The mages fell down to the gates in terror, screaming piteously, then jumped up and ran inside.
“Y-o-o-o-u-u-u! Mmoo-o-orrtals!”
“Mi-i-ine!”
“Oo-ou-urrrsss!”
“Foo-oo-ood!”
The harpoons burst out of me and returned to their owners. The Companions forgot all about me as soon as the six mortal morsels ran screaming into their lair.
My pathetic 3% health demanded only one thing — to get out of there right now! But what then? The mages would revive and come back! I had to act.
Flying up, I went back to floor 50 and approached the threshold of the gates. That’s when I laid eyes on the Companions. Three ashen humanoid figures floated in ragged gowns floated above the ground, with goat skulls instead of heads and nightmarish mouths that a dull green light. They were twice the height of any titan. The Companions held green lanterns hanging from chains in their left hands, harpoons in their right. Their lamps swung, casting light in predatory flashes that tore away layers of flesh like the scorching light of an atom bomb.
The Companions were torturing the poor mages like I’d been tortured by the Living Sieve in the Nether. The effect of Ghastly Howl had already ended, but they had no chance to escape. They were bound in the same chains that had been preventing me from flying away only a few moments ago.
The mages’ bones were already beginning to shine through, blood fountaining from a multitude of torn capillaries. I finally managed to make out their names: Karlesh, Mario, Shade, Ducknose, Cardinal and Pilgrim. Karlesh’s eyes had fallen out and the pink of his brain shone through his open skull.
The next thing I did was highly cynical. I was cold-blooded enough to cast Spirit Shackles at the bosses’ feet, and to borrow Ducknose’s class to level up Imitation. Right after that, I flew down a hundred floors to recover my health in peace.
Imitation level increased: +1. Current level: 2.
Twenty minutes later, I came back. The gates were wide open, the Companions melding into the shadows, only the two lanterns jaggedly lighting the entrance. Nothing remained of the mages but blackened puddles of blood. The levitating adventurers had apparently agreed to start their first day by hunting me. By their logic, they risked nothing — Scyth was still at level one, languishing at the bottom of the Pitfall, defenseless, weak. Unfortunately for them, even the paralyzed Herald had a couple of tricks up his sleeve.
After reviving not in the graveyard, but in the nightmarish spot where they died, the mages were stunned and hesitated. Each had lost a level, and no doubt they all wanted to quickly make up for lost time, but it wasn’t to be.
The Companions, hissing gleefully about mortals and food and arguing as to who it belonged to, materialized from the shadows and pulled the mages in with their harpoons. I was feeling sick as it was without watching that again, so I just copied the class and level of Pilgrim, one of the mages, refreshed Spirit Shackles and took off upwards. I flew the same way as before, still limp and Trixie-like, as if an invisible hand was lifting up a cloth voodoo doll.
On floor 29 I intercepted another group on its way to ‘deal with Scyth.’ This raid of over thirty contestants was led by Yermak the Paladin.
I took his class and level and improved my skill:
Imitation level increased: +1. Current level: 3.
Now I could copy equipment too. I celebrated this by triumphantly blowing several bubbles of drool from my mouth, then hid in the shadows over the edge, deciding to listen in on the players. Afraid of accidentally falling off, they were pressed against the wall and didn’t see me.
“We have to hurry!” Yermak’s voice echoed. “Those mages can only float, they don’t have full control yet. So we might have enough time.”
Does he mean my mages? I thought. They have no control at all right now.
“I remember once playing Path of Emperors as a hunter. The spellcasters there couldn’t fly at all,” the contestant Perant said.
“Wow, yeah, just like Dis!” Enigma the saboteur scoffed sarcastically.
“That was a strategy game anyway,” Naiterio the druid agreed. “I remember that game Rakuen, used to be popular way back in 2031, and…”
What Naiterio wanted to say next remained a mystery. Flying out, I hovered before the raid and mentally greeted them all amicably: Run and hide! Ghastly Howl!
Luckily, none of them had any passive resists to crowd control. The players ran in all directions in Fear, screaming and waving their arms. A fun diversion, but not very effective, I thought… and began to improvise.
The mechanics protected the players from falling over the edge, but I corrected that misunderstanding. Floating my listless body through the air, I swung myself at the ones who approached the edge, knocking them into the abyss. There wasn’t enough time to push them all off, but I managed to send around ten down to meet the bottom of the Pitfall. I even scored a strike, knocking three players off at once: Yermak the raid leader, Enigma the saboteur and Naiterio the druid. They had a long time to fall, so after Fear lifted, Naiterio would have plenty of time to finish telling his story.
I even followed them for a while in the guise of Yermak, but at floor 50 we parted ways — I had some unfinished business there.
The conveyor belt was in motion. I revived the mages again, now down another level, checked that the Companions were still being good hosts, copied a new disguise, flew up, sent the survivors from Yermak’s raid running again, threw the ones I could off the edge and went back to revive the mages on floor 50.
