The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series by Dan Sugralinov (iphone ebook reader TXT) 📗

“Already warming up the bed, eh?” he said, sitting back in an armchair and patting his knee. “Come here, beautiful, no reason to put off the fun.”

His mere presence defiled the luxury armchair. Jansson smiled and Destiny’s stomach turned: his teeth were crooked, and all different sizes! Gods, couldn’t he have fixed himself up? He had the money! Although he’d still be gross even then: he was uncouth, rude, but the worst part was his puffy eyes. Destiny physically felt his gaze crawling over her. The first thought to come to her was how lucky she was that Scyth was still in the Games! Now she had a reason not to fulfill her promise.

Raising her head, she looked at Jansson with disgust and spoke:

“The deal was that I would kill Scyth, and he’s still alive. So I have every right to dispense with my obligations.”

Jansson didn’t jump up, didn’t throw the armchair at her, just widened his piggy eyes, worked his square jaw.

“I don’t get it… You’re refusing?”

In the depths of her soul, Destiny knew she was wrong, but the price was just too high.

“I’m not refusing,” she said coldly. “Scyth is alive. You’ll get yours when he’s dead.”

“No way!” Marcus snapped. “The deal was that my raid would help you, and I did everything I promised! You missed your chance to kill the kid yourself, and twice at that! Come on now, babe, time to pay the piper.” He patted his lap again, inviting her to sit down like some street walker. “And save your cheap excuses for someone else. I’m not dumb enough to swallow that crap! I came to help you, my people lost levels, we wasted the day instead of farming in the Pitfall, so be a good girl and make it up to me… What are you waiting for?”

Destiny’s heart beat like a drum. She looked at Jansson’s set jaw, at the white knuckles of his clenched fists, felt the strength that might turn to anger at any moment. It would take him only a little effort to snap her neck, and she had paused the stream. She imagined she smelled of fear like a deer before a lion, but she had to keep a grip on herself.

“I have no intention of doing that,” Destiny said, her voice cold. “And I won’t let you insult me. Get out.”

“You bitch!” He grimaced in anger, stood, took two steps toward her. The girl paled, backed off and was just about to threaten to call security, but Jansson had excellent self-control. He had only wanted to demonstrate his superiority.

“Scared? Tomorrow you’ll really start feeling the fear, and despair, and pain. We won’t let you out of the graveyard, you’re gonna get zeroed, and there’ll be nobody to help you, because your rats already jumped off your sinking ship onto my battleship.”

“You’re bluffing…” Destiny tried as hard as she could to maintain her equanimity, but she felt as if the ground beneath her feet was shifting and collapsing into an abyss.

Jansson smiled in satisfaction, nodded.

“Think that if you want. But I’m no monster, you know. I’ll give you until two in the morning to change your mind. Then I’ll be too late, I’ll be asleep.”

Marcus brought the bottle up to his lips. His hairy Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with every gulp, making Destiny wretch. Then he clumsily staggered to the door, singing an obscene song to himself under his breath.

The door closed behind him, but Destiny stood immobile for a minute, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Fuck you, scumbag!” she said to the door, then sat on her bed and rubbed her temples.

Casting a glance at the clock, she forbade herself from crying. There was still time. She would think of something.

Chapter 23. Scyth’s Raid

HAVING ANNOUNCED the viewers’ verdict, Octius said goodbye and disappeared in the dark. When the initial shock passed, everyone burst out in conversation, jumping up from their seats. Not looking at anyone, Destiny Windsor rushed to the exit from the hall.

Meister’s thinned raid gathered around my table. As always, Joseph was dressed to the nines.

“Our congratulations, young man!” he said, raising a glass of red wine. “I confess, we really thought tomorrow was going to be our last day in the Games.”

I wanted alcohol, of course, after everything I’d been through, but I took a glass of juice instead.

“What level did you get up to?” Bloomer asked.

“A hundred plus,” I smiled.

“Now that’s more like it!” Roman shouted, punching the air.

I stood up and whispered to the jeweler, told him not to plan anything for that evening, because we needed to discuss strategy for tomorrow. The old man nodded silently and walked away with the poet and curser.

Michelle, surrounded by her girlfriends, danced on the spot and squeaked:

“Scyth, tell us the details! I’ve been so worried about you!”

“You’re not the only one,” a tall brunette cooed. Her holobadge read ‘Trisha,’ and the landscape it sat on swayed invitingly. “We were all so worried about you, sweetie!”

She put on a tender face, but I saw the cold calculation in her eyes. ‘Sweetie,’ heh. The false sincerity rubbed me the wrong way, but I kept the idiotic smile on my face.

“Let’s drink to kicking their asses tomorrow!” Michelle suggested, raising her cocktail glass.

“Great toast!” Trisha supported her, leaning down so that her breasts lightly brushed my shoulder as they nearly spilled out of her dress.

Wine glasses, steins and tumblers clattered together.

“To Boom Boom?” suggested a brunette with playful green eyes, another of Michelle’s friends. “Let’s go celebrate your victory, Alex!”

“We’re still a long way off winning, girls. Which is why I need to get some sleep. You guys have a great time!”

“Oh, do come