Hellbound (Saga Online #2) - A Fantasy LitRPG

by Oliver Mayes

  All this time, Damien had assumed they were doing something dirty. In fairness the way Noigel described it, coupled with the screams whenever Damien had logged on, suggested a more sordid kind of relaxation. Then again, Noigel generally described just about everything in those terms. Unbelievable. Oh! That’s why Noigel had asked if Damien wanted him to perform “special time” all over his base, after Damien ordered him to clean it. It was Damien’s fault for coining the term ‘special time’. The little git knew what Damien had been thinking all along and teased him with it instead of explaining himself. He’d improved immensely, but was still the same Noigel he’d always been.

  The succubus noticed Damien looking and hissed. Noigel turned, saw his master’s eyes on him and started angrily garbling at him in tongues. Damien did not look away, because he’d noticed something very strange: Noigel’s horns had grown. Damien had no sooner noticed them than they began shrinking back into Noigel’s head. In a matter of seconds it was as though nothing had happened.

  This was new. The perks of inadvertent voyeurism. Maybe this was why Noigel was so keen on pursuing this activity. Maybe it was why he usually went for howling loudly whenever Damien returned; Damien had assumed the noises were a by-product of “special time”. Now they seemed more like a deterrent. Regardless, he couldn’t sit there and experiment. His viewers were probably already making fun of him, he didn’t need to push it any further. That would be better done once he was out of here. Of course, Noigel would still have to work for it.

  The shoe was on the other foot now: Noigel had revealed it was in fact he who objected to being seen pursuing this activity, whereas Damien was perfectly comfortable using it to his advantage. The spectacle was no more offensive than a cute cat video on the internet, although it was being acted out by considerably more horrific beings.

  “Sorry, Noigel, time’s up. We’ve got a boss to kill. There’ll be plenty more opportunity for “special time” in the future, if your performance merits it.”

  He grabbed the Throwing Knife Sling off the table and equipped it, only for the one he’d already been wearing to appear on the table in its place. He tried to put it in his inventory but it would not comply. So he could carry a maximum of twenty knives, only in the sling, and none in his inventory. Not very realistic, but if he went down that route he’d also have to explain how his tiny rucksack could contain blocks of stone and metal without encumbering him in the slightest. Better to take the good with the bad than complain about every tiny detail that didn’t please him. Twenty knives should be enough. The health potion next to it was equally useless, since he was still at max capacity on potions. Also ungrateful, now he stopped to think about it, but three potions should also be more than enough.

  He could’ve done with a full complement of minions, but he’d have to make do with what he had. He summoned two more imps, the only thing he could summon with his last 2 souls. He wasn’t prepared to dismiss the succubus for a mere 3.5-soul refund. She could be every bit as cost effective as a hell hound or a wraith. There was only one way to find out. Damien took a deep breath and put his hand on the door.

  You are about to begin boss fight: ‘Mordred’. Are you prepared? (Y/N)

  Damien nodded. The doors swung open. Damien strode inside, his minions around him. The moment they were clear, the doors swung shut and clicked behind them. Let the fun begin. This chamber was unlike the others. They’d all been open space, with no visible obstacles. This one was riddled with rings of boulders, spaced wide apart but blocking vision to the center. Damien took note. The scenery would probably be a staple of this boss fight. The chamber was much larger, customary in epic battles, and cylindrical. It reminded him of Bartholomew’s final floor.

  His analysis was interrupted by a sound that did not belong: the cries of an infant. He paced forward, moving past the first ring of rocks to find a second, then a third. After that, the boulders ended and the floor opened up into clear space. He put his back to the boulder that was blocking his line of sight and stared out into the middle of the dungeon floor. It was exactly what it sounded like. A newborn babe, wrapped in cloth, howling into the dark.