After repeating this four times, I suddenly realized I could add removing seals into the routine. Remembering the Companions, I took off again as soon as I broke a seal. I opened six floors in a row, starting at 51, which leveled my Resilience up to 27.
Swearing furiously all the way, the squad of mages was eventually knocked out of the Demonic Games to the last man. Yermak’s raid recovered, but now they moved strictly one at a time, and only by running from cover to cover. From their whispers I learned that I’d really rattled them. When I realized what they were talking about, I laughed to myself: it was my lifeless body that scared them, floating around the Pitfall like a corpse in a pond.
From the conversations in Roman and Meister’s raid, I heard that Destiny’s group had hidden away sensibly within the instances of floors 19 and 20 along with Quetzal and Marcus.
The crafty jeweler, as it turned out, had forged a ring that shows all living creatures nearby, and that helped the raid see that I was close. Roman the troll thoroughly cursed me and I couldn’t use my skills for a minute. As I fell to the deafening laughter of the raid group, I prayed to the Sleepers that I wouldn’t reach the bottom before the troll’s curses lifted.
A minute later, with Flight back, I was already shooting upwards to take vengeance. By then I’d learned how to completely disguise myself as anyone. Copying Jeweler Meister’s appearance, I threw my body into the path of Roman’s group, spread out on the staircase. Bloomer the poet was the first to reach me.
“Woah, Meister, are you alright?” he asked in concern. “Are you sick?”
I had no control of my tongue. I tried to croak: Terribly sick. I want to scream, but emitted only a barely audible groan. Bloomer looked even more worried:
“What? Hey, get down here, guys! Meister’s sick! Hey… How did you end up down here anyway?”
“What’s up, Bloomer?” the real Meister shouted.
Ghastly Howl came in answer. Then came another bowling match with players as the pins and me as the ball, then it was time to fly back down, remove some seals and level up my Resilience. The angriest member of the raid, Roman the curser, I sent to sleep with Lethargy, then waited for the rest to run away and shoved him over the edge.
The greatest treat of it all was to run into the Readers clan — those same players who had refused to let me sit down. Or they ran into me, depending on your perspective. The masters of speed spellreading and friends of Evilfort decided to seek me out after learning
that their enemy had been paralyzed.
They kept Invisibility active as they went, attacked me from behind while I was removing the seal on floor 60. I wouldn’t have had a chance against the expertly skilled mages if it hadn’t been for Liberation. It reflected the Sheep class skill back at Levius, and Ghastly Howl sent them into the instance and straight to the boss — ten horrifying flat slugs around three feet long and one wide:
Atling, Demon, level 60 Gate Guardian
Dungeon Boss.
The transparent Atlings stuck themselves to the Readers from head to toe, digging in with their needle-like appendages, sucking out with a slurp not only their blood, but even their flesh and bones. My stomach turned from the sight of the slugs gorging themselves on the mangled bodies and I flew away, not forgetting to cast Spirit Shackles first.
The grinding process repeated itself: a diversion up above, then revive the Readers, remove some seals…
By the end of the game day, I would have danced with joy at the sight of my skill levels if only I could:
Unarmed Combat: 7.
Stoneskin: 6.
Meditation: 5.
Night Vision: 64.
Resilience: 32.
Ghastly Howl: 36.
Imitation: 9.
Lethargy: 3.
Liberation: 2.
The day, which I’d initially written off as lost, had turned out pretty productive. I had ten disincarnated contestants on my conscience. Thanks to me, many players had lost levels and the top players’ progress was stalled.
The second day of the Demonic Games is over!
Staring at Kerry as she stood by my capsule laughing, I moved my arms just to make sure I could, then said to my helper:
“Ue-ue…”
“What?”
“That damn paralysis made me forget how to talk! Hah! Imagine what I could have done if I wasn’t paralyzed!”
“I have been imagining it. That’s why…” Two security droids moved out from behind her back. “I don’t know what it is, Alex. Female intuition, sixth sense or second sight… I just have a feeling we’re going to need bodyguards after that performance!”
Chapter 10. The Kiran Jackson Way
I WAS NO EXPERT in security droids, so I asked with sincere interest what Kerry had brought. My assistant happily told me that these ones had been made at Snowstorm, but there were a few big brand names on the market.
As they escorted us, the security droids moved soundlessly and seemed nothing like the ones illustrated in the sci-fi films of the start of the century — they were light, but highly durable, flexible and fast. And of course, not at all humanoid.
In travel mode, they just rolled along in the shape of a ball, but if the object of their guardianship fell into danger, they instantly transformed into one of their battle forms. These ones weren’t military, so they had no serious weaponry, but they could make a shield around me to hold off fire even from plasma rifles. The droids could neutralize an enemy in various ways depending on the situation, either mechanically or with chemical suppression. They had a wide range of methods, from tranquilizers and paralytics to launchable self-guiding handcuffs and an indestructible sticky net that could pin even a small flyer to the ground.
