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

“Well, folks, are we following the plan?” Hellfish asked after I got back. “Time to head down and start this marathon grind?”

“Wait!” Destiny shouted. The raid, already unsheathing their weapons in anticipation of loot, froze and all cast unhappy glances at the troublemaker. But the girl went on: “I know how you all feel about me…”

“Uh-huh,” Bloomer nodded. “We don’t feel anything about you, lady!”

Meister just turned his back as if she wasn’t there.

Destiny spoke louder:

“You can’t leave an enemy behind you! I suggest we go up a few floors, and then go find Youlang. After all, if…”

“Dumb idea!” Hellfish interrupted. “Anyway… Ganging up on people is for degenerates. Or does that not bother you, Des?”

“What about Eynyon’s Gong?” Kara said. “It could strike any time now! We can’t waste time on Youlang, we have to hurry and level up.”

True. I’d forgotten about that. Eynyon’s Gong was something like Sudden Death in the Arena. A way of making sure the Games didn’t drag on too long. When there were plenty of contestants, it didn’t sound, but now that there were fewer than 10% of us left, the gong could strike at any moment.

Destiny moved her helpless gaze to me:

“Better to waste an hour today than regret not doing it later… Scyth, surely you get it! If Eynyon’s Gong strikes and something happens to us, Youlang will be the champion as the only survivor!”

“I get it. But now — we descend!” I commanded. “You all need to level up right now! Otherwise you’ll be out of the Games with or without the gong if something happens.”

“Good plan,” Quetzal nodded. “But we need to clarify something else. Crafters! Your main task is not to die, so don’t get into combat, stand close by and run if you get aggro!”

“Let’s go through the trash loot and see what ranged weapons we have,” Hellfish suggested. “If the crafters get within melee range of the bosses, we won’t have the healing for them. Better for them to stay at range and shoot, they can level up their combat skills that way too!”

“My Sabers skill is high!” Bloomer whined. “I won’t change weapons!”

“Neither will I,” Meister sniffed. “I like how daggers work!”

“It’s bombs and turrets for me!” the gnome engineer Joker said, squeaking with bloodlust.

Quetzal sighed:

“Sabers and daggers… Bombs and turrets… Fine, you three use what you’re used to, the others can train in ranged weapons. Come on, toss out your loot, let’s share what we have.”

It took twenty minutes to equip everyone with the most effective weapons. It would have taken even more time for the non-combat players to sort through it on their own; even Anna, who had at least seen some combat, was choosing gear by color before stats.

Apart from our usual fighters, our team now had a ranged platoon, albeit with a squint debuff that I hoped was temporary. We also had the Wild Division, as Hellfish called Joker, Bloomer and Meister: a bomber gnome, a poet waving saber swords and a jeweler wielding daggers, sowing fear and horror wherever they went.

“That’s it, enough messing around!”

The gladiator’s commanding roar made even the crafters stand to attention. The raid began to descend down the stairs to floor 23. I flew first, to make sure my allies didn’t fall into an ambush by Youlang.

Despot sat by the gates of the ninth floor, his head thrown back.

“Hey, Horns!” I shouted. “What are you doing here? Waiting for some contestants to fall into your mouth from above?”

“Fresh meat and mortal souls are good,” the demon answered. “But we demons are sentient. More than mere food interests us! I am admiring the view. My labyrinth is monotonous, joyless. The sky is beautiful here! It is different in the Underworld…”

It was a stretch to call the grim sky above the Cursed Chasm beautiful, but the last thing I expected from a walking furnace was any affinity for beauty.

“The sky’s nice,” I said, nodding to the demon. “But weren’t you going to fetch that sword for me?”

The demon blew steam out his nostrils, annoyed at the interruption. Something whistled by my head, and the epic sword thrummed into the wall behind me. Despot looked backed to the sky.

I looked at the descending raid and waved:

“Hey, Quetzal! Look what I have here for you!”

Taking the Blade of the Bloody Tide in hand, the titan whistled.

“For me?”

“Sure. There are no other strong meleers, so you should have it.”

“What about you?”

“I’m better off without weapons,” I said, firing off a Hammerfist into the air. Rindzin’s Ghostly Talon extended from my arm at the peak of my strike, leaving an impression in the air. “Only activates when I’m unarmed.”

“Impressive,” Quetzal nodded. “Good sword! Thanks!”

We continued the descent. The raid was full of happy chatter in anticipation of a fun farming session and fast progress. We’d almost reached the platform at the gates of floor 21 when the Pitfall shook. The ground disappeared from beneath our feet. Everyone fell except me — I took off reflexively.

The walls of the pit glowed, thick black smoke began pouring out of cracks and it got noticeably hot. More shaking, this time stronger. My allies toppled over. Nobody could stay on their feet. Someone rolled off the stairs and dropped over the edge.

“He-e-e-lp!” they cried desperately.

I went into Clarity, took off downwards after the faller. Niceguy the orc alchemist was hanging three floors below, his arms and legs in mid-wave. Grabbing him by a meaty leg, I returned him to the others and went back to normal speed.

Only then did I see the notification:

Global event in the Cursed Chasm: Freedom Day!

Youlang, level 16 Spellcaster, has activated the Pentagram of Freedom.

The seals of all the gates in the Pitfall have been