  Damien didn’t trust it. Not even for half a second. It was either the boss or bait. Even so, he couldn’t very well throw a knife at it. That wouldn’t curry any favor in his viewers’ eyes (or his own, for that matter). He wouldn’t have even done it if he wasn’t being watched, as suspicious as these circumstances were. But he sure as hell wasn’t going out there to get it. That’s what imps are for.

  Damien directed the imps and the succubus to move in and find their own cover, very slowly. They didn’t have any stealth abilities, but provided they were careful they wouldn’t be seen. The chamber was dark and the boss fight had not yet been triggered. They took about half a minute to get into position. After that, there was only one course of action Damien could contemplate. He ordered one of his two marginally more expendable imps to walk into the center of the room and examine the baby.

  The imp strode out as Damien observed. It got all the way to the middle of the room without incident and without any inkling of how much danger its master was putting it in. So far so good. What was he supposed to do with this baby? He didn’t want it anywhere near him, that much was for sure. Assuming he didn’t get murdered by the thing, its cries would draw unwanted attention to his location. Better to get it out of the way. If nothing happened, he could search the room for signs of how to proceed. He ordered the imp to pick it up and walk it away from him.

  The imp picked up the baby. It immediately stopped crying. Aww. That’s nice. At least now it wasn’t howling it would pose less of a tactical threat. The imp made it three steps before it stopped. Damien reiterated his order. It still didn’t move. It was just staring down into the baby’s face, completely rigid. Damien made the order more forcefully as the bundle the baby was wrapped in ripped, pierced by a long, spindly leg. Then another. A predictable six legs later, the bundle was reduced to rags as the baby developed into a ‘not baby’.

  The not baby quickly became far too big for the imp to carry. The not baby was perfectly capable of carrying itself. Of the two faces Mordred possessed, the traditional spider face that was staring the imp in the eyes was actually the less horrifying. The face of the baby had enlarged and become a perfect circle, changing location during the transformation. It was embedded in the top of Mordred’s abdomen.

  Damien was starting to wish he’d thrown knives at this thing from the beginning, although it would be folly to believe the fight could be ended so effortlessly. The good people of Mobius Enterprises had clearly put a lot of time and energy into rendering this nightmarish masterpiece. Damien doubted they’d reward those who tended toward infanticide with circumventing the primal dread inspired by Mordred’s design.

  Mordred raised a single limb and stroked the imp’s face. Tenderly. The only movement the imp made in response was a slight trembling from head to foot. Mordred brought its face closer, still stroking that of the imp. Its jaws flashed and a chunk of the imp disappeared. Usually when imps died, they turned to ash. This room was not so merciful. The health bar had already disappeared, yet the imp was still there. This was an extended execution. The imp was being eaten alive.

  Mordred entered a feeding frenzy. It started with the limbs, working its way from the outside toward the juicy, crunchy center. While it ate, its abdomen was raised up. The baby face was in plain view. The eating would not last long, there wasn’t much meat on an imp and Mordred was already halfway done. Damien stepped out from behind the rock and threw first one knife, then—

  Froze. The eyes embedded in Mordred’s abdomen had opened wide, and they were staring straight at him. It was not the realization that he’d been seen that caused Damien’s hesitancy. He couldn’t move. Even his left arm had stopped halfway through throwing the second knife, holding it in place. The first knife fared no better. One of Mordred’s legs lashed out and struck it out of the air, absurdly fast. The less creep
y of Mordred’s two faces turned away from the snack and eyed up the main course. Which was when Damien heard it speaking to him. In his head.

  Come over here, where I can see you better.

  Damien obligingly walked forward. He had no control over his own body. His steps were not fluid, but they were more than sufficient to carry out Mordred’s instruction with minimal resistance. This must be how his minions felt, when he gave them orders. They had no choice but to obey, regardless of how they felt. He still had three of them. They had to do something.

