“And now day four has ended,” Messiah continued, not forgetting to look from side to side so that everyone could see his proud profile. “And what have we seen? Pathetic plays, cowardice, and trickery in all its forms! My God, everything you do is just tricks, Alex!” he shook his head and clicked his tongue, sighed heavily and spread his arms. “Such is life! The weak and inept will do anything for a place under the sun. You’re like a cockroach crawling out into the light and suddenly thinking you’re equal to us! To everyone who got high citizenship status, high level and ranks in Disgardium through hard work alone, their own and that of their ancestors! You’re the incarnation of the idiotic dreams of lowly freeloaders everywhere! The kind of people who spend their whole lives lying on the couch and dreaming of waving a magic wand to become rich and famous. They’re the ones that support you, Sheppard…” Loran paused.
“Huh. And you’re an aristocrat, I guess?” I asked. Strangely, his words didn’t bother me, just amused me. “Blue blood?”
“Oh, don’t be envious,” he said. “Maybe you have support from the inwinova and other such undesirables, but you have no business in our circle. Remember that once and for all!”
Loran waved vaguely with the back of his hand — as if to say leave, I’m done with you, — and sat back, folding his arms. For my part, although partly accepting his position — it was true, I’d been lucky, — I was more surprised that he was the one saying it and not Destiny. These were basically her words, since, as far as I knew, Loran himself wasn’t from a high-category background. He’d got to the top through Dis.
Anger flared up, not at Messiah or Destiny themselves, but at all those who called themselves chosen ones while they ‘grant’ everyone else rest the right to exist. Those who consider themselves better by default, forgetting that not all castes have the luck to be born talented, smart, rich and beautiful. Stunning Destiny had had the luck to be the daughter of the owner of a large corporation, but what good had she herself done for humanity? The best tutors and education, genetic correction, an indulgent youth and Disgardium — that was her life.
Messiah had delivered this one-man performance with some goal in mind. But I was no mute actor, no decoration. My mind suppressed the emotions rising up like steam from beneath a kettle lid. I could use the shapeshifter’s words. The main audience of the Games were the very people that Loran had called undesirables. Seeing out of the corner of my eye that the camera drones hadn’t flown away and were waiting for events to develop, I spoke to Messiah:
“A man’s in-game name says a lot about him, Loran. Yours doesn’t just talk, it shouts about who you dreamed of becoming when you chose it. Messiah — the Lord’s anointed, right? The second incarnation of Christ? Or just a herald of the new gods? Whatever you had in mind, apparently you wanted to become something bigger than you are, and bring something good into the world. That was your dream, right?”
“Where’s the crime in that?” Loran smiled, addressing the cameras. “Teenagers dream of all sorts of things.”
The hall froze. There was no sound but the whirr of the mosquito cloud of hovering drones.
“The crime is that you betrayed your childhood dreams,” I said. “When you became a great magician, you gained access to the strongest in the world of Dis. Your dream was to enter the Children of Kratos. Yeah, I watched your interview, you kept bringing that up. Even now, by sitting next to Destiny and parroting her thoughts to me, you think you’ve taken one more step toward that dream. Wow, the Children of Kratos! That closed-off clan has the best of the best in the real world, and if they take you, then you’ll be just like them, right? And until then, at least you can make big speeches. Our circle… You make me laugh, Messiah. You’re not in their circle. You’re let close, but not let in. And if they do let you in, then your circle is very small, a chosen few, the elite.”
“Pfft…” he scoffed. “That’s the whole point, Sheppard! Only the worthy, and those are one in a million! Who’s in your circle?”
“My circle is all the rest. The low-category citizens, the non-citizens — they’re my circle! And I say that proudly!”
“Bullshit,” Messiah snorted. “A cheap attempt to win over the public!”
“Playing games with the public is your thing, dro…”
In total silence, I turned away and walked to my table. I had barely audibly whispered the contemptuous ‘dro,’ a word that non-citizens used for citizens. Those sitting furthest away didn’t get it right away, had to ask each other what I’d said, but then… The noise sure was something!
Every table started discussing me, since they were all done with their food already. I wasn’t, though. I sat down and started wolfing down some vegetable and scallop soup, then moved on to a juicy steak. I focused on shoveling food into my mouth. My stroll through the hall had given me time to see who was sitting with whom, and even before the highlights were shown, I knew that the balance of power had changed.
Quetzal’s group now numbered only ten, including Infect and Tissa. They had joined forces, moving their two tables together. That was probably why Renato was in a bad mood, but it was still unclear why my former friends had stayed with him. Those two looked for advantage everywhere, and it would make more sense for them to go to Marcus, who had split off from Quetzal and whose group had taken in thirty people, among them not only former members of the Quetzal-Marcus raid, but also a few previously independent groups.
