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

Holding up a fist to signal everyone else to stop, I peer around the edge of the hole. I see the body of Steve, Colt’s second-in-command, flat on his back in the mud, not moving, an arrow sticking out of his chest.

Scanning the narrow field that is visible to me, I find Colt and three others huddled behind various chunks of granite. It seems we are all pinned down for the moment.

We crouch, huddled inside the broken wall, unable to move forward and unwilling to return to the battlefield.

“We can't risk a fireball. Even if we had one, it would kill the horses and blow up the wagons,” mutters Haynes, thinking out loud.

“We got more problems coming up!” Des points to the field behind us. A large group of Terrestris Laminis warriors have banded together and started our way.

“Pile up some rocks, and anyone with a shield, plug the hole!” orders Haynes. “We may have to make a break for it. The archers can't get all of us…”

The plan sucks, but I don't see any other alternative. What we need is a distraction, but damned if I can see how to do that from here.

Haynes leans past the Gnolls, who are holding their shields up in the opening, and fires off a few shots from his .45. The report is deafening in the tight confines of the hole, and my ears ring for the next few moments.

“That should make them think twice,” mutters Haynes.

“Nope, they barely even flinched,” I say as I watch their reaction. “Too hexed to feel pain or any sense of self-preservation. Shit.”

A spear flies through the hole and clatters off the wall above Jesse's head. At the same time, I feel some cold water drip down the back of my neck. I look up and see daylight above us. The hole is also letting in a little rain. Jesse picks up the spear and launches it back at its owner. It drops with the shaft through its intended's chest; now there are only about fifteen left. We don't have enough ammo to fight these guys and the archers. And there isn't enough room in here to swing a sword. We need to make a move soon. I try to point out the fissure above us to Jesse, but he’s too busy trying to find another target, and I get distracted again.

“I got two shots in this scattergun, but I have to wait till they get a lot closer,” says Olivia.

My short barrel .38 isn't much better at this range, but I pull it out and switch the mace to my left hand.

A raucous war cry carries over the field. I catch a glimpse of spiked black armor in the rear of the mob outside our wall. I see an arm and part of a helmet fly through the air, but the rest of the mob doesn't react, they just continue advancing on us.

“The Berserkers are on their way! Let’s try to help clear a path for them!” Haynes shouts over the din of battle.

I brace my forearm on Nian's shoulder and say to him, “Try not to jump; this is gonna be really loud.” He nods in assent and readies himself. With a two-handed grip, I remain still for a few seconds to take careful aim. Pulling in a deep breath, I let half of it out and squeeze the trigger. The .38 slug hits a man low on the torso. It’s enough to stagger him and make him drop his sword. For the follow-up shot, I correct my aim a little higher and put the next round through his forehead. The helmet stops it from exiting out the back of his skull before he drops like a rock.

The mob continues to thin out as the Berserkers make their presence known. They attack from the rear, slaughtering the slave soldiers in front of them with fast efficiency. The enemy soldiers are too bespelled and focused on us to notice an attack heading for the rear of their group.

A quick headcount shows only about seven enemy fighters left when the first of the Fomorians suddenly reach the Berserkers. It catches the poor bastards by surprise. Its massive maul sweeps down from above like a hockey player going in for a slap-shot.

Now, this particular Berserker has to be about six foot five, upwards of three hundred pounds, with maybe an additional hundred pounds of armor and weapons. The maul catches him in the left ribs and launches him off his feet by a good six yards. He hits the ground like a ragdoll and doesn't move. From here I can see his armor and chest are completely caved in.

The other Berserkers, the four that remain, react well. They break off their attack on the Terrestris soldiers and surround the Fomorian. It’s a weird effect seeing the Berserkers look like children surrounding this twelve-foot-tall beast.

The giant blinks its three asymmetric eyes independently as it surveys the scene. The muscles on its chest ripple as it repositions its heavy hammer. It balances easily on its feet… all three of them. Its left leg splits at the knee with an extra shin and foot sprouting off next to it.

The Berserkers all sport large, heavy weapons, the kind designed to end an argument with one shot. They may as well be children's toys up against this thing. Grayson, the lead Berserker, darts in with his double-bladed ax and takes a mighty swing at the giant’s knee. The blade bites deep and rebounds off thick bone.

The Fomorian howls and backhands Grayson off his feet. The big man is sent flying and lands on his back. He uses the momentum to turn into a neat roll, coming smoothly to his feet.

The three remaining Berserkers attack all at once, two axes and one two-handed sword, all chopping and hacking with powerful blows. The giant dances around, nimbler than it has any right to be, but still catches