“All the same, not counting military prototypes, our security droids are the best,” Kerry added. “Even Mr. Jackson uses the products of Snowstorm Robotics. And he could afford any kind.”
“I doubt that. As the company director, he couldn’t be seen to buy the competition’s products.”
“Naw, he has a Rolls-Royce flyer, and we make flyers too! I saw Kiran’s security once. It’s impressive, that’s for sure! His droids are real killing machines. Just one of them could take out a small country’s army from the start of the century. Even take over a country.”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” I said doubtfully.
“Hah! They’re immune to gunfire, they have a forcefield against kinetic weaponry. What else?”
“You could toss them into molten metal,” I said, remembering an ancient film. “How do you know all this anyway?”
Kerry blushed, but answered. It turned out she’d been a weaponry nut since childhood. She’d gotten the hobby from her father, a former peacekeeper. I didn’t find out any details, because five players suddenly surrounded us — the Readers clan I knocked out of the game had intercepted us in the elevator area.
Evilfort the clan leader stepped forward first, a tall white-haired man of around forty. He spat at my feet, stared at me angrily:
“Proud of yourself, are you?” he said.
JustGoofy stood next to his leader. “Do you know what you’ve done, Sheppard?” he said, staring hard at me. He began to move toward me.
“Don’t, Goof,” Levius blocked him with an arm. “You think he even cares? He’s a selfish asshole! We’re just obstacles in the path to his…” He made air quotes with his fingers. “…great goal!” What is your goal, Sheppard? Want to share it with us, now that you set us up like that? Maybe it was worth it? Huh?”
Passing players were drawn to the scene like sharks to blood. Camera drones surrounded us and a bald and disheveled young man in glasses started filming us on his comm, adding his own excited commentary.
I wanted to say something that the viewers would like. Enough debuffs already! Kerry pulled me by the arm and I stood my ground. The Readers didn’t give me a chance to open my mouth.
“No, I’m going to say my piece!” JustGoofy shouted and surged toward me again. “That was a mean trick, Sheppard!”
I was calm, but the viewers might take my silence as indifference. I doubted that would win me any favor. So I exploded, staring him down with righteous indignation:
“How’s that?! You were the ones who attacked me from behind! You were the ones who wanted to throw me out of the Games, knowing I had the paralysis debuff! Talk about kicking a guy while he’s down! What, should I have given up like a good boy?”
“Go to hell!” JustGoofy roared. “Fighting us and throwing us to the boss is one thing! But then pinning us with that dumb spell of yours and making us revive there over and over!”
“Didn’t you hear? You weren’t the only ones,” I answered, but he didn’t hear me, just kept shouting:
“You freak, do you have any idea how much that hurt? And not just physically! We bet all our money on getting into the top one hundred in the Games! Almost ten million, you asshole! Who’s going to get that back for us? You?”
“Why the hell would I do that? Did all those wipes make you crack?”
Gingrin tried to calm his comrade down again:
“Don’t give him the satisfaction! It’s not worth it! He doesn’t give a shit what we lost!”
“Let’s go, Alex!” Kerry said, pulling me toward the elevator. “Ignore them, their accusations are a joke!”
“A joke, you say?” Coover snapped, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head who hadn’t said anything yet. He snarled and rushed straight at me.
“Aggression detected! Countermeasure mode! Defense mode!” the security droids began, first trying to intimidate, but active countermeasures soon followed. “Pacification!”
One droid formed two shields like those used to hold back protestors, and stood between us. In the next instant, Coover fell down unconscious. The other droid held a shield aloft and bore down on the others like a bulldozer, moving both them and the gathered crowd of onlookers away from Kerry and me. My assistant took advantage of her opportunity to dart into the elevator, pulling me in behind. The first droid curled itself into a ball and rolled toward us, while the second stayed behind to cover our retreat…
Back in the hall of ceremonies, where dinner was already underway, I felt the angry stares from the mages who were out of the Games thanks to me. This was their last supper, a tradition: even contestants who were knocked out had to stay until the morning of the next day, to watch the highlights, give interviews, and if they felt like it, say goodbye to the others. On top of that,
they were still holding out hope that the audience would save one of them.
I chewed my food unhurriedly, keeping my head down and trying to shake the feeling that everyone was staring at me.
After dinner, gamesmaster Guy Barron Octius made another appearance to comment on the best moments of the day and declare the results of the viewers’ vote. I raised my head, unsure what to expect. I felt like I gave a good performance. Sure wasn’t boring, at least… But it all depended on how you looked at it. The viewers might see Ghastly Howl and Flight as imba abilities, and the treatment for cheaters was the same in all eras: they were hated and brought low at any opportunity.
The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Page 15
