Viridian Gate Online: The Lich Priest: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 5)

by James Hunter

  He didn’t waste a heartbeat.

  A flurry of blows pummeled the creature’s exposed belly, Jay’s arms moving so fast they were little more than a blur of golden light. Each hit landed with a meaty thud, the monster’s flesh dimpling inward, its skin cracking, HP leaking away. With a roar, the monk lunged forward one final time, driving both fists simultaneously into the bunny’s gut. A burst of light and heat rolled out as the bunny’s stomach ruptured, splashing gore across Jay’s exposed chest and face.

  Wow. He had literally just punched a hole through his opponent.

  Begrudgingly, I had to admit that was pretty freaking awesome.

  The creature’s HP hit zero as it toppled to the side, hitting the grassy ground with enough force to send tremors running through the dirt and into my feet.

  “I call dibs on loot,” Cutter said with a wide grin.

  Before anyone could object, our resident thief darted in and dropped into a crouch, hands rifling through the dead bunny’s inventory. Cutter was a loot hound, no doubt about it, but usually he shared. Still, usually there weren’t Imperials involved. I, however, was too distracted by a series of pop-ups to care:

  <<<>>>

  Subspecialty: Champion of Order

  Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 2

  Cost: None

  Effect 1: All Champion of Order–based skills and abilities are increased by 2.5% per Champion of Order Level (Current Level 2: 5%).

  Effect 2: Luck stat increases by one point for every (2) Champion of Order Levels (Current Level 2: +1 to Luck).

  Effect 3: You have (1) unassigned Divinity Point.

  <<<>>>

  Very interesting. After defeating Carrera at the battle of Ravenkirk and repelling the initial Vogthar incursion into Eldgard, Sophia had granted me a new subspecialty—Champion of Order. The subspecialty didn’t change my Shadowmancer class, but it did grant me access to a new skill tree. Except, in the week since that battle, I hadn’t managed to gain even a single level as Champion of Order, nor had I unlocked any of my new abilities. It seemed killing run-of-the-mill Vogthar wasn’t enough—I needed to destroy these Thralls. I dismissed the first screen and glanced at the next one in line:

  <<<>>>

  Champion of Order

  The Champion of Order subspecialty is a skill set similar to any of the other general skills found in the world of Viridian Gate Online—such as Stealth, Blunt Weapons, or Medium Armor—and can be leveled up in the standard way: through use. Whenever you dispatch a Thrall of Thanatos, you will gain EXP for the kill, but you will also slowly level up as Champion of Order for bringing order and balance to the world again. As with other skills, Champion of Order levels become progressively more difficult to obtain. When you earn a new level, you gain (1) Divinity Point, which can be invested into your Champion of Order Skill Tree. All specialized profession skills can be upgraded a total of seven times (Initiate, Novice, Adept, Journeyman, Specialist, Master, Grandmaster).

  <<<>>>

  Curious, I closed out from the tutorial screen, pulled up my character screen, and toggled over to my skills. I had my standard Shadowmancer abilities, plus all of my general abilities, but I could now access the Champion of Order Skill Tree as well.

  Since I had no other options, I dropped my first point into the Divine Warrior ability, then pulled up the ability description.

  <<<>>>

  Skill: Divine Warrior

  Channel the Divine essence of Sophia and become a peerless fighter driven by the powerful magic of Order and Balance. While possessed by the raw strength of the Divine Warrior, you can fight longer, harder, and far more ferociously than even the most battle-hardened combatants. But beware, for a two-edged sword can cut both ways …

  Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate

  Cost: 450 Stamina

  Range: On Caster

  Cast Time: Instant

  Cooldown: 20 minutes

  Duration: 30 seconds

  Effect 1: Immune to all Hold and Movement-reducing spells and abilities.

  Effect 2: Strength Bonus = .25 x Character Level.

  Effect 3: Movement Rate Increased by 15%.

  Effect 4: Increase Physical Attack Damage, Health Regeneration Rate, and Armor Rating by 1% for every 5% of total Health lost in battle.

  Order’s Price: When Divine Warrior lapses, 25% chance of suffering the Battle Fatigue debuff—25% reduced movement rate, confusion and disorientation, attack damage -15%, stamina regeneration reduced by 20%; duration, 30 seconds.

