War God's Mantle: Descent: A litRPG Adventure (The War God Saga Book 2)

by James Hunter

  They’d be feeling that in the morning all right.

  I didn’t have long, but I had long enough. I crouched, Sower’s Glass in hand, ready to move when the time was right. There. Through the entryway, I saw a bearded man standing between the columns of the blurry temple, traveling at breakneck speed through the time loop. And yeah, the dude bore a striking resemblance to the statue above me. If that wasn’t Cronus, I was about to find myself all Marty McFly, lost in time, and not a DeLorean in sight.

  The man disappeared, and the cycle started again. But this time I was ready. As the vines began to sprout the man appeared—just a flash—and I lunged forward, risking everything. The second the Sower’s Glass crossed the threshold the ever-shifting temple came to an abrupt halt. It was like watching a stock car come to a screaming stop, tires smoking. The Temple of Cronus lay before me awash in green foliage and covered in grass.

  The bearded man was gone, vanished, and I hoped that didn’t mean I’d screwed the pooch. No help for it, though. I sprinted toward a set of sprawling stairs leading up—

  Something struck me in the ribs, hard, plucking the Sower’s Glass from my grasp as I stumbled from the blow. I only knew one thing that could move that fast. Her name was Antiope, and she was in full-on Burst Speed mode.

  Fuck.

  I whirled around, to find my former ally charging Euryale, and sure enough, she had the Sower’s Glass attached to her belt. She sideswiped the Gorgon, slamming the Vambraces of Boreas together, blasting the monstrous woman in the face at point-blank range. A sheen of ice encased the snake-woman’s head, and suddenly the burning golden light of the Gorgon’s eyes vanished. Boy was poor Euryale having a shitty day. She’d lost a hand and had a lightning bolt shoved up her ass, and now she’d been blasted in the grill by an arctic cold front. Insult to injury right there.

  From above came a battalion of undead harpies, each carrying imps, dogs, and even a few gun-toting zombie thugs, held aloft by vines attached to the undead bird women. Earl Necro Earl had come to the party. As always, that dickwad had impeccable timing. He stormed onto the hilltop on a new mount: an undead T. rex he must’ve magicked back to life. ’Cause of course he had a fucking zombie T. rex. Werewolves dropping fur and rotten chunks of their own bodies loped beside him, as did decrepit nagas slithering forward of decaying tails. The stench of death washed over us like a tidal wave.

  But worse than the smell … the asshole had Sabra’s lifeless body latched to the T. rex like some sort of grisly war trophy. A little screw you, because it wasn’t enough for him to kill my Amazon, he had to gloat. Man, but that brohole was gonna pay …

  Necro Earl and the last of his forces—the dead, as well as those few living souls that had survived the Gorgon’s petrifying stare—came charging in. They rammed into the velocentaurs, splitting them like a razor-sharp ax through an old tree stump. The dinosaur-men were still reeling and recovering from my Shockwave attack. However, the velocentaurs were far from pushovers and rallied in a flash, ripping into the zombie werewolves and rotten nagas with frenzied zeal. Swords, axes, and spears clashed and rang as the armies fought.

  Necro Earl on his nasty-ass Rex was quickly lost in the melee.

  It was like before, outside the Caverns of Entomo: my Amazons and I had two armies to fight, but luckily, both of those armies were just as happy to beat the shit out of each other. That was something we could exploit. And even better, my ’Zons and I were at full strength. Plus, I knew something that Earl must’ve forgotten—assuming he’d ever learned the lesson at all. It was a lesson Euryale the Gorgon had been kind enough to impart to us ...

  You don’t fly around the skies of Nyx, not unless you want hell to come storming down on you. A whistling, metallic shriek ripped at the air, followed by another and another.

  Okay, guys, I messaged my team, let’s get to that temple. We’re about to get some much-needed help.

  From the glowing crystal in the ceiling high above came dozens of the Stymphalian Omegas, each the size of a Harrier and fully equipped with lightning breath, hooked wings, and a bloodlust to rival a school of great whites. They flew down in a perfect formation, their shadows dancing across the ground.

