Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📕

Before the ozone smell even hits us, a bright flash of fire streaks from the next orb over our heads to land in the fourth or fifth row behind us. It’s difficult to see from here, but the impact is strong, and the screams are louder than the howling wind. Six more streaks of white light, cutting through the thick steam, beam toward the metal- and stone-held crystal.

“They’re just trying to soften our ranks up! If it was meant for our group, we’d be dead already. Keep sharp! Tighten up the front row!” shouts the Sarge, voice steady and in command.

The next orb seems to be one of pure force. It is as if a giant sledgehammer twenty feet across simply smashes the next grid of our enemies into the muddy ground. A wave of water, mud, and body parts splash against like invisible barriers of their surrounding squares. Six more streaks of light. Without a pause, the barrage continues.

The next one happens right in front of us. The orb shatters, and for a moment, nothing seems to happen. Then the ogres within the square all begin to gag and choke. Weapons clatter to the ground, forgotten as they clutch at their throats. Their skin darkens to deeper shades of yellow or green, one by one, as they drop to their knees. Clawing at their throats, their eyes bulge, yet no noise comes from their gasping mouths. Slumping to the ground, some face up, some face down in the mud, they all lie still, lights leaving their forms and finding a home in the enemy's crystal.

“There we go! A few less ogres for us to kill! Anyone feeling sorry for those bastards?”

“No, Sergeant!” we all shout in reply. Adrenaline begins to surge along with anger, replacing the fear that swirls in my gut.

The next orb is even more startling. The Knights in the back row of the Terrestris Laminis side try to remain seated as their horses begin to rear. But there is no escape from their square. The muddy earth thins rapidly, and three horses neigh in terror as they start to sink. The heavy armor and the mounted knights' weight add to their struggle. With three deep splashes, the horses and knights sink under the ground, leaving no trace in the muddy soil. Six more streaks of light disappear into our crystal—three for the knights and three for the horses.

The final orb is the most disturbing in my opinion. It shoots out and lands in a square that is occupied with dead bodies from a previous kill. This one just happens to be right in front of us.

It shatters with a sickly green spark. The four bodies of the asphyxiated ogres also flicker green as the spark arcs, splits, and enters each body. Each time the green spark lights up, the bodies all twitch, the spasms growing stronger with each jolt. Slowly they get to their feet, gathering up their weapons as they do. Two of them turn toward our squad, and two to the ogres to the left of them.

“Get ready, you lazy bastards! We’re about to earn our keep! Weapons up!” barks the Sarge. The very air around us blazes with a green light as our square is selected for the opening melee.

“UNDEAD!” screams Des as he slips in the thick mud. He’s smashed off his feet by a studded club and slams into Haynes, both going down in a heap. At a guess, I’d say he got a ‘Natural 1’ for initiative. Jesse leaps forward and with a precise slash, whips his saber across the ogre's throat. Very little blood runs from the deep wound, and the beast barely seems to notice. I thrust my spear as hard as I can into the dead center of its chest. The broad head smashes through its breastplate and sinks deep into its heart and lungs.

The Gnolls both attack the second ogre. Nian viciously hacks with a heavy blade to cleave its helm into two uneven pieces. He spins out of the way as Thirax finishes it with a brutal two-handed overhead chop to the ogre's skull. The blade bites deep, and gelatinous brain matter splashes out of the fractured skull. The body drops like a puppet with its strings cut; no light emits from the body this time.

The ogre I speared doesn't even seem to notice the seven-foot pole sticking out of its chest. It draws its arm back for another swing of its club, and I push harder on the spear shaft. I might as well have been trying to push a Buick with a matchstick. All at once, I feel like a real dumbass. Everyone knows to kill an undead anything, you must destroy the brain. All I have now is an eight-foot ogre-on-a-stick.

Luckily, at this point, Haynes has made it back to his feet and swings a heavy bladed Falchion into the hamstrings of the undead ogre. Reanimated corpse or not, if the muscles are severed, simple physics wins every time. It collapses under its own weight, and I use the spear as a lever to knock it to the side. Jesse steps up and finishes what he started by beheading the creature with a second, well-placed slash to the back of its neck. The head rolls through the mud and stops at my boot.

The ogres in the adjacent square aren't fairing as well as we are. It's four live ones against two undead, but numerical superiority doesn't make a difference. The live ogres are committing the same mistake I did—not going for the head.

It’s a straight-up slugfest, studded iron clubs against armor and tough green hide. One of them is down already and not moving. Another is favoring a broken arm, the bone sticking out of the skin just below the shoulder with thick, rusty red blood flowing freely from the wound. The two undead