The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series by Dan Sugralinov (e book reader free .TXT) 📕

an enemy of the will to resist. There was nothing left to do but bring Despot out into the light, show him the world and all the tasty enemies in it.

Approaching, my ally emitted a questioning sound:

“Grorrghr?”

“Grorrghr! Hello to you too, Horns! We’re going to go fight, just give me a minute to figure out this reward…”

Despot answered with a rasp like an iron bar scraping on asphalt. I opened my inventory. A strange black cube with a single red button had appeared there. I pulled it out, turned it in my hands: small, about the size of a fist, but heavy and somehow pleasantly rough to the touch.

Tactical Retreat

 

Engineering artifact.

 

If the fight is turning sour and you’re taking losses, remember ancient wisdom and run away! But reassure yourself and your allies: it isn’t really running away, it’s a tactical retreat!

 

One-time use: instantly moves you and the members of your raid group to the nearest safe location.

 

“Damn…” I muttered.

There was nothing about the artifact that would give me an advantage in combat. I got the feeling that the great random function wanted to make sure the best players survived. Tissa had been rewarded with Banshee Queen’s Cry, Quetzal with Aegis, Roman with Raging Bloodthirst and Meister with Escape Pentagram. And now I got Tactical Retreat. All of them were more defensive than offensive or supportive. Did Marcus have something similar too? It was still a mystery to me what the orc bruiser had received as the reward for best player of day four. As long as it didn’t ruin the day’s plans…

“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” I muttered, talking to my pet out of old habit. “That’s what Uncle Nick said when he gave me a horse for my sixth birthday.”

“Groghrgh?” the demon flamed.

“No, not a live one. It was plushy, didn’t have any teeth to look at. Its mouth didn’t even open. And come to think of it, it was actually a unicorn…” Putting the artifact away, I placed its icon in my quickbar and raised my head. “Let’s get out of here, budd… What the hell?!”

I stopped like a deer in the headlights and stared at the gates. They were the same gates as before, nothing new about them, but they weren’t open! Did I have to push them..? I looked to my ally, pointed at the gates and ordered:

“Despot, smash!”

The demon looked at me like I was an idiot. His forge-mouth chuckled and he didn’t move an inch. Right… This wasn’t Sharkon I was dealing with. Now there’s someone who would happily make Swiss cheese out of the place!

“How are we supposed to get out of here then?”

“Groghkhr!” Despot pointed a halberd arm at the center of the gates.

“Some good you are…” I muttered, walking toward the exit.

As I approached, I saw the seal. It wasn’t like the ones on the outside — it was smaller, as if it had melted and seeped through to this side, but not yet fully. It was the second minute of day six of the Games. My allies were dying somewhere up there, and I was stuck down here!

Nether! A seal at this level would take off 531% health. Less with my Resilience, but still fatal, certain death. Whatever, I couldn’t lose more than 100% anyway. Unless I put down Spirit Shackles on the off chance that Second Life didn’t proc? A couple of moments of thought and I abandoned that idea — better to save it to catch the souls of fallen enemies later!

Touching the seal with my hand, I felt a thousand needles digging into my palm, thirstily sucking out my blood…

…and saw a cast bar before me:

Removing seal: 0.274%… 0.549%… 0.824%…

 

I lost 1% health with each tick, but the progress was too slow. The seal peeking out from between my fingers began to redden, and the more blood it sucked out, the less health I had left.

Resilience level increased: +3. Current level: 48.

 

An instant before death, my arm reflexively twitched, but couldn’t pull away, as if it was bonded to the seal. A wave of hellflame ran from my wrist to my shoulder and my body collapsed into a pile of ash.

The world plunged into darkness.

You are dead.

 

Remaining time to respawn 9… 8… 7…

 

I saw nothing but the revival timer ticking down, but the cast bar was burned into my consciousness — at the moment of death, the seal removal progress was at 27.22%. How!? Kharmo’Lav the paladin was able to open the gates to floor 666. It had cost him his life, but only once!

Second Life! You managed to dodge death!

 

Would you like to revive where you died or go to your linked respawn point at Cursed Chasm Churchyard?

 

Remembering my allies dying above, I wanted with all my heart to revive at the graveyard, but the thought of leaving Despot locked up stopped me. I had to figure this out. I revived where I died.

“Groghhr!” the demon greeted me.

I was sure he was sentient, but it seemed Despot’s vocal cords needed some work. Or he just didn’t speak common.

“Scyth versus gates, round two! Fight!” I announced triumphantly for the viewers as I grabbed the seal…

And breathed a sigh of relief — the progress continued, it didn’t start over.

Removing seal: 27.495%… 27.77%… 28.045%…

 

Second Life protected me from the penalty for dying, saved my experience, and at this rate, the damn seal would be gone after four tries!

The needles bit into my hands and melded with them, sticking into my blood vessels. My health dropped, the seal reddened. I tried to ignore the pain, distracting myself again with the puzzle of Kharmo’Lav. Either the paladin’s class abilities lowered the damage from the ticks, or…