Apparently, all the soloers and small parties had come to the conclusion that they could only survive now as part of a strong raid. The fact that Destiny’s group had also grown confirmed that. The silver ranger from the Children of Kratos had ten tables full of people gathered around her, including the gankers Smoothie, Riker and Phobos. After Meister’s numerous, but non-combat group, this raid was the largest.
On the other side of the stage was the small group of my allies: Hellfish from the Travelers, Anna the White Amazon and the Modus players. I figured I could come to an agreement with Hinterleaf or Horvac for the essence if one of them won — I doubted they would refuse to take part in a crusade against the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague.
All this time, I felt the watchful eyes of Donald, my new assistant. He didn’t approach, but didn’t move his eyes off me for a second either.
The contestants lazily drank wine, cocktails or shots. Darkness gradually fell, the stage lit up, and, to the roaring hymn of the Games, Guy Barron Octius descended from the ceiling.
“Good evening, contestants!” he said in his thundering announcer’s voice. “The fourth day of the Demonic Games has completely altered the balance of power! Let us watch the highlights of the day!”
Judging by its ‘highlights,’ the day was relatively boring. After the meatgrinder on the floor of the Pitfall, it took the contestants a long time to climb back up. Most of yesterday and the better part of today. Along the way there were scandals and exchanged accusations, which continued into the next day. Some of the contestants got sick of walking and killed themselves on the gate seals, then wandered lazily through the Cursed Chasm, gathering resources or drinking in the tavern and planning as they awaited their partners.
The buccaneer Dagon, one of the suiciders, had decided that he’d rather not waste another day on the endless climb up the stairs. When he broke the seal on floor 400, he did the others no favors. At first, there was no sign of the danger. Dagon survived opening the gates thanks to an ability that absorbed deadly damage.
“My bad,” he said briefly later. “The proc chance is 10%. Lucky me, right?”
Next they showed us the boss leaping around on the threshold, Jester Riddick, a three-headed demon with burning eyes and a wide smile. His horns were painted red, blue and yellow and looked like a jester’s cap. Laughing mockingly, he shouted:
“Hey hey hey, mortals! Ha! Ha! It’s all upside down! Ha! Ha! It’s all moving around! Come in, let’s have some fun!”
Dagon, who still hadn’t solved his problem of quickly getting to th
e top, attacked the boss. The latter dodged with a giggle and a squeal, still shouting his “Ha! Ha!”, then suddenly appeared behind Dagon and kicked him in the rear, taking away his single point of health. Jester Riddick didn’t deal any serious direct damage.
As it turned out, he ‘joked,’ and his jokes were not only not funny, they were also very painful. Riddick magicked up a red-hot horseshoe that looked more like a toilet seat, and stuck it to Dagon’s backside.
Shrieking in pain, Dagon ran outside and away from the gates, taking no damage, then started crapping on everyone walking behind him. Lava poured out of the horseshoe! And wherever it flowed, you couldn’t walk for almost an hour. It all ended with Dagon jumping into the chasm, and the others had to wait for the lava to cool. Jester Riddick continued to croon his invite to all, promising ‘unforgettable excitement.’
Then Meister surprised everyone by somehow outfitting his entire raid with jewelry on the way up! That was probably why a few solo players had joined him. His group now included not only contestants famed for their non-combat skills, but also damage-dealers, tanks and healers. They were attracted by the great equipment, potions and food, all made by leading crafters. As I understood it, some of the ingredients came from the forest, some from within the instances, and some could be bought from the merchants in exchange for the demonic gold that fell from the mobs. Thanks to the generous buffs to movement speed from the food and potions, Meister’s raid quickly made its way upwards and partially farmed the not as yet cleared floor 20. These successes explained why Joseph, Roman and Nico had been in such a good mood.
But the best player of day four was still declared to be Marcus, but not for his progress — the players never did manage to get all the way up. After falling out with Quetzal over the Aegis, the orc not only turned most of the group to his side, but on the way up the stairs he brought in a few more strong players from smaller groups.
“Tomorrow’s going to be even more fun,” Marcus commented on his achievement. “We’re going to skip fifteen floors, even more. Our raid is strong enough to start at floor forty. Enough prancing around the Threat, it’s time to end this game.”
Amazingly, I wasn’t even featured in the highlights! Scyth was shown for just two seconds, sitting in lotus pose and meditating. That was it! They didn’t show my conversation with the demon, or the moment when he covered the dome with his hands, or the battle. They’d finally written me off, I realized. To avoiding causing an uproar, they had presented Scyth as a cowardly wimp who was afraid to leave the Aegis even without a worst-player penalty!
Before the voting started, when I saw that Octius was finishing up his overview and nobody would see my battle against Abaddon, I waved a hand in despair. I wanted a chance to speak, to talk about the day myself, but the gamesmaster didn’t even seem to notice me. When I tried to get to the stage, security droids moved to block my path and politely asked me to return to my seat.
Unsurprisingly, I was named the worst player of the day. As far as the viewers knew, I had spent the whole day beneath the shield.
