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

me, I looked through the fire at Destiny’s enraged visage and the broken face of Marcus, who shouted:

“Don’t let him get away! Focus Scyth!”

Then, above the cries and the sound of attacks bouncing harmlessly off the demonic magic, Meister’s triumphant laughter rang out:

“I did all I could, young man! And let the pentagram’s victim be… Destiny!”

He pointed a finger at the silver ranger, who began to glow, then flared up with fire and instantly burned to ashes! Meister laughed even louder, like a madman.

Marcus spotted the jeweler in a tree and pointed at him. I had time to watch the little gray gnome’s breathless body fall out of the tree, crackling with energy and peppered with arrows and spears.

Then the world disappeared and I fell into darkness, Meister’s piercing cackle echoing in my head…

And I found myself in a dimly lit cave. Just as I was about to celebrate, I cast a glance at the minimap and saw there was no point: Despot’s Labyrinth, Floor 531.

A demon grumbled in the darkness, waking up. The stone beneath my feet shook with its steps.

I still had Stun, Limping and Overburdened, and Sloth’s Blessing and Enemy of the Inferno hadn’t gone anywhere either. Right now, nobody would bet a quarter phoenix that I was going to last out the day.

Chapter 20. Despot’s Labyrinth

APART FROM THE FOOTFALLS of something huge, I heard a measured pulsing like the beating of a gigantic heart throughout the dungeon, the walls and floor vibrating in step with it. Thud-thud! Thud-thud! The sound was deep, resonant, like a heartbeat underwater, when you hear your own pulse in the rush of blood to your ears. It boded nothing good. Especially since I was still stunned. I couldn’t even grit my teeth, let alone move. The first weedy mob that came by would put me down.

For the first time, I think, since my last meeting with the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague, I missed Immortality. It was so awesome to not even pay attention to the enemy’s level and damage, just rush headlong into battle waving my arms around and firing off Plague Fury every now and again!

As I stood in the center of the spacious cave, I caught the scent of rot, but when I focused on the smell I realized it wasn’t dead flesh, it was the stench of rotten eggs, sulfur and char. Particles of soot floated through the air instead of dust. A barely noticeable light emanated from the flickering red walls. I would have struggled without Night Vision, but even with the skill I could just barely see the space along the walls; most of the cave was immersed in darkness.

No fewer than twenty heartbeats fit into the nine seconds before my Stun ended. There were no mobs nearby — thank the Sleepers! — but the one heavily crashing its way toward me, shaking the floor as it went, was one I definitely wanted to avoid. And I couldn’t use Ghastly Howl…

The thought suddenly hit me that I’d failed to take something important into account, and my mistake had cost us a lot! Nether, Spirit Shackles! What stopped me from casting it in the center of the glade, preventing the Desters and Markers from reviving? My conscience tore at my soul and I wanted to howl, but then my stun came to an end.

I was still alive, and the last thing I needed to do was blame myself for my mistakes. It was time to act, and first of all — to look around and find out where I was and what I was up against.

The ceiling was around twenty feet up. Strangely enough, the cave was perfectly rectangular, with even walls. It seemed more likely to be man-made than a work of nature. Four corridors led off in various directions. Looking closer, I saw that the floor was perfectly smooth too, as if cast from volcanic glass. Along the walls ran little insects that looked like woodlice, but burned with fire like hot coals.

The footfalls were getting closer. Now that I knew there were no other sounds, I backed off. Primordial instincts told me not to turn my back on the danger.

I was retreating now at a little faster than a snail’s pace. I still had Limping, I still had Overburdened and that damn Sloth’s Blessing would be with me until the day ended, but at least I was up to a turtle’s pace.

I was just a few steps from a corridor leading into the unknown when the monster appeared.

Despot, Demon, level 531 Gate Guardian

 

Dungeon Boss.

 

First a long, low droning joined the crashing footsteps, like the splutter and crackle of flames coupled with the sound of gusty winds beating against the roof of a highrise slum in Cali Bottom, and then…

It took me a moment to realize what had happened. Fiery flickers gleamed up near the ceiling. Two burning eyes flashed out in the darkness, filled not with flame, but with lava, and within the lava floated the twin black holes of his pupils. The demon opened his mouth as if flinging open the fanged doors of a furnace. His arms were covered in chitinous spines as long as my forearm. They scraped along the floor along with his claws as the creature walked. Two horns shaped like halberds stuck out from Despot’s skull, their blades meeting in the middle of his face.

The demon had emerged from a cramped corridor, doubled over. Now he began to straighten himself, his joints cracking, signaling the full power of his mighty limbs.

Sharp spines atop his skull scraped against the top of the cave. The demon loudly inhaled, then again, and I realized why he wasn’t moving — he was pumping the bellows. With each in-breath, a flame in his gut burned brighter and brighter, flashing out between splayed-out