The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  Path of Justice

  Choosing the Path of Justice doubles the effectiveness of all your skill’s combat moves.

  My Hammerfist was now Crushing, and fully ignored armor, dealing more damage, although it was still mostly cut down by the demon’s defense. His arms, which had previously been glowing red, began to blaze up.

  To reach the second rank of Unarmed Combat, I had to deal far more blows. The system put me on the Path of Spirit, returning my protectors: my beast protector the owl, and my element — air. I had Stunning Kick, Fast Combo and Storm Fists had back in my arsenal, though I had no time to set them up. All my moves became Spirit moves, and now I could hit at range again, but I had to preserve my precious spirit points. So I redoubled my efforts and tried to stay close to the demon’s arms as they slowly withdrew into the opening.

  Better and more useful to take no risk at all! When that bright idea dawned on me, I switched to Storm Fists — an aerial move that turned my normal strikes into Hammerfists! And in Clarity, they dealt twice as much damage!

  By the tenth second of my accelerated movement, I’d used almost ninety Hammerfists strengthened by Rindzin’s Ghostly Talon, and struck thirty times with Storm Fists. In the meantime, Abaddon was still falling somewhere in the depths of his cavern, his arms drawing back in. The demon had lost almost three million health, and I was already halfway to the gates, with one second of superspeed left to make my escape.

  I glanced at the logs, then at the Clarity timer, which showed…

  What the..?!

  I had… 64 seconds left, not one?!

  Unarmed Combat level increased: +3. Current level: 63 (rank II).

  Accuracy and damage of strikes dealt without a weapon increased by 820%.

  Spirit: +300. Total: 7,590.

  I roared in triumph and changed my mind about leaving, but when I looked back at my target, I went cold — the hands weren’t just shimmering anymore. The demon’s arms had filled with blinding light and seemed about to explode at any moment. As if in slow motion, I was seeing the beginning of a nuclear explosion, the point from which a deathly heat was about to blast out in all directions.

  After a second’s hesitation — Abaddon made the perfect training dummy and I would have gladly taken advantage of him for longer — I decided not to risk it and to get as far away as I could from the Pitfall. That’s just what I did, tearing off away from the gates and upwards. The walls flashed by, blurring into a single glowing point.

  I froze high up in the sky and only then slowed back down. I suddenly felt sick, and my head started pounding like it had been broken open by an axe. The effect of long Clarity? The world swam before my eyes, my vision doubled, then tripled and started spinning like a carousel. I barely managed to focus my vision. With a dim eye, I saw a fiery blaze explode upwards from the Pitfall. A moment later, the boom of the explosion hit my ears.

  Deciding not to leave my character in mid-air, I flew off to find shelter in the forest. Even the Sleeper couldn’t say what tricks Snowstorm would brew up against me next, after seeing my fight with Abaddon. They might remove my skills, and then Scyth would fall without Flight, knocking me out of the Demonic Games.

  Finding a spot in a forest glade surrounded by dead trees and strange, thorny bushes, where there were no NPCs or players, I calmed down and used the final minutes of the game day to review what I’d achieved:

  Unarmed Combat (rank II): 63.

  Stoneskin: 6.

  Meditation: 15.

  Night Vision (rank I): 18.

  Resilience: 42.

  Ghastly Howl: 37.

  Imitation: 9.

  Lethargy: 3.

  Liberation: 2.

  Rank one of Night Vision was a nice surprise — I must have missed that during my trance…

  “Well, well, well… Look who’s here!”

  The bushes parted and two players walked out: Phobos, a level 21 orc warrior, and Smoothie, a level 19 dark elf mage.

  I braced myself, preparing for battle. I could take the duo out in a flash with Clarity, but my head was still splitting and I almost had no spirit left. If they’d wanted to attack, they could have caught me unawares. Anyway, what could you do in fifteen seconds before the game ended?

  “Scyth, wow…” the elf girl said, standing a respectful distance away. “Turns out you don’t look so bad, you know. Handsome!”

  Her eyes flitted back and forth, she danced impatiently on the spot and kept looking over my shoulder. I suddenly got a bad feeling and took off into the air half an instant before the vampire rogue Riker attacked from behind. Thanks for the bad acting, Smoothie!

  Flight! I flew up a few feet, but the elf girl had great reaction speed: she waved her arms, spread her fingers and two silvery flashes whipped toward me. Before I could activate Clarity, she unfolded a dome of shimmering transparent netting over me, which instantly stuck to my body, binding my movements.

  Ephemeral Web of Pacification

  You are immobilized for 30 seconds or until the web is destroyed, and you lose 14 health per second. Ability cast speed reduced by 50%.

  Attention — the web is invulnerable to physical damage!

  Unlike the girl, my reaction speed was terrible; it was like someone had slowed down time specially for me. It was probably a side effect of spending such a long time in Clarity — my perception of space and time was distorted.

  My Ghastly Howl emitted as a reflex sounded unconvincing and didn’t affect any of them — either because my slowed state corrupted the ability or because the gankers were far above my level.

