The Culling of Man: A litrpg adventure (Peril's Prodigy Book 1) by Craig Kobayashi (android pdf ebook reader .txt) 📗

understand the thousands of cat videos on the internet covering the species’ panic response. All four of his legs sprang like a coiled snake and catapulted him straight up before fully extending and freezing, locked in place. When he had seen the internet videos, Garath had always wonder just what the hell these cats thought they were doing when confronted with a rogue cucumber - now he understood that they were unable to control the maneuver at all.

Milliseconds after his furry white paws left the scaled neck, a bolt of lightning from the Wyvern approaching from his left crashed into the spot he was standing. The raw, forking energy sizzled into the flesh of the reptile below as Garath continued upward.

As the Necrologist flew through the air, yet another Wyvern swooped down from the sky and snagged the little white cat with its obsidian claws. One of the impossibly sharp talons punctured his right hind leg, opening a gushing wound that painted the lower half of his white fuzzy body crimson. The Wyvern flapped its powerful wings and gained altitude quickly, carrying Garath helplessly in its incredibly tight grip. Garath glanced down at the small gold font displaying the scrolling Combat Log in the bottom of his vision.

Begin Combat Log:

[18:39:07.83] Wyvern's Claw hits You for 189 damage (Physical). Damage multiplied by 150% for form size: Tiny.

[18:39:07.83] Wyvern's Claw afflicts You with Bleed, you will lose 17 health per second until healed.

[18:39:08.83] You have lost 17 HP from Bleed.

End Combat Log.

‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’ he thought in panic. It was the only word that came into Garath’s mind and it repeated on an increasingly panicked loop as he tried not to do the simple math to deduce how long he would survive the bleed debuff without healing.

Unfortunately, Garath had always been good at mental math. He knew he had just about half a minute to get himself out of this little pickle and would just have to do his damndest to figure something out. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to cast a Death Bolt without the use of his limbs but couldn’t think of a better time to find out.

Black energy built in front of his feline cranium as his Mana pooled into the spell form. After the required Mana and cast time had elapsed, he released the Death Bolt at point blank range into the Wyvern's underside. It’s grip released as it flew off screaming into the darkening purple sky, and the Necrologist fell.

From over thirty feet in the air, he easily oriented himself and twisted until his feet were below him. He stretched all four legs as far down as he could, the injured leg burning as the muscles protracted. Due to the instinct gained while in his cat form, Garath’s legs acted as shock absorbers to reduce the impact of the landing. The injury already limiting one leg flared in a blinding pain as his toes touched down. His peripherals dimmed and his vision was limited into a blurry vignette. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness as a Wyvern landed with a crash only a few feet in front of him. His HP had already dropped to under 150 from the Bleed effect and was steadily dropping at a rate of 17 per second, he knew he didn't have long but he was weak and unable to focus from the blood loss and incredible pain. As the Wyvern in front of him reared back and opened its fanged mouth, a white disk appeared below the bleeding Necrologist. The electric energy shot forward as Garath’s tiny form fell, a deadly race that gravity had no chance of winning. The lightning struck Garath in the chest just before he slipped into the dimensional rift.

The fall through time and space felt fluid and he emerged from the second disk only a second later, landing in a bloody puddle of scorched white fur and convulsing muscles in the hallway between the ranged fighters and healers. His HP was at 16/710, and then everything went black.

Chapter 20

Apocalypse 2/3

The intermittent clangs and thumps of battle around him were dull and muffled as the Necrologist returned to consciousness. When he was finally able to peel open his eyes, everything was unusually clear for the dark of night - especially considering the lack of electric lighting. He looked up at the enormous form cradling him and realized that he was still in his House Cat form and was lying in Sharon's lap.

"Meow," he meowed. ‘Oh for fuck sake,’ he thought.

He jumped down, landing softly before shimmering back into his natural form. "What happened?"

"Your idea of a good time, I suppose. You did your best to get killed," Sharon accused with a bite in her tone and a cough drop in her mouth. "But that Athios gal pulled you out at the last second and we," she continued, gesturing at the group of healers standing around her in a tight group in the main hall, "cast some healing spells on you."

"How long was I out?" he asked, as he looked down to inspect himself. He had expected to see some sign of his recent escapade in the form of blood stains or ripped clothing but found none. Apart from the horizontal slash across his chest from the experiment with Warrion, he didn’t have a mark on him.

"About an hour," said Warrion as he walked past the ranged fighters, his daggers shimmering into nothing as he unequipped them. The gangly Assassin looked awful, his eyes sunken and his steps unsteady.

"Is everyone holding up?" Garath wanted to know.

"More or less..." stated Warrion, sounding as though he weren’t entirely certain. "The Wyverns don't respawn, thank God. Less and less of them have been attacking. I think we might have scared them off."

"Don't fuck with The Band," said Garath, smiling weakly.

"We gangsta," the Assassin agreed, nodding seriously. He slumped into a seated position with his