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

I can’t tell! Wave your wings while you still have feathers! Go on! Right, got it. Then look…” The bruiser held the dove above me, showing me to her: “Here he is, that Scyth of yours. You thought I wouldn’t find out? The kid can’t help you. So either you start…”

Suddenly, two things happened at once; I got an invite to Quetzal’s raid, and Marcus’s people came under attack. I accepted the invite and saw the full list of my scant allies — less than twenty in total.

The chains dropped to the ground with a crash and the battle began. My allies were cut down mercilessly and without delay. One after another, their portraits in my interface lost their color and were covered up with skulls. Infect started singing a song off to the side, but then sputtered, choked and fell silent. But the bard didn’t die. He must have crawled away and hid with what little health he had left.

In less than a minute, Hellfish and Quetzal’s raid was dealt with. Only two remained alive: Infect’s flashing red portrait and Tissa at half health. As for why, that soon became clear:

“Marcus! Look who I found!” The hoarse female voice might have belonged to an orc or dwarf girl. “You said not to finish off the girl, right?”

“Oh, Tissa… Good girl, Michaela, bring her here.” Marcus raised his voice again: “The rest of you, pick up these chains and drag the Threat to the Pitfall! Fast!”

They dragged me further, and thank the Sleepers it was at a snail’s pace. Marcus turned to Tissa and continued:

“I’m going to give you one chance to stay in the Games, girl, and maybe even get near the top of the leaderboard! You know what I need…”

“I already answered you, Marcus!” the priestess snapped. “Didn’t get it the first time? Go to hell, you nasty creep!”

The dove, which the orc hadn’t let out of his hands even during the battle against my allies, cooed with something that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Marcus and Tissa fell behind. The girl’s voice barely reached me, but I think the bruiser’s shout carried all the way to the bottom of the Pitfall:

“Right! You ice queens are getting on my nerves! I’d love to take you both for a ride, but moderation is important. So here’s how it’s going to be: only one of you will be left in the Games tomorrow! Choose who!”

“Definitely not me! Go **** yourself!” Tissa shouted angrily, adding some specific advice that sounded anatomically difficult.

The sound of the slap was so loud that even the ones dragging me turned around. Tissa cried out, and apparently Infect chose that moment to come running out of the bushes. “Run!” he shouted, then attacked Marcus and died a moment later. Not for the last time, not yet.

Infect’s sacrifice was in vain. The enraged Marcus easily caught up to Tissa and brought his club down on her, smashing her into the ground. The execution took place out of my sight, but the sound was descriptive enough for me to form an image of what had happened.

Tissa’s portrait blackened: Contestant knocked out…

Twelve minutes remained on the petrification timer when someone else caught up to us. The procession slowed somewhat, turning, but Marcus shouted for them to keep pulling. He moved to the rear, the dove still in his hand.

“Meister, Roman, Bloomer and the rest have been captured,” Youlang reported. “I sent my group to the graveyard, then came here just in case. If we don’t have time to throw him down, I can stun him or sheep him.”

“Good,” Marcus answered. “Everything is going to plan, we should have time.”

“What’s the deal with the bird?”

“Hah! Meet Destiny the dove…”

The orc told her about the magician Messiah and what awaited him. Youlang laughed. Then they spoke about something else I didn’t hear, until Marcus shouted:

“Damn it, only ten minutes left! Youlang, can you put Feather on the Threat?”

“I tried, it’s useless. He’s immune to all buffs.”

“Does that mean even hitting the bottom won’t kill him? Oh, the hell with it, Abaddon will one-shot him after the debuff ends! But we still need to hurry!”

Marcus kept swearing and even decided to condescend to help with the lifting: he pushed someone away and took up the chains himself, groaning, straining and from time to time shouting:

“You realize that if we aren’t fast enough, then we’re all done for? Heave! Ho!”

We started to move faster. My mind cast around in its motionless body, unable to do anything. All I could do was wait and pray to the Sleepers and Fortune that my enemies run out of time, and let the ticking timer hypnotize me: 10:11… 10:10…

 

My pall-bearers knew they had it all on the line; they redoubled their efforts and reached their goal with seven minutes left on my debuff. Now their greatest challenge loomed: throwing their cargo over the edge. After all, they couldn’t pull me all the way to it.

First they tried to move me with the entire raid pushing against me, but got in each other’s way in panic. Then someone had the bright idea of laying cut planks beneath me, which they then used as levers — that sped them up, and time, on the contrary, slowed down: 06:05… 06:04…

 

My head was already hanging over the edge of the abyss when a plank suddenly broke from the strain. Marcus tripped, losing hold of the dove, and shouted:

“God dammit! You’re dead, Sheppard!” Raising his head, he pointed at a finger at the bird as it flew away. “And you, Des, you won’t fly far!”

They didn’t do so well with only two levers. Inchito shot off somewhere and came back with a plank. He probably pulled it from the fence around the Pitfall.

But even three levers didn’t do the