Berserker: A LitRPG Urban Fantasy Adventure (Apocosmos Book 1) by Dimitrios Gkirgkiris (phonics readers .txt) 📕

was still considerably faster than the doctore’s, even if her Physical Attack stat wasn’t as great. Taking her leather outfit into consideration, she had probably upgraded from a monk-based class, trained to avoid hits and in rapid counter-attacking. Alexander absorbed this bit of information and focused his eyes on the flames again.

Yalfrigg walked dangerously close to the fire and to everyone’s surprise held out his hands over it. His palms immediately started blistering and the acrid coppery smell of burnt blood filled the air. The dwarf pursed his lips and took in the pain without a single sound escaping him.

“I took no pleasure in what I did,” he said as small flames began igniting on his hands. “The only absolute freedom a person has is to decide if they want to end their life. Their gods and their beliefs would judge whether such a thing is honorable or not, but this absolute freedom is sacred among all realms. Even here, so close to the hells. Even for slaves like us.”

The doctore pulled his hands away from the fire and the awful smell became almost unbearable. Bits of his flesh had melted away and pieces of bone were visible.

“These wounds will heal with time,” he continued, “and are but a minor punishment for taking this freedom from a man. Perhaps I deserve further punishment for forcing him into life. I can only hope that one day he will get out of this shithole and regret that he tried to end his life sooner. And even if he doesn’t, at least I’ll know I’ve done my best to save the rest of you.”

“That is to say,” the male vampire said, ending an uncomfortable silence that lasted for quite a few moments, “that since you won’t let anyone end their life early, the only options we have are rotting here as slaves, or joining your rebellion.”

“And that is no choice at all,” added his twin sister.

“There never was a choice,” replied the dwarf somberly. “Berserker, you’re up for battle in a couple of hours.”

“Who am I up against?”

“The crowd’s favorite. Deathmatch,” the dwarf said as he turned his back to them and started moving away. “Walk with me, Greek.”

Alexander stretched his limbs before standing up and followed the dwarf in the shadows between the bonfires. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds in the slave camp those of people agonizing over their recent injuries. Some were talking here and there, a few even snoring. None of them were laughing though. Never laughing. Laughing was reserved for the fortunate ones that were far away from the nine hells. And the evil ones.

They only stopped walking once they’d reached the edge of the camp, on a pink sandy beach caressed by a slow river of blood: Acheron. The liquid surface looked almost still with only a couple of ferrymen to be seen in the distance, their ghastly little boats carrying groups of dead people to the entrance of the first layer of hell. The red moon above the lake would have made them impossible to spot if it weren’t for the little golden light coming from a lantern at the front of each boat, illuminating their way.

“One of the slaves told me about you,” the trainer said. “He said you’re a legend. That you saved his people when they were swarmed by the undead.”

“We lost many more than we saved,” Alexander replied somberly.

“So I asked about you,” Yalfrigg replied, disregarding Alexander’s comment. “The dominus was more than happy to boast his way through the details of how he got you.”

Alexander clenched his jaws but otherwise tried to keep his calmness at the remark.

“That’s why I trust you.”

“What’s a deathmatch?” Alexander asked, not wanting to hear any more of the dwarf’s reasoning. It did not matter. What mattered was the fight.

“It means you will battle against other gladiators,” the dwarf stated and took another look at his now useless hands.

“First blood or last blood?” Alexander asked, with an eerie lack of sentiment.

“You’ll be equipped, buffed, and pitted against five nameless gladiators. If you win, you get to keep the gear.”

“I don’t know what a nameless gladiator is,” Alexander responded, not at all worried about the fact that he would be pitted against five of them. He didn’t like the odds, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Our dominus likes to get the most out of his investments, which means he won’t let us expire in the pits. If someone falls in the arena, and his body is retrievable, he will be brought back to life by one of the slave bishops. But you know what happens when a person dies.”

“They lose XP and a piece of them is gone forever.”

“Exactly. They can gain the XP back, but have you wondered what happens if they get de-leveled below level 1?”

“Below level 1? That would require hundreds of deaths,” Alexander said.

“When a person drops to level 0, they lose their soul—or rather it’s locked inside of them. They forget their names. They forget their families and friends. They lose themselves. They become puppets without will,” the dwarf explained. “Their skills are still there, ready to use, and even though they aren’t as powerful as they were at their normal level, they’re still very strong.”

“Does someone control them?”

“When someone who’ll fall below level 1 is to be killed, the dominus makes sure the slave is brought to him so he can land the killing blow. Nameless obey the one that drops them to level 0.”

“So I can’t break their connection and make them stop. Do they feel pain?” Alexander asked, already starting to calculate how he would be able to fight such foes.

“Yes, but it makes no difference. They will continue attacking until they kill their target or get killed themselves.”

“And what happens if they’re killed?”

“They can’t be revived again.”

“What of their souls?”

The dwarf took a moment before offering his answer, as if he was considering whether this would be redemption or