  <<<>>>

  I absently rubbed my chin as I read and reread the skill description. Divine Warrior was a powerful ability, though one that seemed designed for moments of sheer desperation. True, using it could turn the tide of battle—it could transform me into a killing machine—but the Battle Fatigue debuff was nearly as debilitating as the Divine Warrior ability was helpful. Getting slammed with all those debuffs in the heat of a battle could be devastating. Still, I’d never turn down a potential weapon—even if it could cut me.

  “So, do you think that thing was a boss?” Abby asked, drawing me from my thoughts. I closed out of the screen and glanced up at her.

  “I would imagine so,” Osmark replied absently, his eyes flicking back and forth as though he were reading something no one else could see. A pop-up, likely. “A creature that tough couldn’t possibly be anything else.”

  “I think not,” Amara said after a second.

  There was a long uncomfortable pause. Fear.

  Silently, she raised one finger and pointed toward the edge of the clearing. I felt my blood run cold as I spotted a sea of green eyes burning brightly in the gloom of the forest beyond. Ten sets of eyes, all drawing closer. More nightmare bunnies, these easily as big as the one we’d just tangled with. A few bigger. The pack of deadly beasts faltered at the edge of the trees, but an especially beefy one inched forward, monstrous snout raised high as it sampled the air.

  Sniff, sniff, sniff. The tension mounted as we shifted on uncertain feet, no one daring to make a sound—to so much as breathe.

  But it didn’t matter. The bunny took one more lungful of air—its toxic eyes narrowing, its furry hackles raising—then issued a boneshaking roar of challenge. In a blink, the pack of killer rabbits charged into the clearing, teeth gnashing, deadly claws digging furrows in the grass, driven on by bloodlust and killing rage.

  SIX_

  Pursuit

  “Run!” I shouted, knowing there was no way we could win in a straight-up fight. Not against those kinds of numbers. Amara naturally took point, streaking away from the onrushing monsters and into the enormous trees, easily picking out the quickest and most efficient route. Cutter, of course, was directly behind her, stealing nervous glances over his shoulder as he ran. He was a heck of a good fighter, but he was far braver when striking from the shadows than when hitting head-on.

  “Hurry it up, Jack!” Osmark called. I was closest to the killer Rabbits, so I’d be the first victim if things went sideways.

  I hesitated only for a second, then bolted, legs pumping as I sprinted across the open patch of meadow.

  Osmark snapped an order at Jay, who promptly wheeled around and tore after Amara and Cutter, but both the Artificer and Abby lingered at the edge of the trees. Waiting for me. I wanted to tell her to go, to run, to leave me behind, but I could see the determination etched into the lines of her face. She had her feet planted and her shoulders squared. Her posture and demeanor practically screamed I’m not going anywhere without you. A foolhardy move, maybe, but fierce pride burned in my chest anyway.

  Osmark—stranded out of a sense of self-preservation, no doubt—hurled out a fan of small grenades, these black like old oil, followed by a cantaloupe-sized turret pod of gleaming steel. The smaller orbs did nothing, but the turret pod exploded to life with a hum and a glimmer of brilliant electric-blue light. Unlike the Gatling gun and rocket launcher, this new turret was oddly boxy and flat with a broad slit running horizontally across i
ts front. That thing went to work immediately, launching a barrage of spinning saw blades, each as big as a dinner plate.

  Meanwhile, Abby’s hands flashed through a complicated series of maneuvers—wrists flicking, fingers curling, hands balling—as a nimbus of fiery red light built around her like a halo. Inferno Wall. “Hurry, Jack,” she shrieked, a thread of panic lancing through the words. I took another look back—the lead bunny, easily the size of a pickup truck, was less than ten feet away. I gritted my teeth and put on a final burst of speed just as she thrust both hands down. The flames swirling around her corkscrewed along her outstretched arms, drilling into the earth.

  The ground rumbled and shook as a fault line appeared behind me, splitting the meadow in two as a wall of flame, ten feet high and five feet thick, erupted skyward. The blaze stretched the entire length of the clearing and gave off enough heat to singe the back of my neck. Osmark’s blade launcher kept right on firing, thump, thump, thump, unhindered, and a moment later a series of thud-booms filled the air. His proximity grenades engaging.