  Now falling and covered by the Web, I activated Clarity, but it didn’t even switch on, although my spirit had had time to recover a little. Panicking, I tried to pull away, but I couldn’t even move. Grinning with satisfaction, the orc waved his sword and ran straight at me.

  How dumb could I be?! To escape from Abaddon himself only to get caught like this!

  Then, finally, Clarity activated. The orc stopped two paces away. Or rather, he didn’t stop, he slowed. It was as if he was stuck in thickening space, and overcoming the resistance demanded enormous effort. The shield in his offhand slowly melted away, replaced by a trident.

  The Web began to move, slowly pushing me down, pressing into my body. And that was in Clarity! That meant if time had continued flowing normally, then I would have been turned into mincemeat in a second. I tried to fly away again, saw it was useless and then suddenly remembered my new skills. Maybe I couldn’t wrench myself away or hit the web, but what about this?

  Spirit-Crushing Hammerfist of Justice!

  I dealt the blow from inside the web. The ability mechanic worked: a phantom fist imprinted on the Ephemeral Web of Pacification as if forcing its way through a thick film, sending scarlet flashes leaping across the fine threads of the net and taking away half its durability. I had to hit it three times. The spirit-strengthened strikes spent my supply of the resource, and when the Web fell off me, I only had one more second of Clarity left.

  Windmilling my arms, I ran straight at the most dangerous target, the rogue… And didn’t make it. My acceleration ended and the comedown afterwards slowed my perception of time; I started to slow again as if moving through sludge, my movements turning predictable.

  Riker dodged the fist aimed at his face, slipped behind me and attacked. My back exploded in pain and I flew through the air, and the orc’s gigantic trident pinned me to the ground face-down. My life fell to half, and the bar kept going down.

  “Cut his head off, Phobos!” the elf girl shouted.

  Clenching my teeth, I twisted and pulled the trident from the small of my back, watching with my peripheral vision as the mage girl shot pale white threads toward me. To my right, Riker drew back both his arms, daggers in hand, planning to hit me crosswise, and to my left Phobos waved his sword.

  Rolling toward the orc, I dodged the vampire’s attack and caught the sword on the trident. The white tentacle launched by the elf girl froze right in front of
my face, and at that moment…

  The fourth day of the Demonic Games is over!

  The message imprinted on my eyes and was still fading when I found myself back in the real world. The intragel drained away. I expected to see Kerry, rumpled after yesterday’s celebrations, but instead of her, an unfamiliar man around forty stood there. His narrow, elongated face reminded me of a rat. His white hair was slicked back, baring a sloping forehead.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sheppard. My name is Donald. I am your new temporary assistant. Though not for long.”

  “Hey… Uhm… Where’s Kerry?”

  “Miss Hunter no longer works with us. As for you, I will inform you, unofficially for now, that you are to be disqualified for breaking the rules of your contract.”

  “Breaking the rules?! How?!”

  Unembarrassed by my nudity, I climbed out of the capsule and advanced on the smug man. Adrenalin still coursed through my blood, both from Abaddon and from my lucky rescue, and now this news!

  “Did you familiarize yourself carefully with the contract?” Donald asked venomously. “No contact with the outside world is allowed. It is seen as an attempt to gain an advantage in the Demonic Games through non-game methods. Accordingly, that is what Miss Hunter was fired for. After all, it was through her that you tried to contact your friends, yes?”

  Blood rushed to my face and my dry throat closed up. When I tried to clear it, it felt as if full of sand. The injustice of the accusation made me so angry that I couldn’t help myself; I clenched my fists and raised my arm. All my emotions were aimed right at that self-satisfied rat face.

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Sheppard, calm yourself. This is not my decision. Please get dressed. Octius will announce your disqualification after dinner.”

  I couldn’t get enough air. I watched Donald go, waited until I was alone, then slid down the wall of my capsule to the floor.

  Interlude 1. Guy Barron

  AS A CHILD, Guy Barron Octius had always hated both his first name and his middle name. Both Guy and Barron just rubbed him the wrong way, and he demanded that he be called simply Octi. However, once he grew up, he changed his mind, and Octi became a thing of the past.

  Half a century had gone by since he became Mr. Octius. His childhood nickname was long forgotten, as nobody used it anymore. Nobody but one person.

  Mr. Guy Barron Octius was a solid, gray-bearded man who didn’t dye his gray hairs, use rejuvenating face cream or try to hide his huge beer gut… His wife of sixty looked like a thirty-year-old track-and-field champion who could run a two-hundred-yard race at any moment, and her husband’s appearance annoyed her endlessly. At first she tried to make her spouse change his ways, but in the end she got tired of fighting and gave up. This is my image, Sylvia, and it’s the one I’m comfortable with, Octius explained to her, and she accepted it eventually. She could argue with her husband about anything else, but not work. Fearing for his health, Sylvia insisted only that her husband not skip those procedures that purified and rejuvenated the body.

