Rewind: A Grimdark LitRPG Series (Pyresouls Apocalypse, Book 1) by James Callum (reading tree .txt) 📕

Mack wasted no time shouting out orders. The paralysis effect wouldn’t last very long. Maybe a full minute if he was particularly unlucky.

A wiry little man sprang out from the shadows. He shied away from Jacob, tapping him with a foot to make sure he couldn’t actually move.

Jacob would have grinned at the obvious fear in the man if he could have.

“The paralysis isn’t going to last forever, do you want to still be in front of him when he comes out of it?” Mack barked at him.

The smaller man nodded and fit something around Jacob’s neck. There was a sharp metal click and the smell of ozone filled the air.

The hell is that?

Without his permission, both Jacob’s shield and sword vanished in a swirl of ash. His hands were dragged behind his back, though he noted it was done carefully, as if the man was afraid of hurting him unnecessarily.

A pair of manacles clicked into place around his gauntleted wrists. When the paralysis finally wore off, two people came around either side of him and looped their arms under his, lifting him to his feet.

He didn’t bother to support himself as they expected. If they were going to force him to his feet they could hold him up. He wasn’t about to do their work for them.

A grunt from either side told him that they hadn’t expected that. Few people did. This wasn’t the first time he was taken hostage. The easiest way to avoid being taken or otherwise used as a proper body shield was to go fully limp.

Humans were weird, unwieldy creatures that were surprisingly hard to carry if you didn’t do it a specific way. And holding a person’s back to your chest while you tried to threaten them, using one hand to hold them up didn’t work so well for keeping them on their feet.

Often the choice came down to holding them and forgetting the weapon, or dropping them and fleeing. For the few people who were strong enough to do both, it tired them out enough that an opening could be made in the future.

Not that Jacob thought he might get that lucky. He was resigned to his fate of dying. His point was made. Once those last two died, that would make nine kills.

Nine out of thirteen was better than he expected. Though he would have preferred an even ten. Oh well, life is full of small injustices.

Making sure he could talk without spluttering like he just came back from the dentist’s after having some work done, Jacob said, “How many bolts did it take?”

The two on either side of him looked to each other with more than a little alarm at his clinical attitude. He did well to keep from laughing out loud.

“Twelve,” said the man on his left as if embarrassed.

“Lot of wasted Souls,” Jacob commented off-handedly. It really was. To craft a paralysis bolt or arrow cost several hundred Souls.

Even if they killed Jacob, the most they could get was a little over 3,500 Souls after the men and women he’d just killed. He chuckled to himself at the thought that, when they did kill him, they would only be getting back their own Souls.

How’s that for ironic? They try to kill me and I’ll still walk away with over ten grand in Souls.

“Something funny, slave?” Mack asked, standing in front of him.

Jacob turned to the man that held him up on his left. The one that talked to him. “What’s it like having a man-child for a boss?”

That earned him a solid smack to the helm and a hiss of pain from Mack. Jacob chuckled again at the man’s stupidity.

Smart enough to get you in cuffs, came the unbidden thought. Touche.

“You’re coming with me,” Mack said, barely containing his rage. He looked around the street at the dead bodies. “Somebody kill off Jim and Percy. I’m tired of their mewling.”

Aside from Mack and the two men holding up Jacob, there was only one other person left, that wiry little man. He slinked off out of sight, silencing the two men’s weak cries of pain.

“Hey! I thought I would get the Souls when I touched their orb!” he cried in a nasally voice as two crimson wisps streaked out somewhere from Jacob’s left and absorbed into his side.

It goes to whoever dealt the most damage to them, Jacob wanted to say but he kept his mouth shut. No use in giving them any information they might be able to use.

“I claimed their Souls with my spell, Soul Devourer,” Jacob lied. “Whenever any of you die now, I’ll get a portion of your Souls. Unless you kill me to break the spell.”

A hush settled on the street as they digested that. Of course, no such spell existed to Jacob’s knowledge. But that didn’t mean they knew that.

“Time for you to see what happens to people who mess with me,” Mack said, turning his back on Jacob.

Despite himself, Jacob began to worry.

28

They took him through several back alleys. A few Vacant were milling about but they proved of little consequence to Mack and the wiry man at his side that slipped in and out of the shadows like a ghost.

That was one was worth watching.

It wasn’t until they brought him into a circular building that Jacob understood their true motive. A part of him was impressed. It was a solid strategy and a surprisingly cruel one as well, all things considered.

He was taken down the crumbling steps into the sub-level of the guard tower where a trio of dank cells awaited. One of the doors was opened by the wiry man and Jacob was shoved in. The cell door locked behind him as he stumbled in barely keeping himself from pitching over.

Turning around, Jacob bowed to the four men. “Not the best accommodations but it’ll do.” He picked a spot on the filthy ground and sank into a crosslegged position despite the collar and manacles