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

“Those bastards didn’t let us out of the graveyard!” Nico-Bloomer growled, grimacing. The poet wasn’t himself. His mask of intellect had fallen and his real face showed through. Now the large man ground his teeth, worked his massive jaws and looked like a caveman in a rage. “We were lucky Roman was with us. He cursed the campers and we managed to break through to the village, hide in our private rooms. But the others…”

“How are you doing?” the curser asked, his voice dead. “I hope it was worth it and you managed to save yourself, Threat.”

We were walking down a corridor full of people, our helpers following behind, so I waited until we reached the elevator.

“I was sent to one of the floors.” Realizing that we were being recorded, I avoided specifics. “Fortunately, there were no mobs, and the boss… He was slow, I spent the whole day running away from him.”

I didn’t go into how that run had ended, squashed a strong desire to brag. If Octius showed my triumphs in the highlights… Well, we’d lose the element of surprise, but my allies’ morale would go through the roof. For those who survived, at least.

“So no help from you,” Bloomer said grimly. “Well then, tomorrow is the last day in the Games for all of us.”

“Of course it is!” Roman said bitterly. “What can he do against them?”

A bell rang — we’d arrived at the media center floor.

“I can help,” I said quickly before the elevator opened. “Will you wait for me?”

“For an hour,” Joseph groaned. “We’re allowed to spend only one hour a day in our private rooms, then we’ll be thrown out.”

“The game’s subtle way of taking away hiding places,” Roman explained. “So nobody can sit there and end up at the top of the leaderboard at the end of the Games for doing nothing. That achievement is pretty well rewarded in big Dis, you see. As a cheater, this probably doesn’t matter to you, but…”

“Sure it does,” I said, and Roman snorted and continued:

“Let’s say you get into the top 25% of the survivors out of all the entrants, you can get a hundred free stat points or a bonus to something else…”

Roman loved to explain everything, and usually his information was helpful, but right then it was just annoying. And more for his partners than for me.

“Shut up already, Roman!” Bloomer interrupted him angrily. “We aren’t getting any achievements!”

“Why not..?” I asked, stopping. I put my arms around Meister and Roman’s necks and waited for the poet to complete our circle, then said quietly: “I defeated the boss. Help will come…”

The jeweler, curser and poet walked into the hall of ceremonies inspired. I planned to take my usual seat alone, but before I could choose my food, Michelle came over, leaned on the table and smiled.

“Hi! Sorry I left you alone last night. I ran into some girlfriends and just totally forgot…”

“Doesn’t matter, I wanted to sleep anyway,” I answered.

“Sit with us, Alex,” she said in a singsong voice. “The seniors told us that not all is lost, and tomorrow we can expect pleasant surprises from you. Pleasant for us.”

I accepted the invitation and moved to the same table as the trio of leaders and Michelle, then looked across the hall. Hellfish looked a question at me, apparently wanting to know whether Scyth had survived. I nodded. He gave me a thumbs-up.

Meister’s people looked downtrodden, frowning. For many, this was their last supper at the Games. Even the jeweler’s toast, in which he said in a suspiciously upbeat tone that “sooner or later we would have been thrown out anyway, believe a six-time contestant at the Games,” failed to uplift them.

Bloomer, sitting nearby and also not at his first rodeo, explained:

“The fighters give us a week or so to get into the spirit of the Demonic Games, enjoy talking and hanging out. Makes it more fun for them. The craftspeople just stick to the upper floors, who cares? But at a certain point, when people start to talk about the spots in the final leaderboard of contestants, they start killing us and zero us all. This year it happened a little sooner, but what can you do?”

“We knew what we were getting into when we made the deal with Mr. Sheppard…” Meister added loudly.

At those words, the entire raid turned to look at me. I saw reproach, anger and disappointment in their eyes. I wanted to look away, but I withstood the urge. Although I couldn’t finish off my food: their mood was catching, and I couldn’t force another bite down.

The day’s dinner seemed to last longer than usual. Michelle tried to distract me with gossip. I kept turning around, looking off to the side, watching the clock, waiting impatiently for the highlights to start. What if Snowstorm tried to memory-hole my successes again? What if I got another terrible debuff as worst player of the day, and couldn’t help my friends?

I just couldn’t get it together and stop worrying. Finally, the gamesmaster’s appearance distracted me from my gloomy thoughts. Octius descended from the ceiling in his already familiar armor, shouting:

“Good evening, contestants!” He waited until the hall fell silent in anticipation, then continued: “Day five of the Demonic Games was the most tragic yet! Twenty-nine contestants lost their characters today! Let’s see what happened…”

The knocked-out contestants leaned over their hard drinks. Someone shouted:

“Not what, who!” He was a thin, stooped man at a table nearby. He stood up and pointed at me. “Damn Sheppard!” His cheeks and nose reddened. “Curse you!” His finger moved from me to Meister. “And you, you greedy old sellout! I hope you die!”

“Copycat…” Roman muttered.

The scene escaped the viewer’s attention, because Octius was already describing the events in the