Berserker: A LitRPG Urban Fantasy Adventure (Apocosmos Book 1)

by Dimitrios Gkirgkiris

  “I see. Well then, I guess we’ll have to use one of my crafter’s acquaintances.”

  “So business is good for you?”

  “It is. In the thousands of dollars of net profit per day, but I still haven’t looked at how I’d bring the money into the Cosmos.”

  “You’d need an ACL for that,” Leo said, and seeing that I didn’t take his bait and ask what that meant, he went on to explain anyway. “That’s short for ‘Apocosmos Capital Launderer’. I can give you the contact of my rep in the company my family uses. Cool woman and great rates.”

  “Thanks. That reminds me. I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “Another one?” he teased.

  “I kind of promised somebody that I’d talk to you about letting them play at your D&D table.”

  “Uh, sure,” he said, a tiny bit awkwardly. “Is it someone from work? Have they played before?”

  “I think they have, but no. They’re not from work. I actually mean the Apocosmos table you stream.”

  “Let me guess,” Leo said between laughs. “A fan wants a guest spot at the table?”

  “Pretty much,” I replied. “I didn’t know you were such a big deal in the nerdy community of the Apocosmos.”

  “You’re talking to an S-grade celebrity, peasant—”

  Leo’s monologue was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door and Louie’s almost immediate response to it, jumping up and maniacally barking.

  “My crafter’s here, Mr. Superstar. But are you cool with it? He’s asked me quite a few times already.”

  “Sure thing. Let’s set it up at lunch tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Thanks, bud. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you,” Leo responded and ended the call.

  The knocking on the door intensified and with it so did Louie’s barking.

  “Just a minute!” I shouted, quickly getting into a pair of boxers and throwing some shorts and a tank-top on me.

  Louie was on the verge of attacking the door by the time I got to it.

  “Will you relax?” I shouted at him. “It’s just Rory.”

  “It doesn’t smell like the dwarf, Alex,” Louie replied. “And I can see more than one person’s feet.”

  The realization hit me at the same time as a large plank from the wooden door as it exploded in front of me.

  Blood of Heroes

  Interlude II

  “And that was the first time I almost got murdered.” The berserker paused his story to the great disappointment of all the men and women that were now standing around him, listening.

  Alexander had just spotted the tattooed dwarf returning from the task that had previously taken him away. The doctore’s hands were dripping blood and this was certainly not a good sign. It never was.

  “Doctore, you’re bleeding,” said the battle-scarred orc and launched herself off the log she was sitting on.

  Seeing her standing, Alexander realized she was the largest orc he had ever seen. Perhaps giant’s blood ran in her veins. Her long green dreadlocks tapped on the back of her leather jerkin as she moved toward the dwarf who was breathing heavily—so heavily that one might think he had been running for hours. That, or that he had exhausted his stamina attacking someone with all of his might while also pulling his punches.

  “It’s not my blood, Gardun,” the dwarf said and raised a palm to keep her from coming any closer.

  The tall orc nodded and instead threw another thick log on the bonfire. Embers jumped up to her face and made the three thick earrings in each of her ears shine bright, but she didn’t even flinch. A few of the fiery pieces landed on her long, toned arms and faded there with a soft sizzling sound. Still, she registered no pain.

  Name: Gardun Yomgar

  Race: Khavaraan Orc

  Class: Totem Monk

  Level: 41

  HP : 1802/1810

  MP: 495/495

  XP : 26.11%

  STR: 37

  DEX: 31

  CON: 44

  INT: 18

  WIS: 12

  MEN: 27

  Alexander had no knowledge of the totem monk class, but was sure he had seen the two fist-weapons on the side of her belt before. They were definitely top C grade, which meant she had already upgraded her class at level 40. He also knew of the Khavaraan orcs. They were a very spiritual group of orcs, that lived in multiple realms and believed in soul progression and refinement through overcoming challenges in life. Fierce and proud warriors in their own right. Alexander could only hope he would not have to fight her. Still, he had to be prepared.

  Battle Stats

  Max HP: 1810

  Max MP: 495

  Physical Attack: 332

  Physical Defense: 438

  Accuracy: 82

  Critical: 44

  Attack Speed: 378

  Magic Attack: 89

  Magic Defense: 381

  Evasion: 84

  Speed: 139

  Casting Speed: 226

  HP Regen. : 12.7/minute

  MP Regen. : 3.9/minute

  A DEX-based fighter. Her Attack Speed wasn’t as fast as the elf assassin’s, but was still considerably faster than the doctore’s, even if her Physical Attack stat wasn’t as great. Taking her leather outfit into consideration, she had probably upgraded from a monk-based class, trained to avoid hits and in rapid counter-attacking. Alexander absorbed this bit of information and focused his eyes on the flames again.

  Yalfrigg walked dangerously close to the fire and to everyone’s surprise held out his hands over it. His palms immediately started blistering and the acrid coppery smell of burnt blood filled the air. The dwarf pursed his lips and took in the pain without a single sound escaping him.