  I glanced back and couldn’t help but grin as I saw pieces of bloody oversized bunny limbs cascading into the air. Osmark was a cold, heartless monster, but he had some pretty cool tricks up his sleeves.

  “Well, that oughta do it,” he said coolly as I skidded to a halt next to them, panting from a combination of fear and exertion.

  “Don’t celebrate yet,” Abby said, thrusting one finger toward the right side of the forbidding forest. Oh no. There were more of those things coming. Another pack, eight deep. A blur of movement to the left caught my eye. Ten or more closing in from that direction. These things were everywhere.

  Osmark’s lips pressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched tight. “Well, let’s not dawdle.” He grabbed my shoulder and turned, pulling me along with him as he broke into a run. I got the feeling Osmark wasn’t the kind of guy who retreated, and it didn’t seem to sit well with him. I shook his hand off, slowing just long enough to let Abby get in front of me. She zipped by me, her eyes skipping over the terrain, searching for protruding roots and tangling vines, which threatened to trip us up at every step.

  Deep-chested roars ripped through the air as the creatures called out to each other, coordinating their efforts as they raced through the trees like wraiths. They were fast, so ungodly fast, and it was obvious these things knew these woods better than we ever could. Behind me and to my right, an exceptionally beefy bunny broke from the pack, hellish rage burning in his fallout eyes. Still running, I thrust my warhammer out and triggered Night Cyclone—my single most powerful offensive spell.

  Arctic power—so cold it burned inside my chest like a volcano—surged out from my center, racing down my arm like a bolt of lightning. The head of my hammer glowed with preternatural violet light, crackles of electricity flickering out. The air above the incoming nightmare Rabbit shimmered, bulged, and ripped, momentarily revealing a glimpse of some night-dark place filled with floating purple clouds and ginormous black twisters tearing across an endless desert of cracked yellow hardpan. That place was the furthest reaches of the Shadowverse.

  One of those massive twisters screamed its way through the rift, which sealed behind it, banishing the desolate landscape to memory. The cyclone touched down a few feet away from the bunny and went to town like a rampaging kaiju.

  Dirt and debris kicked up, feeding the cyclone, while ferocious winds snatched the monster from the ground, spinning it once, twice, three times, before slamming the fur-covered beast into the trunk of a towering oak. The force of the blow was insane, and even at a distance I could hear bones shatter as the creature’s lower body twisted and contorted into an unnatural angle. And the cyclone kept right on going, tearing a path toward the rest of the pack, fingers of black death lashing out from the whirlwind like living serpents.

  Part of me wanted to watch the chaos, but the other pack was closing in from the left. Worse, the pack previously trapped behind Abby’s Inferno wall was quickly gaining ground, too. It was only a matter of time before they caught up, and I was falling behind by the second. But that was okay—with Shadow Stride in my arsenal, I was never really behind. I spun on one heel, shooting my free hand out as I conjured Umbra Bog. The second pack faltered as the forest floor shifted into a goopy black quagmire.

  Tentacles of inky power wrapped around limbs and latched onto matted fur.

  After all my spell slinging, my Spirit was nearing dangerously low levels, so I snagged a Spirit Regen potion from my belt, popped the bone cork, then slammed the shifting sapphire liquid in a single gulp. The taste of blue raspberry invaded my mouth, but I ignored it, tossing the empty bottle aside and planting my feet, hammer thrust straight out. The center pack was damn close now, fifteen feet and gaining fast. The lead Necrotic Rabbit—now stripped of fur, its flesh covered in cancerous green fissures, its ears flopping wildly—broke away with a bestial growl.

  Nervous sweat broke out on my brow, but I ignored it. Just a little closer.

  I snarled and channeled the power coursing through my veins, unleashing a lance of Umbra Flame. Deadly shadow flame met the creature’s charge head-on, splashing over its skin, clawing at its eyes and nose, and most importantly, setting dry pine needles and tangles of growth ablaze. That fire wouldn’t burn for long, but maybe it would slow them down a little. But now it was time to move—I’d done what I could.

  The bunny leapt, flying toward me like a falling star, burning brightly.

