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

Once they’d dealt with the ‘traitors,’ as they dubbed Michelle, Dave, Hellfish and the players from Modus, the other contestants focused all their attention on me. They attacked the shield for half an hour, then realized the futility of their efforts and drifted away, scattering throughout the Pitfall.

Only the most stubborn remained, still attacking the Aegis. One orc retiarius stood hitting my defenses with a trident that scattered sparks each time it struck. A troll with a crazed face beat against the shield with his fists, swearing so furiously that the fairies pushing their way through the crowd fell down dead, and the elves’ ears rolled up into tubes.

Then a gnome called Joker approached me with some engineering contraption, placed it against the Aegis and turned some lever, shrieking excitedly:

“It’s gonna blow!”

I didn’t hear so much as a thump, although sound got through to me just fine. Once the dust settled, though, I saw that the gnomish engineer had succeeded only in blasting the paladin Blondiecat as she passed by. She survived, and sent the unfortunate experimenter flying with a kick. As he landed, he fell victim to others hit by the explosion. Four players started beating on the gnome, including the world-renowned poet Bloomer, blood flowing from his ears.

Roman the troll finished off the scuffle. His curses sounded out in an unfamiliar language, but I understood the meaning.

“I hope you get stuck there!” he said to the gnome, pointing at me. “I hope you never grow older! I hope you crap yourself!”

Squealing with fury under the effect of the three terrible curses, the gnome threw himself at the shield and slid off it in a bloody smear — apparently, the defenses considered him a weapon.

“Why’d you do that to our friend?” Meister asked in a quavering voice, having somehow survived the mayhem.

“Might make him wise up,” the troll growled. “He nearly blew up half our raid!”

“Young man…” the jeweler began, shaking his head, but didn’t have time to finish the thought.

The earth began to move, the air thickened, it got hard to breathe. My hair stood on end in anticipation of something horrible.

They all dropped their weapons and froze in limp poses, their heads lowered, shoulders dropped, knees bent…

A thunderous boom came from the gates numbered 666, then a chewing sound and a hammering (or steps?) that shook the stone. As suddenly as it had begun, it all stopped. I looked over at the gates, watched as the paladin Kharmo’Lav burst into flames with his hand on the seal, emitting a soulrending and pain-filled scream. His arm burned away in a fraction of a second, then the fire leaped to his torso, then Kharmo’Lav’s entire body collapsed into ash. The charred skeleton twisted like a transformer, took the shape of a compact cube, then rolled its way toward the gap of the opening gates.

“Finally!” came an echoing growl from within.

Heavy footfalls shook the earth. A rumble rolled through the gates, and in their opening appeared a monstrous eye — black, with veins of fire and a burning pupil, like the mouth of an erupting volcano seen from high up in the sky.

“Mor-r-r-r-tals!” the demon rumbled. “Long-ear Eynyon keeeeps his word! New souls! Del-l-lectable!”

The beast’s laughter pealed through the Pitfall, vibrating, piercing through to the brain. The walls shook. Stones fell from above. A huge boulder dropped down, crushing an elf standing near me. Nobody moved. The presence of a high demon of the Inferno pinned us like rabbits beneath the hypnotizing stare of a boa constrictor. Weak Will, the debuff icon declared.

“Come to me, mor-r-r-tals! Salvation is near! Suffer no longer your earthly tortures and privations. Come to me and find peace!”

His words carried the warmth of a morning bed, the scent of baking and fresh coffee, the sensation of a mother’s care and affection. I felt a squeeze in my chest, felt like an injured bird watching the flock fly away. I needed to go there, to join them, whatever the cost!

The three contestants standing closest to the gates felt the same. Swaying like zombies, they wandered toward the gates. A few other players took a few hesitant steps that way, but remembered themselves and stopped. Nobody ran away — the debuff must have prevented it.

The fate of the three was unenviable. The demon, whose name was still a mystery, didn’t wait for them to reach him. He stuck out a crimson scaled arm tipped with black claws and scooped them all up. I heard cries, the crunch of bone, a wet squelch.

The sounds were joined by someone’s careful footsteps, the crack of breaking magma crust. The footsteps accelerated and Meister the jeweler came into view, his little legs carrying him straight past the gates and to the staircase. There he turned around:

“Eat the demon gold!” he shouted. “It removes the debuff!”

I already knew that there were demonic coins in circulation in the Cursed Chasm, although I hadn’t seen any yet. The gold dropped from the mobs and chests inside the instances. It was the money here.

Bogatyr Arioch, frozen nearby, took a glowing ruby coin from his inventory, bit it as if to test it, then straightened and bit right through it. The demonic gold turned out to be brittle. The bogatyr swallowed, waited a moment, then waved his arms and shouted:

“Eat the gold! It works!”

The next second, they all had their free will back after greedily gulping down their demonic coins. Free from the debuff, the contestants swarmed toward the staircase. Not all made it.

“Mor-r-rtal flesh…” I heard from within. “Sweet, but small. Weak souls… Fi-i-ilth! Need more!”

An arm stretched through the wide open gates again, this time to the elbow, trying to feel out another victim. However large was this nameless demon, the final boss, his narrow and flexible serpentine arm reached no