  “I took no pleasure in what I did,” he said as small flames began igniting on his hands. “The only absolute freedom a person has is to decide if they want to end their life. Their gods and their beliefs would judge whether such a thing is honorable or not, but this absolute freedom is sacred among all realms. Even here, so close to the hells. Even for slaves like us.”

  The doctore pulled his hands away from the fire and the awful smell became almost unbearable. Bits of his flesh had melted away and pieces of bone were visible.

  “These wounds will heal with time,” he continued, “and are but a minor punishment for taking this freedom from a man. Perhaps I deserve further punishment for forcing him into life. I can only hope that one day he will get out of this shithole and regret that he tried to end his life sooner. And even if he doesn’t, at least I’ll know I’ve done my best to save the rest of you.”

  “That is to say,” the male vampire said, ending an uncomfortable silence that lasted for quite a few moments, “that since you won’t let anyone end their life early, the only options we have are rotting here as slaves, or joining your rebellion.”

  “And that is no choice at all,” added his twin sister.

  “There never was a choice,” replied the dwarf somberly. “Berserker, you’re up for battle in a couple of hours.”

  “Who am I up against?”

  “The crowd’s favorite. Deathmatch,” the dwarf said as he turned his back to them and started moving away. “Walk with me, Greek.”

  Alexander stretched his limbs before standing up and followed the dwarf in the shadows between the bonfires. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds in the slave camp those of people agonizing over their recent injuries. Some were talking here and there, a few even snoring. None of them were laughing though. Never laughing. Laughing was reserved for the fortunate ones that were far away from the nine hells. And the evil ones.

  They only stopped walking once they’d reached the edge of the camp, on a pink sandy beach caressed by a slow river of blood: Acheron. The liquid surface looked almost still with only a couple of ferrymen to be seen in the distance, their ghastly little boats carrying groups of dead people to the entrance of the first layer of hell
. The red moon above the lake would have made them impossible to spot if it weren’t for the little golden light coming from a lantern at the front of each boat, illuminating their way.

  “One of the slaves told me about you,” the trainer said. “He said you’re a legend. That you saved his people when they were swarmed by the undead.”

  “We lost many more than we saved,” Alexander replied somberly.

  “So I asked about you,” Yalfrigg replied, disregarding Alexander’s comment. “The dominus was more than happy to boast his way through the details of how he got you.”

  Alexander clenched his jaws but otherwise tried to keep his calmness at the remark.

  “That’s why I trust you.”

  “What’s a deathmatch?” Alexander asked, not wanting to hear any more of the dwarf’s reasoning. It did not matter. What mattered was the fight.

  “It means you will battle against other gladiators,” the dwarf stated and took another look at his now useless hands.

  “First blood or last blood?” Alexander asked, with an eerie lack of sentiment.

  “You’ll be equipped, buffed, and pitted against five nameless gladiators. If you win, you get to keep the gear.”

  “I don’t know what a nameless gladiator is,” Alexander responded, not at all worried about the fact that he would be pitted against five of them. He didn’t like the odds, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Our dominus likes to get the most out of his investments, which means he won’t let us expire in the pits. If someone falls in the arena, and his body is retrievable, he will be brought back to life by one of the slave bishops. But you know what happens when a person dies.”

  “They lose XP and a piece of them is gone forever.”

  “Exactly. They can gain the XP back, but have you wondered what happens if they get de-leveled below level 1?”

  “Below level 1? That would require hundreds of deaths,” Alexander said.

  “When a person drops to level 0, they lose their soul—or rather it’s locked inside of them. They forget their names. They forget their families and friends. They lose themselves. They become puppets without will,” the dwarf explained. “Their skills are still there, ready to use, and even though they aren’t as powerful as they were at their normal level, they’re still very strong.”

  “Does someone control them?”

  “When someone who’ll fall below level 1 is to be killed, the dominus makes sure the slave is brought to him so he can land the killing blow. Nameless obey the one that drops them to level 0.”

  “So I can’t break their connection and make them stop. Do they feel pain?” Alexander asked, already starting to calculate how he would be able to fight such foes.

  “Yes, but it makes no difference. They will continue attacking until they kill their target or get killed themselves.”

  “And what happens if they’re killed?”

  “They can’t be revived again.”

  “What of their souls?”

  The dwarf took a moment before offering his answer, as if he was considering whether this would be redemption or punishment for the nameless. “They are absorbed by the primordial ooze of souls, the river Styx.”

  For a few moments, neither one of them uttered a word. Both of them simply stared at Acheron, Styx’s brother, the endless river of blood that spanned as far as the eye could see under the dim light of the red crescent moon.

  “It will be done. I will end them,” Alexander said eventually, “but I’ll need to be alone in the arena. No other gladiators.”

  “The whole pit for one event?” the dwarf snorted. “The dominus put me in charge because I know how to run his ludus and arena efficiently. The only time the whole pit is cleared for one event is when large groups fight dragons or other similar beasts. In your case, there will probably be other groups fighting monsters in the arena too. But you don’t need to worry. There’s enough space for all of you.”

