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

back in a voice several octaves higher than his normal voice. I don't know exactly what he said because I still don't speak Elvish or Ogre, but it sounded harsh and belittling. A simple grunt comes in reply, and the ogre stomps away.

“Okay, first part of the plan didn't work so well, but good improvisation!” She slaps me playfully on the shoulder. “Let’s wait a few minutes for the excitement to die down and then make our move.”

We all agree, and Thirax pads over to the door and presses his ear against it. Everyone stays quiet and still, listening for any more movement outside. I take a small towel from the sideboard and wash some of the organic matter off my face from the ewer and basin placed there.

Ten minutes pass without further incident. Acri produces the key from the dead elf's possessions and slides it into the lock. “Remember, go to the left about twenty yards. The hall makes a sharp turn, and you should see the gate on the other side of the chamber. There will be at least four guards, but be prepared for more.”

“Good luck everyone, see you on the other side. Let’s get in the wind,” Olivia says, optimism and excitement in her voice.

“I will go first to clear the way,” Thirax growls, his tone brooking no argument.

“First rounds on me, guys. Be careful, and let's all get out of here!” I close the visor on my helmet with a definitive click.

Acri turns the key and swings the door open. Thirax darts out into the light, glances right, and moves left. Olivia next, then myself. Acri brings up the rear as we fast walk down the corridor, hugging the wall.

We hit the corner, stacked up, but spread out as we speed up and round it. We previously decided the opportunity to surprise the guards was our best bet, so we hit the room fast and quiet.

The only problem is, they're waiting for us.

As we come around the corner, Thirax in the lead, we hear a word barked in Ogre. A split second later, the thrum of several bowstrings fills the air along with a half-dozen arrows.

The huge Gnoll throws his arms out wide and manages to knock Olivia backward, saving her from a bolt to the throat. Instead, it impales Thirax's forearm. It’s joined by two others that tear through his leather armor and bury up to the fletching in his broad chest. The force of the hits stops his forward momentum and drops him onto his back.

Acri uses his staff to throw out an arc of intense heat that burns the arrow heading for him out of the air.

I see this as I am hitting the ground myself and not by choice. The two remaining bolts are meant for me. The first one deflects off my chest armor, not even leaving a mark. The second one rips a gouge out of the left side of my helmet, but the arrow doesn't take a good turn. Near blinding pain from my temple all the way past my ear hits me as the metallic arrowhead lodges itself between my skull and the helmet. I already feel the blood gushing from the furrow in my scalp.

Landing without any style or grace, the force of the arrow twists me halfway around. The shaft blocks my peripheral vision in my left eye, but I sit up as quickly as I can. The weight and length of the arrow throws me off balance as I struggle to get back on my feet.

At a quick count, there are a dozen goblins and ogres arrayed in front of us. The ogres form a line behind the goblins, blocking the gate with their bulk. The goblins struggle to reload their crossbows as fast as they are able to get off another volley.

I make sure they don't get the chance. Almost the entire group is standing clustered together on the irregular shaped vein of pure silver in the ground. Silver is an excellent conductor.

Not bothering to aim, I trigger the lightning and let it hose the ground in front of the Gobs with a crackling stream of volatile electricity. The room lights up with the brilliant flashing of the sustained lightning and the intense reflection off the pool of silver ore.

The smaller goblins lock up in rigor poses of pain before their smaller forms begin to char and turn to ash from the feet up. Bowstrings snap and arrows catch fire in the quivers. The smell of heated ozone is thick in the air.

Two of the ogres are close enough to soak up plenty of the electricity as well. They twitch and shake as their muscles spasm and tear. The other four ogres, shielded by their comrades, back away, unsure of what to do.

The rod grows intensely hot in my hand, searing my flesh through the thick leather gauntlet. I try to raise the stream of lightning up to catch the others, but the crystal at the end cracks with a loud 'snap,' and the lightning winks out as if I flipped a switch. As I watch, the crystal blackens and crumbles away. I drop the useless copper tube while the bodies of the goblins and ogres hit the floor, smoking like so much burnt meat.

I struggle to my feet as Olivia leaps past me, an ax in each hand. Acri sends a tight beam of fire between both of us and hits an ogre square in the chest, burning through its armor and roasting its heart and lungs.

The blonde SWAT officer ducks under a wild swing of a brass-studded cudgel and swings her right-hand ax into its shin. It bites deep with a wooden “thunk” sound and gets stuck there. The backhand sweep of the club catches her across the shoulders, smashing into her armor and knocking her to the ground.

I charge forward as the ogre raises his club for a finishing shot on Olivia. I hit him with a tackle that would