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

been offered a drink, and he really could have used a glass of something strong! These people didn’t look like extremists. Their speech contained no passion, just cold decision. Knowledge, it suddenly hit Octius. It was like they saw the future, saw the world steaming toward the abyss. They were trying to convince the engineer to stop the train, and he was stubbornly throwing on more coal. Those ancient trains were fueled with coal, right? Octius wasn’t too big on history.

“In the year 2066, mass disturbances will break out in the largest cities of Europe and North America,” Iovana said. “Radical elements will gain access to biological and nuclear weaponry. The authorities will respond with precision strikes from satellites, which will cause a fresh wave of disturbances that will engulf the entire world. By the end of the century, fewer than a hundred million people will remain, scattered across the globe. Strengthened religious cults will drive the remainder of humanity into the gloom of ignorance, destroying our cultural heritage. Another hundred years and the last remaining products of our technological achievements will fall into disrepair, and humans will finally forget their former magnificence. Humanity’s next war will be fought with sword, bow and arrow.”

“And all this can be prevented if you just launch your project?”

“Just launching Disgardium won’t be enough, no,” Mike answered. “People must begin to live in it.”

“And what do you need me for?”

“For the most important project within Disgardium,” Iovana answered. “We need you to present the Demonic Games.”

“Why me? And what the hell are the Demonic Games?”

“Because you, Guy Barron Octius, are the perfect candidate,” the woman said. “As for what the Games are, that we will explain to you. The main thing you need to know now is that the time will come when the champions of the Demonic Games will determine the…”

“Iovana!” Mike interrupted the woman, scowling.

All this seemed unreal to Octius, as if he’d found his way into a psychiatric hospital or some science-fiction movie. But at the same time a mystery beckoned from behind this blurry glass, alluring and exciting.

The founders of Snowstorm exchanged glances. Iovana turned to Mike:

“He fits. I have calculated the probabilities.”

“He is not ready,” Mike said, shaking his head and looking back at Octius: “Octi, you will learn all in due time…”

Sixteen months later, not long before Disgardium’s official launch, Iovana Savic’s body was found in a Snowstorm laboratory. The official cause of death was never revealed.

By the tenth anniversary of Disgardium’s release, Manuel Fuentes departed this world. They say he died of old age.

Vyacheslav Zaitsev, who had been actively involved in charity work and personally rendering humanitarian aid in Africa, was one of the first to fall victim to the Doom virus. He rotted away in mere hours.

Ola Afelobi went missing in space in the early seventies.

Of all the founding fathers, only one remained alive. Mike Anderson. And he was the only one left who Guy allowed to address him as he had introduced himself that day: Octi.

* * *

Twenty two years after that memorable introduction, Guy Barron Octius was hosting the nineteenth Demonic Games. As the fourth day came to an end, he received startling news: Alex Sheppard was to be disqualified.

Immediately afterwards, Kiran called and summoned Octius to an urgent meeting. The decision on Sheppard had already been made, but the head of Snowstorm still had to correctly convey this news to the public, and they couldn’t do that without Octius.

There were already four gathered in Kiran Jackson’s temporary office, where the conference was taking place. At the head of the table sat the office’s owner, with Community and Connections director Chloe Cliffhanger sitting to his right and security officer Donald Garfield to his left. At the other end of the table, her eyes downcast and her hands on her knees, sat Chloe’s department worker Kerry Hunter. Octius sat down between them.

Specially for him, Hunter repeated the story of Sheppard’s request to contact his friends in order to obtain — this part was important! — in-game information. The girl had already been fired, but, if she cooperated, Kiran had promised her another position.

“By the way, Kerry, did you give Sheppard the data he wanted?” Donald inquired.

“How could I have?” The girl’s eyes widened. “He’s in his capsule!”

“Will you allow us to check your comm?” Donald asked. Kerry reached for her pocket, but the security officer shook his head. “No, not that one. Your personal comm!”

Nodding, the girl unlocked the device, removed it from her wrist and passed it across the table to Donald. The impervious security officer tapped on the screen.

“Nobody likes cheaters,” Chloe said, speaking to the air. “The public will accept our decision. But…”

“What?” Kiran asked.

“The information Sheppard requested, that’s what bothers me. The viewers have seen contestants send coded messages through streams and forums before. That’s okay, within the rules… well, at least the informal rules of the Games. Remember when Mogwai got a leave of absence for his mother’s birthday? The viewers supported him, voted to let him go.”

“I remember,” Guy said. “The next day Mogwai knocked Carmichael out of the Games, his single strongest competitor, by taking advantage of a weakness that only viewers of Carmichael’s stream knew about… A strange coincidence, no?”

“Stop it,” Chloe grimaced. “Fen Xiaoguang is a good analyst. He studied Carmichael.”

Kiran, who had been watching them with a frown, shot some Accelerant into his mouth, sneezed and drummed his fingers on the table.

“Alright, it’s decided!” he said, livening up. “Donald!”

“Yes, Kiran?”

“You will meet Sheppard at his capsule. Tell him Hunter has been fired, and you’re his assistant now.”

“Me?”

“Well, I can’t do it! Don’t worry, it’s not for long. You’ll accompany him at dinner, and there Guy will explain everything. And you, Hunter, don’t even so much as stick your