  “If you put other people in the arena, I will kill them too,” Alexander said coldly. “And once I’m done, there probably won’t be much to revive.”

  The dwarf paused. “I can ask this of the dominus, but do you think you can provide them with enough of a spectacle to keep everyone entertained?”

  “Oh, there will be a fucking spectacle alright.”

  “I trust you, berserkr,” Yalfrigg said eventually, using the Norse word this time and moving one step closer to the human. “Don’t fuck this up or I’ll make sure your off-days are worse than your fighting ones.”

  “What else can you tell me about the gladiators I’ll be fighting?” Alexander asked, completely unfazed by the dwarf’s threat. “Do you know their previous levels and their classes?”

  “Three of them were below level 40—an archer, a rogue, and a sword and shield-wielding goliath. Nothing too special about them, but the other two could create problems for you.”

  “What’s with the remaining two?”

  “The fourth one was certainly above level 40 because I remember seeing him spinning around the battlefield with a sword in each hand.”

  “A Sword Dancer.”

  “Exactly. His dances provide boons to his allies and he’s an agile attacker.”

  “What of the last one?”

  The dwarf took a deep breath and spat in the river. Despite the low lighting, Alexander could see a vein pulsating on his forehead. The tension was as thick as the humid air around them.

  “He’s a healer. He used to be level 46 so he has access to powerful healing spells and even though he can’t use C-grade equipment anymore, his abilities are still significant. He can also cast a few minor buffs that will stack with those of the Sword Dancer. You must take him out first.”

  “Why is there a spellcaster in the arena, even if he’s nameless?” Alexander asked, confused. “I’ve only ever seen fighters as slaves.”

  “He disobeyed the dominus,” Yalfrigg said and turned around to look at the river again. “He was a man of mercy. He let a group of people pass away without reviving them. He saved them and he paid the price for it.”

  Alexander immediately caught the change in the doctore’s voice but didn’t push for more information. He had everything he needed for this battle, and it would be the first of many if he wanted to leave this damned place.

  “First the healer, then the dancer,” he agreed.

  “If you are to command the whole pit by yourself, take your time with the rest. Let their buffs run out and give the crowds what they want. A bit of showmanship.”

  Alexander didn’t reply but simply nodded. If the crowds wanted blood, blood would be what they’d get.

  “Now get your ass back to the camp and prepare yourself.”

  “There is nothing to prepare—” was all Alexander managed to say before the dwarf interrupted him.

  “The fuck I care!” the dwarf shouted. “Just be ready when they call your name.”

  Without wanting to know why the dwarf had suddenly changed his tune, Alexander turned to leave. But as soon as he took his first step, he was stopped in his tracks by the stinking, burnt piece of flesh that was the dwarf’s hand now.

  “First the healer,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard, and shoved him away.

  It only took a few more steps before Alexander realized why he was sent away so violently. Somewhere between the shadows cast by the thick foliage separating the camp from the beach was a creature straight out of nightmares. Its lower half resembled a goat standing on its hind legs while the top half was that of a gigantic bat. Its huge fangs were the only thing on its completely dark body that wasn’t black in color. Judging by the way the moonlight reflected in its eyes, it was obvious this beast didn’t need to rely on echolocation, but rather possessed a keen dark-vision.

  Name: Infernal Goire

  Type: Beast

  Level: 33

  Disposition : Passive

  HP : 702/702

  Physical Attack: 138

&nbs
p; Magic Attack: 96

  Speed: 109

  Attack Range: Melee

  XP : 5231

  Description : Goires were initially created by magically merging vampire bats and domesticated goats with the purpose of using them as test subjects for the development of cures for magic diseases. However, the species’ reproductive cycle proved to be very short and sub-species of the beast quickly spread through many realms. The Infernal Goire is an agile albeit timid beast, preferring to fly above weak prey before attacking. Due to its low mental defenses, they are easy to take control of telepathically and thus are often used as a means of surveillance over large areas.

  Alexander moved without breaking eye contact with the goire. The animal fluttered its wings in an attempt to flee but whoever or whatever was controlling it wouldn’t allow it to leave. The strange beast had not seen the last of its days, however, as Alexander walked past it and headed back toward the slave camp.

  Some of those around the bonfire Alexander was sitting at had now left and others had taken their place. His seat was still empty though—empty and unused, since there was a soft layer of moisture on the cracked surface of the log.

  “Last fight of the day and they pit you against nameless?” asked Neleth, the elf shadow strider who was missing half of his fingertips. “The fuckers can’t get their fill of gore as easily anymore.”

  “Is that what he meant,” asked Alexander, “when he talked about your brothers serving the dominus?”

  “It is,” replied the female vampire and bared her fangs in frustration. “I’d rather impale my brother than see him become a fetching dog.”

  “And I’d rather be impaled than lose my will and thirst for blood,” her brother agreed.

  “So take no pity on the people you’ll end today, human,” the elf added. “You are doing them and their families a great service.”