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

further than thirty feet. Fifteen players failed to escape, and, gathering up all the ones he caught, the demon crushed them in his colossal fist, then, judging by the sounds and the fiery belch, ate them.

Not everyone took the risk of going for the staircase, and there wasn’t enough room for everyone to get past at once anyway. The climb began right next to the gates, and the demon’s hand soon stretched out again. It was six feet shy of me, and my Aegis shield was invulnerable, so I wasn’t worried.

Fruitlessly feeling around and finding no food, the arm began to thin, but at the same time grew longer. The clawed hand reached out for me. With shrieks and swears, the players pressed themselves against the wall farthest from the gates.

With my head still thrown back, I watched, feeling like a bug about to be squashed as the gigantic hand descended on my dome. The demonic palm covered the dome and clenched. A roar of disappointment boomed out from the gates. The hand lifted and disappeared back through the gap. Apparently, the arm could only get so long.

A few minutes later, I heard a measured trampling, knocking and squelching from within the instance.

Those players confined with me at the bottom of the Pitfall didn’t move for another two hours. In the end, deciding not to waste any more time, the remaining contestants — around a hundred souls — headed for the stairs. Ahead of them was a long climb which might take up the rest of their session.

I had absolutely nothing to do until the day ended. I couldn’t even go beyond the edge of the Aegis, so when the long-awaited notification arrived, it was a relief:

The third day of the Demonic Games is over!

 

I might have called it the worst day of the Games yet, except I was still overjoyed at my surprise rescue. And the feeling that I was no longer alone. My secret allies had revealed themselves and taken a great risk to help me, drawing the ire of their group comrades, but I still didn’t have the slightest idea who had put those shields on me. And who had given me the Aegis? The perfect shield had come at just the right moment.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I had to find out. Could it have been Tissa and Infect? Or Hellfish’s people? I doubted it — the Aegis was probably a prize for the best player of the day. At the opening ceremony, that had been Tissa, but we’d seen her reward — the Banshee Queen’s Cry. On the second day, the audience chose Quetzal. On the third — Roman. Could it be one of those two? No, no way… Maybe someone got the Aegis as loot.

I racked my brains, waiting with impatience for the intragel to drain away. Climbing out of my capsule, I started to get dressed and only then realized with surprise that neither Kerry nor the security droids were there to meet me.

Chapter 12. Quod servabit

IT WAS LIKE MY ASSISTANT had disappeared. She wasn’t answering her comm, and the other assistants just shook their heads with a frown when I asked them if they’d seen Kerry. Had Destiny Windsor made good on her threat? Had Kerry been fired?

In a dampened mood, on guard and expecting unpleasant surprises, I walked to the hall of ceremonies alone. The atmosphere was tense; people were arguing, shouting, throwing accusations back and forth…

I carefully caught some eyes at dinner, but noticed nothing suspicious except that it was unusually quiet in the hall. A few of the contestants eaten by the demon were even crying!

I saw Alison again, sitting with the other juniors from T-Modus, and nodded to her. The girl answered in kind and then looked to the side.

Next to her table sat a group of adult contestants. I aimed my comm at them… And there were my allies! The company was almost completely familiar to me, although only in Dis: Berstan, Koba, Kara and Equilibrium from Modus, sculptor Anna from the White Amazons and Hellfish, aka Vito Painter, the Travelers group leader…

Hellfish saw me looking at him, barely noticeably shook his head, turned away. A strange reaction, considering the whole world had watched his group help me. Whatever. We could talk after the show. Anyway, I’d long since learned that words meant nothing, actions were what mattered, and these people had shown me all I needed to see today. It was only thanks to them that I wasn’t going home.

Gamesmaster Octius danced his way onto the stage. Greeting us, he got straight down to business:

“Two hundred and ninety-eight contestants! That is how many remain after day three of the Demonic Games! But I don’t want to talk about that, I want to talk about how it all started!”

The holocube showed a video of me materializing at the floor of the Pitfall, and a description of my curse.

“Today we bore witness to a new plot, and, as on the first day, all the contestants took part in it! With the exception of Scyth, of course. But even if he had known what awaited him, I fear it would not have helped him. Fate tossed him one of the worst penalties in my memory — Abaddon’s Curse! And now, let’s…”

Some commotion began at the right-hand wall, not far from the stage. Around twenty people had formed a row and joined hands, and were pushing forward toward the stage. Octius made a signal, the music volume lowered and now I could hear what they were shouting!

“Snowstorm! Unfair play! Snowstorm! Unfair play!”

The music and the talk in the hall faded completely. Everyone turned their attention to the chanters. A short man with a beard down to his waist separated from the group of demonstrators. His eyes looked on the brink of tears.