Octius didn’t ask me for comments. Instead, he requested silence and declared sonorously:
“Don’t hurry to leave, we aren’t done yet! Before I make an important announcement, allow me to show you a recording that was taken this evening through the badge of former Snowstorm employee Kerry Hunter. For those who do not know her, she is the former assistant to Alex Sheppard, aka Herald Scyth.”
The holocube started to show the table where I was sitting. Kerry stood nearby. The viewers saw me asking her to contact my friends, and next came that moment in the bathroom in my room. My assistant asked what exactly I wanted to know and from whom. The recording cut off.
“Today, Kerry Hunter was arrested,” Octius said. “Her personal communicator contained two records of contact with Edward Rodriguez, a friend of Sheppard’s. The first was around midnight yesterday, the second — early in the morning. Hunter was unable to pass on the information she received; security intercepted her outside her contestant’s room this morning.”
For the contestants, my disqualification wasn’t news, they were just waiting for the official announcement, but the hall still broke out into chatter. The reason was news to them, and a surprise.
“According to the contract, players of the Demonic Games cannot make any contact with the outside world,” the presenter continued. “By decision of a specially created ethics commission, Alex Sheppard has been disqualified from the Demonic Games for life!”
Octius fell silent, cast a heavy gaze across the hall, found me and continued, his eyes locked on me:
“The decision… The decision is final. But before I go on, I suggest we listen to what the accused has to say in his defense. Alex, come up onstage!”
In dead silence, staring straight ahead and feeling hundreds of eyes glued to me, I walked up onto the stage and stood next to the gamesmaster.
“Speak,” Guy Barron whispered to me. “They’ll hear you.”
I took a step forward. The stage was in the center of the hall, and I couldn’t face everyone at once, but anyone looking at the holocube above could see my face.
“Good evening! There’s a lot I’ve thought about telling you while I watched the highlights. Like the fact that Snowstorm really didn’t want me to win, and did everything they could from the start to stop me from getting here. Did you know that the day before the Games began, the Celestial Arbitration sentenced me to trial by ordeal? I know you didn’t know, because I’m not Mogwai, I don’t stream. But I passed the gods’ challenge. Have you seen my Ghostly Talon? That’s a reward from the ordeal. And I won it without my Threat abilities, which I didn’t have there. But I didn’t win because I’m special or gifted either. No! I won because I had help from people I would call friends, but who I’d never heard of before the gods’ trial began…”
I fell silent, remembering Navalik, Lil’ Star and Mano’Hano. Octius patted me on the shoulder encouragingly and I continued:
“That’s always how it is. Most of my achievements are all thanks to the support of my friends. For obvious reasons, I can’t say who they are, apart from the ones you already know. I’m grateful even to Melissa Schafer and Malik Abdualim…” Several camera drones buzzed over to them, and the holocube showed close-ups of their stunned faces. “But as for Snowstorm… We have some serious differences of opinion. Unfortunately, I don’t have the right to reveal what they are, but the fact is that the corporation is actively working against me. It’s no secret to anyone that other contestants have always found ways to exchange information with the outside world. There are plenty of proven examples, and if you want to find out more, you can search online. None of them were disqualified, even those who got intel on their competitors…”
“Careful with accusations like that, Alex!” Octius interrupted. “They are mere supposition!”
“Fine, anyone interested can find it themselves anyway. The point is, I wasn’t trying to get an advantage through non-game methods. But Snowstorm couldn’t miss their chance to get rid of me…”
“Alex!”
“Does it not seem strange to you that the recording shows only the request to make contact, and not what exactly I wanted to learn from my friend Ed Rodriguez?”
“Mr. Sheppard!”
“I was asking about divine artifacts in the clan vault. Yeah, we have so many that I don’t remember them all, and I needed to know. Why do you think that is?”
“Why is it?” the gamesmaster asked reflexively.
“Because I realized a long time ago that I’m nothing without friends. I ended up at the Games without any. And I really wanted to make some new ones. I hope I succeeded. I realize I’m already out of the Games, but there’s more to life…”
“But Alex, you do understand that you broke the rules, whichever way you look at it?”
“I know. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t show my conversation with the demon from floor 666, or my battle with him, o
r the part where I fought three gankers in the woods. They’re here in the hall. Smoothie, Phobos and Riker. I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell you all about how they decided to attack me three-on-one…”
“What?” Octius seemed surprised. “Wait! You mean to tell me you fought the final boss?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean anything now, right, Mr. Octius?”
I shook his hand goodbye. The gamesmaster was struck dumb, standing open-mouthed. What, hadn’t he seen? Or was it all so fast in Clarity that he simply missed the battle?
As I descended from the stage, Loran stood up and shouted:
“Sheppard, what’s your deal with Meister? Did you sell out to him, Joseph?”
“Rosenthals do not sell out!” Joseph shouted, standing up. “What did the Children of Kratos promise you, hypocrite?”
“Look who’s talkin’, you old fart!”
The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Page 25