  Damien didn’t grasp the irony as he threw them all in to save himself. Noigel was the first to go. He’d directed himself toward the weak point on Mordred’s back, but what worked for the knife worked just as well for a soft, squishy imp. He was pierced as another leg lashed out, striking him straight through the chest. The succubus did marginally better. She at least survived her feeble attempt at slowing the creature down. She threw out a Chaotic Bolt, which Mordred did not bother to intercept. It splashed over its hide to no effect.

  So much for that. The last imp was swooping in. It wouldn’t turn the tide of this fight. Damien could see it out of his peripheral vision, even though his eyes were locked onto the compound eyes of the creature he was approaching. He could not speak but Demon Gate did not require an audio cue. He Demon Gated, which was less than helpful since the imp was flying through the air toward Mordred. It was even less helpful when the eyes of the supposed weak point locked onto his. His hand had not even made it to his sling when the command came.

  Go limp.

  Damien tumbled off Mordred’s back, onto the floor. There was a Circle of Hell there, set by the succubus. It burned Damien but had no apparent effect on Mordred. Mordred positioned itself over him, staring into his eyes, then plucked him up and put him outside the circle as the root ended.

  Drink a health potion. I expect a full meal.

  Damien’s hands moved on their own, withdrawing a potion and drinking it down, much of it splashing over his cheeks and chin as he struggled to disobey. Mordred observed him. Its legs were shuffling back and forth, as if struggling to contain itself. Another Chaotic Bolt splashed off its back while it waited. Mordred was not paying the succubus the slightest bit of attention. It was locked onto Damien, staring at him from very close, so Damien’s whole field of vision was spider mandibles and a plethora of individually winking eyes. The health potion was finished.

  On your knees.

  Damien dropped to his knees, his hands in his lap, as Mordred continued toying with him. He’d never felt so completely powerless. Not even against Archimonde. At least with Archimonde, he’d still been able to resist before he was consumed. There was no illusion of hope to be found here. He was less than a fly. Flies do not obey instruction.

  Pop out your tongue.

  Repulsive. Demeaning. Inevitable. Damien felt himself stick out his tongue, and hated himself for it. Mordred raised a limb and gently stroked his face. A single tear rolled down Damien’s face, the only form of self-expression he’d made since Mordred locked eyes on him. Damien’s screen abruptly went completely black. He gasped. The game had ejected him, immediately. So much for being slowly eased back into reality. He could feel his own hot breath bouncing off the screen in front of him, the nodes of the headset pressing into his scalp. He was so relieved they were no longer transmitting.

  Which was when the sound of his own screams, coming not from his mouth but generated by the game itself, began. The customary message appeared, with all the insincerity of the one that had come before it about twenty-three hours prior:

  You have been DEVOURED by ‘Mordred’. Fatality. Your experience has been reset to the start of your current level and your body may be looted, at which point a random item of equipped gear will be forfeit.

  Remember, it’s only a game!

  Death cooldown – 23 hours, 59 minutes and 59

  seconds.

  Thank you for playing Saga Online.

  His stream was still active, he just wasn’t delivering it while logged in anymore. He could see the viewer count in the top right-hand corner: 60,000. 60,000 people had watched that happen to him. He wanted out, but his mind was in tatters. He started trying to talk over his artistically rendered screams in the background — tongueless, if his critical faculties were not so suppressed as to deceive him — continued for a full five seconds.

  “I...that wasn’t...I need to go. Bye.”

  He pulled off the headset and it shut down. He was in his own room. He pulled his arms around his shoulders, rocking gently back and forth on his bed. Then quickly went to turn on the light before adopting the position again. This would take more processing time than he was accustomed to.

  18

  Walk the Line

  Lillian tried calling again, but this time it was automatically declined. Damien had turned his headset off. She couldn’t blame him for seeking solitude, following that showstopper.

