Titan: A LitRPG Adventure (UnderVerse Book 4) by Jez Cajiao (free ebooks for android .TXT) 📕

Thomas swallowed hard and again worked to focus his eyes on the spot of dried viscera that hung from a stalactite in the Chamber of Darkness, rather than glancing to his immediate left.

Sergeant Belladonna, his squad leader, one of the hardest, dirtiest fighters he’d ever seen, and without a doubt, the most beautiful, stood by his side, her long blue-black curls swaying in the slight breeze that filtered up from the depths of this most holy of places. Like Thomas and the other three who had pledged their blood to his, swearing to act as his family, swearing to aid and teach him, in exchange for the healing and rebuilding of his mana channels… she was utterly naked.

Thomas jerked his eyes ahead again, biting down on the impulse to just take a single look sideways… it wasn’t that she was naked, although he desperately wanted to see that again at any opportunity.

He’d seen it before; they all shared a communal tent city, after all. The construction of the new Citadel was still underway, which meant they all shared baths and more out of temporary necessity.

It was the fact that she stood so close.

He could feel the heat rising off her body, smell her scent on the breeze that filtered past, a faint mixture of crushed lilac and Jasmine that changed every so often, a faint peppery undertone joining with the rest. He could see her breath as it clouded the air. The preternatural cold of the crypt pressed in all around them, and he really didn’t want to think about the effect that was having on his manhood, despite simultaneously being damn glad, as it was all that was keeping him from ‘springing’ to attention at her nearness.

“Now Dark Lord, your servant Thomas will step forward to ask for your blessing. He will expose his heart to you, aided by his brothers and sisters, and you may judge him! Should he be worthy, we ask that you restore him, heal and bind him, so that he may carry forward your anger unto the enemy, no matter where they skulk!” Sir Edvard roared, the dark light of fanaticism gleaming in his eyes as he looked down on Thomas and his companions.

They stepped forward as one, having been schooled on the correct etiquette, and glided deeper into the oily substance.

Thomas felt the slick, cloying wetness rising up his thighs, and he felt a spike of regret that it was going to take forever to get the damn stuff off every hair, fighting back a grimace as the substance rose higher.

Nobody knew exactly what the liquid was, but it was warm, and the cavern was anything but; that fact alone had given rise to countless rumors over the years.

Add to that, the knowledge that immersing yourself into the substance and having your companions open your veins to it never made the volume rise or fall, that it felt like oil but smelt like blood, and that if Nimon found you wanting… well, the result was explosive, both for you and those who entered with you.

Thomas drew in a deep breath, turned and laid back, feeling the substance buoy him up to float on the surface, and he tried his best not to imitate a sailing ship as he looked into Belladonna’s eyes. He focused grimly on them until she nodded once to him.

Then he turned his head and stared determinedly upwards, focusing on the stalactites above him as four sets of hands took firm hold of his limbs, and the cold of sharp metal was pressed gently against his skin.

“All praise be to Nimon! For in his glory and service are we all tested!” Sir Edvard intoned, and the others, Thomas included, echoed him.

“All praise to Nimon!” they cried, and then the knives bit into his flesh. Thomas gasped in pain, his eyes flaring wide as he was opened to the Dark God in truth. The inky substance flowed in, burning into his veins and intermingling with his heart’s blood.

Chapter Thirteen

The entire section of the structure that supported our path to retreat started to tear loose with an ear-splitting shriek of tortured metal, and I had a split second to recognize a familiar face grinning down at me from above.

Joshua, the Baron of Sarat, I remembered, Hannimish’s nephew, who had just fucked me well and truly. He made a rude hand gesture at me and vanished, making me swear fervently.

“He’s just fucked us, whoever he was…” Stephanos said grimly, and I turned back to face the oncoming tide of the dead.

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s Joshua, one of the asshole nobles, and he only thinks he has.” I checked my mana, seeing it was a little below half, and scanned the room quickly.

The path up, indeed the entire section where we’d been standing, was now a mess of debris. Behind that was a wall, and to the right was another. Straight ahead was the majority of the undead horde, pouring out of a hallway on the far side of the room and flooding in after us.

There were a few undead heading in from the left, but nowhere near as many as from straight ahead, so I pointed in that direction and clicked my fingers.

“Arrin,” I ordered. “Fire as many spells as you have to; I need to know what’s over there, if there’s a way out or not.” I looked to him, and he nodded, determination clear on his face as he yanked a mana potion free of his bag and started chugging it.

“The rest of you, hold this line. We can’t afford to get forced back against the wall…” I said, taking the lead, only to find Grizz and Lydia moving up beside me.

“No,” I insisted, motioning them back. “I need you both to protect the others.”

“Our job is to protect you,” Grizz said grimly, and I shook my head as Lydia grunted agreement.

“I…” I started, only to