  Guy Barron ended up at Snowstorm by accident. In his mid-fifties, he produced the Robot Gladiator Superleague, and also commentated its battles. At that time the league was flourishing, but under constant pressure from the community to ban robot duels. The UN had already drawn up laws for robotic rights, and Octius knew it was time to move on.

  The offer from Snowstorm came at the perfect time. The company’s founding fathers, still not household names back then, invited him to a private island in the North Sea. Truthfully, they should have been called ‘fathers and mother,’ since there was a woman among them.

  Octius didn’t agree right away. The Snowstorm company of that day wasn’t much like the corporation of today. It was only just starting to pick up speed, although there was already talk of their revolutionary game. After the Third World War, people didn’t have much use for entertainment. Captivating robot gladiator battles were one thing — that was simple and understandable entertainment, fun for the lower and upper classes alike. A virtual world with full immersion was something else entirely. Back then, it was seen as a thing of fantasy, and sounded more like a marketing gimmick than something real. Virtual reality suits were already in use, but nobody forgot for a second that they were in a game. The characters repeated the motions of the real body, and perfectly realistic graphics were still a thing of theory…

  When he arrived at the island, Guy Barron shivered and regretted turning up. A gust of northern wind hit him in the face, burning his cheeks with frost. Sure, Snowstorm promised mountains of gold, but what were promises worth? The project might take off, or it might die. And if Disgardium didn’t live up to the hopes placed on it, if the game failed, his contract with Snowstorm would be over before it began. And what then? Snowstorm demanded exclusivity — if he signed their contract, Octius would be cut off from all his other projects.

  In fact, he had agreed to hear out the company’s founders not for the money, but more out of curiosity.

  A swarthy young man met Octius by the landing pad. He introduced himself as Kiran Jackson. Everyone knows Jackson now, but in those days he was just an assistant to one of the founding fathers. All five were still living, back then.

  The interested parties met in a humble two-story house. Kiran said he worked for Mr. Anderson. The assistant led Octius to his boss’s office, then quietly left.

  Four men and a woman sat waiting for their guest in a spacious room. They looked young. Guy Barron would have guessed their age at no older than thirty.

  The house’s owner, a sturdy man of average height, stood up first to greet him and introduced himself:

  “Mike Anderson. Thanks for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Octius.”

  “Just Octi, Mr. Anderson,” Guy said, smiling and shaking the man’s strong outstretched arm, thinking to himself: how welcoming these people are that I suddenly remembered my childhood nickname…

  “In that case, go ahead and call me Mike,” Anderson answered.

  The others rose behind Anderson. They introduced themselves:

  “Iovana,” the blonde woman said, offering her hand. Octius kissed it with pleasure.

  “Ola,” the stocky black man nodded.

  “Manuel,” said a big man of Latin-American origin who looked the oldest in the company.

  “Vyacheslav,” a gray-haired athletic man with a beard rumbled. “But call me Slava.”

  Only after the meeting did Octius make inquiries and learn that these people weren’t thirty, they were already past fifty and had achieved recognition, but they stayed in the background, avoided publicity.

  The house’s owner, Mike Anderson, founded a company specializing in VR games in his twenties. Manuel Fuentes and Vyacheslav Zaitsev joined him a year later, and with their arrival the company’s business started booming. Ola Afelobi, the greatest mathematician of the modern age, solved all six unsolved Millennium Prize Problems and then, with top job offers from the largest corporations, for some reason decided to work at Mike’s humble company. The last in the team of founding fathers was Iovana Savic, who, some time later, had won a Nobel Prize for discovering the ability to transfer human consciousness. But only the ability — its implementation had remained an unsolved problem to that day.

  They had been working on the project for over twenty years, and had started by founding the Snowstorm company specially for Disgardium in the thirties. They hired the best game designers, programmers, virtual reality capsule engineers…

  Iovana Savic held a leading role at Snowstorm. It was thanks to her efforts that the latest generation of capsules had begun to interact directly with the brain, with the universal communicator of Intragel, developed by the Savic-Afelobi scientific group — Ola had also had a hand in the breakthrough technology of total immersion.

  But this was the first time Octius had ever met these people. He knew nothing of those achievements, so he was surprised by their ambitious plans, and even laughed to himself. Their schemes seemed naive and utopian.
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  “The world is on the brink of a collapse, Octi,” Iovana said, once they were seated on the sofas and chairs around snack-laden table. “And not just one.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Iovana means to say that if nothing changes, civilization will collapse in 2066,” Vyacheslav clarified. “Humanity will be set back not just to the dark ages, but all the way to the stone age.”

  “Are we to become savages?” Octius imitated an Indian war face and beat his fists against his chest. “Sorry, but that’s nonsense. And why 2066 exactly? Why so precise? Did the Mayan calendar predict it? Those guys already missed their chance in 2012!”

  Nobody seemed to notice his mocking tone. Calm, serious faces, without a smile in sight. They’re looking at me like I’m a child, Octius thought in annoyance, truly feeling like one.