energy, killing dozens – but hundreds more surged forward to take their place, then washed over him like a wave, pickaxes striking into his arms and chest with wild abandon.

  Meanwhile, Alaria kept blasting me with fireballs. I kept taking them, straight to the chest – but I used Soul Suck on Malfurik to replenish my hit points. The blows were painful, but I was willing to endure anything as I walked closer and closer to her, taking her attacks at point-blank range.

  Tears were coursing down her cheeks, and her entire body was shaking.

  Finally I was within three feet of her. My clothes were in cinders on my chest, my skin was burning away almost as quickly as I could heal it by stealing energy from Malfurik –

  But now I was within reach.

  I stretched out my ivory staff and touched it to the chain around her neck.

  I wasn’t sure it would work. I didn’t have any reason to believe it wouldn’t work, given what I’d already seen in the mines – but it seemed almost too good to be true.

  But it did work. Spectacularly.

  The chain sizzled, smoked, then broke.

  The chainmail bikini changed back to leather, as did her boots.

  Finally the collar around her neck dissolved, and its remains fell clanking to her feet.

  She gasped and felt her throat – touched the bare skin there, quite possibly feeling it for the first time.

  Then her beautiful smile of gratitude turned into a mask of pure hatred, and she turned and hurled her firebolts at Malfurik.

  I hit him with a Darkbolt, too – then Darkfire, Soul Suck, Doomsday, Unholy Quartet – everything in my entire arsenal.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The bastard had started with a million hit points. Even with all the damage he’d sustained, he was still only down to half a million – and the other prisoners were being slaughtered by the dozens with every spell he cast.

  Then he did something I didn’t expect.

  His eyes looked out across the hordes of prisoners and centered on me. I saw the evil glint in his eye, and I braced for his attack –

  But instead of blasting me, he hit Alaria.