  First Archimonde, now Mordred. Damien really knew how to pick ’em. Which of the two was worse? The Possession-based ability Archimonde had used on her was centered around pure fear. There was no denying it, given what she’d seen when it was used on her. Mordred’s abilities seemed little or no better. She’d heard the spider’s voice resonating in Damien’s head and had watched as he obeyed, powerlessly. It was a toss-up, but she reckoned his most recent death had been just about the worst she’d ever witnessed, by a hair. Well. No. That wasn’t technically true. The worst in Saga Online, maybe.

  Arcadia was very realistic, but it was not real. The least real thing about it were the lack of consequences following death. There were a lot of factors surrounding death it could emulate passingly well: fear, anger, pain. Regret. The reality is far worse. People who die don’t get to feel anything afterwards. In reality, those feelings are only carried by those who are still living on behalf of the dead.

  Lillian had seen death. She knew the real thing, the consequences it held, intimately. She wasn’t afraid of it. She was afraid of what she might feel right before it happened. All the things she could’ve done differently flashing in front of her, until the endless loop came to an abrupt halt, for her at least, on her final thought. A lot of people playing Saga prioritized staying alive rather than giving it their all. Lillian knew this was no way to live, or die, in game or out of it.

  Not dying came second to living well. The two were closely tied. If you’re dying for something, it had better be more meaningful than what you’d achieve by continuing to live. In Saga there was a vast gulf between the two rather than a fractional overlap. Playing well was easily more important to her than suffering a laughably lenient twenty-four-hour “death”.

  She’d died a lot, to Andrew’s dismay, when they started playing. He’d mistaken her overenthusiasm for continually misreading the odds. This lasted for about a week, until she calibrated her character with the requisite skills, stats and traits that allowed her to survive odds no one else would even consider facing.

  Gradually, she died less and less without changing the way she operated. By the time Lillian hit level 20, she didn’t die at all. Constantly testing her limits to breaking point, then calibrating her character so her limits were broken rather than her, had resulted in the ability to cheat death by repeating the split-second decisions that led to it.

  Funny, how her nickname was ‘The Immortal’, given how often she’d died acquiring the expertise to earn it.

  Damien did not work like her. Not even remotely. He prioritized staying alive, meticulously planning out as much as he could to remove as much risk as possible. That’s why she was so quick to accept his death. Had she been in his place against Mordred, she’d have fared no better.

  Lillian called him yet again as Legolias and Mr. Healy echoed the conversations happening all over Saga Online media.

  “That was bad. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t on alert before it attacked.”

  “Oh give over, Legolias! It was eating one of his imps,
that was the best window he was gonna get.”

  “Sure, Healy boy, sure. Except he didn’t attack it from stealth! The whole dungeon is built around stealth, he’s needed it at every stage. How did he decide not to remain in stealth when he was attacking the most dangerous enemy he’s come across so far?”

  Andrew’s voice cut through their dispute, loud yet singsong in its lilt and sway. Lillian knew that voice. He used it to mask his anger.

  “How many bosses have you come across that needed to be killed from permanent stealth, Legolias?”

  Legolias stuck his chin out.

  “None. Because I’ve never been in the Dark Tower, on the Path of Deceit. He should’ve seen it coming.”

  Andrew closed his menu and looked straight at Legolias, who stared back. The rest of them watched. All the singsong dissipated from Andrew’s voice, replaced with pure derision.

  “Yet I don’t believe anyone saw it coming, not even from behind the safety and separation offered by a screen. Are you seriously telling me you knew, categorically, that if Damien locked eyes with the boss he would become bound to its commands and it would inevitably eat his face?”

  “I knew leaving stealth wasn’t a good idea.”

  “He had to start somewhere. What seems safer to you, a ranger, than a ranged attack from long distance? You’re surely aware that would require Damien to stand upright so he could achieve—”

  “You’re not our leader anymore, Aetherius. Just because you got us through the last couple of riddles—”

  Lillian stepped in, marking the end of their recreational activity. While it was a shame it hadn’t ended on a more positive note, it did not bear the hallmarks of becoming more positive if she let this discussion continue further.