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

vengeful spirit, invisible and deadly, my fists finding my next victim before the last touched the ground.

Exiting Clarity only for a moment, I ordered my own raid to flee again and again, promising cover. Those few seconds were sometimes enough for the enemy mages to locate and attack me. In my sped-up state, their projectiles looked like moving obstacles in a magical kill house. Veering between them, I sent the mages back to respawn, but still managed to run head-first into a paralyzing cast. Liberation neutralized the effect and went on cooldown.

A few seconds more and only my allies were left in the graveyard, frozen in place. If it weren’t for me, today would have been their last in the Games.

I checked a few bodies, but unfortunately there was almost no loot. The mechanics of the Games meant that the chances of losing something after your first death were close to zero, but the second death raised the chance by a third. Shame. My allies could have used some gear…

A roar from Marcus behind me cut off my thoughts:

“Hey, Threat! Catch!”

And I felt something cold jabbing into my back. I didn’t have time to turn round or activate Clarity. My whole body started to go numb, first my arms, then my legs, then my heart itself seemed to stop and I dropped to the ground like a stone. I tried to activate Flight, but it didn’t work. My body no longer obeyed me, and nor did my voice.

An explanation flashed up before my eyes in the form of a notification:

Utterly Petrified

 

You have been turned into a statue of solid stone.

 

You take no damage, are immune to all other negative effects and can see and hear what goes on around you, but you cannot move, attack or use items, skills, abilities or perks.

 

You cannot dispel this condition or remove it by any other means.

 

Duration: 00:59:54… 00:59:53…

 

In futile hope I tried Tactical Retreat, but the icon was inactive.

Suddenly, I realized bitterly what reward Marcus had been given as the best player of the day. That was why his people had been cutting through the churchyard so carelessly even though they knew I was coming for them, that I was stronger than all of them and had a powerful pet. Then another thought came to me, and if I wasn’t made of stone, it would have sent a cold sweat down my spine: all Marcus had to do now was throw me to the bottom of the Pitfall, where the final boss would end my path in the Games.

The adrenaline kept pumping, rage and indignation seethed in my immobile body, but there was nothing I could do. One thought gave me hope: my allies had managed to run away and were now hiding in their private rooms, which would keep them safe for an hour.

Marcus’s snarling face appeared before me. He loomed over me and said in satisfaction:

“That’s it, Sheppard. I thought you’d show up here with your pet demon, but you made it even easier. What, couldn’t get him here? Inchito was right! Ha-ha!” He spat at me, then chuckled and shouted: “Come on, people! Time to feed Scyth to Abaddon!”

Marcus grabbed my legs, strained, pulled: veins popped out on his sloping orcish brow, droplets of sweat began to form… But he couldn’t lift me even half an inch! Grunting and swearing profusely, the orc straightened and shouted:

“Bastard’s too heavy! Must weigh ten tons. Can’t carry him alone! God dammit! Come on, hurry up! Meister’s people will be kicked out of the tavern soon, we need to make it to them in time!”

Torturer Urkish and dark knight Caville came to help their leader. I didn’t feel their touch, but saw that even the three of them failed to shift me.

I began to hope that nobody would be able to. Judging by the disappointment on the faces looming before me, my enemies had the same thought. I just prayed they didn’t decide to leave me and go after my allies.

Even six of them together couldn’t move me an inch. In the meantime, the petrification timer ticked down. They’d already killed ten minutes for me. All the better for me if they kept straining themselves like this.

Marcus’s strongest fighters surrounded me like ants around a caterpillar, straining as hard as they could to move me. Thanks to the fact that they were all distracted, some of my allies managed to slip out of the churchyard unmolested.

My enemies grunted and groaned for another five minutes. They managed to move their antique Scyth statue around half an inch. I watched as lopher Urkish sweated, his eyes popping and the tendons in his arms bulging. All in vain: my enemies fell down exhausted. Another eight players replaced them, and they also didn’t achieve much. They might have been able to lift me all together, but there wasn’t enough space for them all to take hold at once. As long as nobody smarter turned up…

“Hey, engineers,” someone said in an unfamiliar falsetto. “Fix something up to drag him with!”

Nether! I swore internally. Jinxed it! The voice continued:

“We can drag old stony here to the Pitfall. There’s no way we’ll do it by hand before the day is out. And look, his petrification ends soon. How much time is left? Three quarters of an hour! Less, even…”

“Good idea,” Marcus said thoughtfully, then roared: “Anyone have any ropes and planks? Anything to make something to drag him with?”

He went out of my sight and I couldn’t even move my eyes, I could only stare into the sky and try to make out what was going on in my peripheral vision. Thankfully, my enemies were talkative types and kept me in the know.

“Have you forgotten about Meister’s raid, Marcus?” Youlang asked.

“The hell with them! We’re