The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series, Dan Sugralinov [the read aloud family TXT] 📗

Joseph Rosenthal — Meister, Vito Painter — Hellfish, and… Renato Loyola — Quetzal! The titan destroyer accepted the offer after all.

“We saw Marcus coming out of Destiny’s room,” Hellfish said. “Like an angry bear.”

“No wonder,” Meister chuckled. “Scyth spoiled all their fun!”

“No, there’s something else going on there…” Quetzal said thoughtfully.

A little later, standing by the wall with an energy drink, I felt out of sorts in that company, to put it mildly. Honestly, it was like I was at an exam. Vito Painter was the youngest among them and he was well over forty. And I was expected to manage these people. Meister, the most senior and experienced member of the council, occupied the single armchair, a glass of red wine in hand as always. He was dressed in a black two-piece suit with a white shirt. Hellfish crouched down opposite. Quetzal preferred to stand, like me.

In almost a week at the Games, this was the first time I’d spoken to all my allies at once. And, contrary to my fears, the guests were friendly. They were all in a good mood despite the day’s losses, as if already imagining the mighty Scyth arriving with his invincible tame demon in tow to punish all the bullies of the sandbox.

“I remember when the neighborhood MacMillans used to bully me,” Joseph Rosenthal said. “And then one time my aunt and uncle came to visit from Israel, and they had their son Elizar with them. And let me tell you, he was a feisty guy, training for the army, and when he arrived and I complained to him about the MacMillans, he promised to talk to them, take care of it. I stayed awake that whole night in anticipation…”

“And..?” Quetzal asked, frowning at the old man. “Your cousin helped, then left and the problem came back?”

“No, of course not,” Joseph waved a hand. “The MacMillans beat the hell out of Elizar. Afterwards, he was afraid to poke his nose out of the house until the last day. But what I felt that first night… Right now I’m feeling something similar.”

Surprisingly, the difference in age wasn’t noticeable. We spoke as equals. These guys were boys caught up in the excitement of a game, just like me, only they were older.

They all seemed to have forgotten what happened in the first days. Now we were real allies. Cold thought told me that anyone would want to play with me now that I was the strongest contestant and had an imba pet, but in my heart I knew: Quetzal had placed the Aegis long before my rise up the leaderboard. Hellfish had organized the back-attack against those who wanted to kill me on the floor of the Pitfall without any requests from me. As for Meister, without his Escape Pentagram, I’d be packing my bags right now.

“Our people are hiding in the cleared instances,” Hellfish said.

“Mine too,” Quetzal admitted. “I doubt we’ll be much use tomorrow.”

“Ours are spread out,” Meister shrugged. “Some in the woods, some in the tavern. Some got camped into the graveyard, but survived. For now. They’ll probably get zeroed in the morning.”

“Alright, that means my first job is to protect the ones at the graveyard,” I said. “I’ll try to chase off the Markers and Desters, then we’ll go to the village and rendezvous with you and your people at the tavern, Joseph. What’s the lowest floor reached so far?”

“Marcus was planning to clear forty, but didn’t go, decided to help Destiny instead,” Renato answered. “The seal and boss of level 25 are gone, but the floor isn’t clear. The previous two are still teeming with mobs as well.”

“Then we meet on floor 22,” I said. “If my demon can leave his floor, I’ll use him to block the entrance to the Pitfall. If not… Well, then we take our raid to floor 100. I doubt our enemies will follow us…”

“100?” Vito whistled. “Don’t you think we should be a little more realistic? Maybe start at 23…”

“You can farm 23 if you want, Mr. Painter. But then I can’t guarantee that we’ll reach Abaddon together…”

We sat talking until two in the morning. Joseph flexed his phenomenal memory by giving us a breakdown of all his surviving fighters and their skills. Renato and Vito planned the formation of the joint raid and the groups within it, its rotation and tactics, both in PvP and against bosses and mobs. I didn’t let my lack of experience get in the way, just yawned and told them I’d be the tank.

As we said goodbye at the threshold, Joseph stopped:

“Wait! What’s our group going to be called? The Allied Raid of Meister, Hellfish, Quetzal and Scyth? Too long…”

“Scyth’s Raid,” Renato said simply. “What’s there to think about?”

“Agreed,” Vito nodded.

A strange feeling overtook me. Even if nothing else happened and I got thrown out of the Games, in that moment, victory was already secure.

Chapter 24. Food for Abaddon

AT PRECISELY MIDDAY, I appeared on level 531 in the middle of a spacious corridor with twenty-foot-high ceilings. And the first thing I saw was a gleaming message:

You were named the best player of day five of the Demonic Games!

 

Reward: Tactical Retreat artifact.

 

To someone else, the place I was in might have looked pitch black, but my leveled-up Night Vision allowed me to see even the streaks on the walls and the shining louse-like insects scurrying across them.

By the far wall, a pile of bones appeared to smolder. It was suffused with a glow that rose up and turned scarlet, like a tongue of flame. The huge fiery flash formed into a demonic shape. The flame darkened and began to solidify, and Despot appeared in all his glory: burning eyes, halberd arms, smoke billowing from his forge-like mouth. The sight of the demon alone could deprive