  I shot it a sly wink and triggered Shadow Stride. The creature froze in midair, lips pulled back from oversized fangs filed down to preternaturally sharp points, perfect for rending meat. My Shadow Stride spell was at level 6, so I could spend an entire minute inside the Shadowverse, which meant I had a little breathing room. I took a second to survey the field: my Night Cyclone had finally dissipated, and though the attack had badly hurt several of the pack members, they were all still alive and recuperating.

  As for the pack waylaid by Umbra Bog, they were still mired but only for another ten seconds, and then it was game on. The central pack was showing the worst of the wear—Osmark’s grenades and buzz saws had taken a noticeable toll—but in total, I only counted one Rabbit Thrall missing. Which left us with a grand total of twenty-seven of the creatures, all after us and hot for blood. We needed to get away. That was the only option.

  I took a deep breath, turned my back toward the creatures, and sprinted deeper into the vegetation. It was easy to spot the trail Amara had taken by the bushes hastily pushed out of the way, the sliced vines dangling down like loose strands of hair, and the footprints left in soft earth. Each marked the way like road signs. I practically flew down the rough-beaten path, zipping around trees, vaulting over downed logs and upturned stones, and ducking low-hanging branches.

  The ground rose sharply as I moved, more and more rocks jutting up—these covered in slick moss. I cut left, then followed the trail around a sharp bend, which promptly dead-ended at a mountainous rock face clawing at the sky. I felt my stomach lurch and drop as creeping fear invaded my body. No, no, no. Off to the left was a massive cliff, dropping down, down, down for a couple of hundred feet before terminating at a lazily winding river, carving its way through a deep chasm. And dead ahead was the wall of stone, steep and treacherous.

  There was no way we were climbing that.

  My crew was set up at the base of the rock face, statue-still as they prepared for battle. Abby and Amara were in the back, pressed up against the stone. Amara had her bow out and ready, while a line of javelins poked up from the ground beside her. Once more Abby was shrouded in flame, her eyes glowing with deadly energy. Cutter was posted up along the left side, while Osmark stood on the right, pistol drawn with one hand, several gleaming grenades waiting and ready in his other. Jay stood front and center—a tank ready to absorb the onslaught.

  Except there was no way we could win this.

  My countdown timer hit zero before I could draft a proper message, and the Shadowverse
spewed me back out into the world. Light, color, and sound all crashed down on me at once. The howls of pursuit hung in the air, accompanied by the smashes and crashes of huge, unnatural bodies careening through the brush.

  “Good of you to join us, Jack,” Osmark said, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the tree line behind me. “Down!” he screamed as a beam of toxic green energy seared through a tree trunk like an industrial-grade laser. The tree, two hundred feet tall at least, groaned and swayed before toppling back with a crash that shook the ground and sent a wave of dust and debris swirling up into the air. A brown cloud settled over us, making it nearly impossible to see. Still, I could hear the crunch of leaves and twigs and the harsh pumping of inhuman lungs as the Thralls drew closer.

  We couldn’t run anymore, but now that the trees had opened up there was no reason we couldn’t fly. Devil could carry one other passenger, and Osmark’s Clockwork Dragon could do the same, no doubt. But that still left us one mount short. I knew Cutter, Amara, and Abby didn’t have access to a flying mount, but Jay did. An enormous tiger made of living fire with giant eagle wings. I remembered that thing from the battle of Ravenkirk—remembered watching it spew out giant columns of flame while the monk unleashed his Runic spells. As far as I knew, it could carry an extra as well.

  That was our only play. Mount up, fly for dear life, and pray these things couldn’t sprout wings and follow.

  I was getting ready to make the call when a small light zipped into our midst.

  The words died on my lips. It wasn’t a light. No, it was a person. A woman. A tiny one, maybe eight inches tall, glowing like a mini-star, and held aloft by gossamer butterfly wings. She was inhumanly pretty, her skin a soft blue, her eyes a little too wide, her ears pointed. She also looked surprisingly formidable, though, decked out in gray-and-green leather armor. The Pixy—which is what she had to be—had a fun-sized bow strapped to her back, a quiver of blue-crystal arrows hanging at one hip, and a wicked sword in one hand that looked one part pirate scimitar and one part toothpick.