Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

“Seriously? Just like that? All this will be over?” I quickly blurt out my questions, not waiting for individual answers.

“Not quite. The gates can be seen as almost like a relief valve between the worlds. Magics, life energies, even the very air, exchanges through these portals. They are naturally occurring, and they want to exist. Another will develop and open at the next full moon, somewhere close. But that will give us thirty days or so to get far enough away.”

“We will gain you the time that you need. For the safety of our pack,” Thirax says with finality, ending the discussion.

32

I don't even remember falling asleep again when Olivia wakes me up with her hand over my mouth in the darkness to indicate silence. I nod in understanding, and she removes her hand.

Acri has already reopened the peephole, but only a dim light shines through. A minute or two later, that light winks out. We act according to the plan and wait another thirty minutes before Acri begins.

He takes his time, slowly melting the stone and dissipating the heat so the stone doesn't even glow and we don't roast to death. He keeps one hand on the wall and the other points his carved staff up the stairway that leads to the surface. I can feel the waves of heat radiating off the stout wood as the end begins to smolder. The liquefied stone makes no more noise than water would as it runs slowly down the wall.

Minutes pass, and the hole is now big enough for the rest of us to see into the room by the light bleeding from under the door. After another few minutes, the hole is wide enough for Thirax to slip into the room. The rest of us ready our weapons, except for Acri, who seems to need a few seconds to recover. I duck my head and step over the hot stone, a weapon in each hand.

Thirax raises his naked blade in a two-handed grip over the sleeping form on the bed. With no hesitation, he brings the blade down in a powerful, graceful arc directly at the neck of the sleeping elf.

It bounces off a fraction of an inch above the elf's neck with a loud 'clank' and a flash of a glowing red glyph. His eyes snap open in alarm, and he sits up quickly, arm outstretched toward Thirax. A bolt of dull gray light shoots from his hand and catches Thirax directly in the chest, launching him across the room to crash into and shattering a wooden chest of drawers.

“Did you think I would be unprepared for your treachery, Ogre-scum?” the elf shrieks in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

Oops. It’s easy to forget that paranoia is a survival trait around here. It seems this guy didn't trust his troops any more than Acri did.

He notices me as I step into a swing that plants the mace right into his gut. Same thing happens, the glyph flares to life, and the flanged head bounces off his magical shield. The elf does, however, fold over at the waist, so some of the kinetic energy must have made its way through. Maybe his shield is weakening?

Olivia's ax also reflects off the back of his neck as she takes her shot. It drives the elf to his knees but does no other real damage.

“He's warded against physical weapons!” hisses Acri in a loud whisper.

Shit. This leaves us with very few options. We can keep trying to beat him up until his wards fail and hope he doesn't scream for help, or I can try Plan 'B.' We had, as a group decided that my Rod of Lightning (I came up with the name, and I will not apologize for being a D&D geek) was way too loud and noisy for this subtle infiltration. Personally, I don't see much choice right now.

The elf straightens up, and his eyes go wide as he realizes that we are not his ogre guards come to kill him in his sleep. He draws a deep breath and opens his mouth to scream. I don't give him the chance.

I thrust the copper rod right into his mouth. The crystal at its tip shatters his teeth and cuts a deep furrow in his tongue, static discharge already dancing along his gum line. I trigger a small amount of energy into the magical weapon and turn my head slightly to the side.

My brother, an electrician, once taught me how to do work on electrical panels. He joked about turning your head to the side when you flip a high-powered breaker switch and only doing it with your dominant hand. The reasons are if the panel blew up due to your faulty work, turning your head to the side stops you from inhaling the fire, and you lose your off hand, instead of your good one. I don't think he foresaw this situation, but the advice was sound.

The elf's hair combusts in flames, and his eyeballs explode from his head. Smoke billows from his nose and ears, then all the blood in his head super-heats in an instant. I cut the power just as his head explodes. Hot, wet chunks of bone and brain splash onto the side of my helmet, face, and chest. I sigh in disgust as chunks of elf-face drip off me.

Acri steps through the hole now, avoiding the spreading puddle and mutters something about 'bloody savage humans.' I can't disagree, but it still kind of pisses me off a little. He goes to the elf's collection of tools and artifacts and sweeps them all into his bag. Olivia is kneeling next to Thirax and checking him over. He's awake and rubbing his chest, suppressing a cough. It seems he just got the wind knocked out of him.

A loud banging knock at the door is accompanied by a shouted question in Ogre. We all freeze, unsure of what to do.

Acri clears his throat and shouts