  Earl glanced up.

  I couldn’t help but savor the look of surprise and fear on his face.

  The Omegas fell like a meteor shower, blasting through ranks of undead beasties and velocentaurs alike. Some pulled up at the last second, racing only a few meters off the ground. Going that fast, their momentum helped them with their slaughter. The hooks at the end of their wings decapitated heads and cut the lumbering gun-thugs in half. But the undead harpies quickly mounted a counterattack. At least six landed on one of the winged guardians and all the fiendish bird women struck at once, ripping off emerald-colored plates and eating the flesh of the doomed Omega.

  It slammed into the ground like a bunker buster, taking out other troops, leaving a deep furrow in the ground.

  Imps cranked on the Gatling guns affixed to the shoulders of the beefy goons, spitting bullets across the battlefield and taking down velocentaurs until the dinosaur-men responded with a shower of arrows, spears, and javelins. It was full-on battle savagery on the hilltop, but I was thinking we could avoid the worst of it with a little luck and a little skill. The Gorgon and the necromancer could fight all they wanted. We had the Crystal Scythe to grab.

  Skirting the main battle, my Amazons raced toward me and the entrance to the Temple of Cronus. I whirled, ready to make a break for it, when a xiphos hacked into my breastplate.

  Antiope.

  I’d lost track of her during the swell of onrushing enemies, but here she was. Alive and looking to pick a fight.

  I got my shield in front of me for her next attack. Her blade hit like taking a sledgehammer, the clang of metal on metal vibrating in my teeth. I batted the attack away, then shot forward, smashing my shield into her face. She staggered back, blood running down from her nose and mouth in a sheet. Before she could recover, I thrust the War Blade forward and unleashed a Lightning Lance. The miracle lit her up like a Christmas tree and she went flying.

  She hit the ground and rolled, regaining her feet, then bolted back toward me. Suddenly, I found myself parrying blow after blow. She was good, I was better … But I hesitated, just as I had when sparring with Myrina so long ago. I was holding back, almost against my own will. Antiope was my friend, or at least she had been my friend. It was hard to end her so cruelly, so callously. Her speed and strength forced me back through the entryway. The minute my sandals touched the ground on the other side of the gate, a voice boomed out, “WHO DARES DESECRATE MY TEMPLE!”

  “God of War here,” I called out, catching Antiope’s blade on my own, saving my neck. I pushed her forward and we were back under the entryway. “I’ve come to talk, Cronus.”

  “YOU WILL PAY, WAR GOD, FOR DISTURBING MY EXILE. YOU WILL FIND DEATH AS ALL CREATURES DO IN THE GRIP OF THE FORCES OF TIME ITSELF.”

  Well, shit, that didn’t sound good.

  Above the din of Antiope’s xiphos clashing with my blade, I heard a storm of noise, indistinct at first, but as I fought, I could make out a steady ticking sound. A tick-tock followed by the stamp of metal feet marching along stone. What the hell?

  I triggered my Defender ability. My skin transformed into shining metal just as Antiope’s sword slammed into my chest. Her blade bounced off my enhanced flesh. Then I drove a metal fist into her face. She went down, hard, her already busted nose splashing me with a shower of gore. I should’ve ended her, but dammit! This was my Amazon, my friend. Staring down at her, it was hard to see anyone other than the selfless warrior who had died to save me and her sisters.

  An earth-shattering roar split the air and I glanced at Earl sitting astride his Necro-Rex. It was impossible not to see Sabra’s butchered corpse, tied to Earl’s mount. Antiope had done that, I reminded myself. In my mind, I could see the Dark Amazon’s gleaming xiphos driving into the Forest-Witch’s throat. I could envision the
dark blood spurting through the air and spilling down Sabra’s chest. I steeled myself. Antiope had become the enemy. I had to put her down—though I would do it quick. That much she deserved.

  A slash of the War Blade would end her for good.

  But my moment of hesitation cost me. She scuttled away, using her speed to flee before I could deliver the mortal wound.

  Sophia appeared beside me with Loxo in tow, badly wounded and terribly pale. I cast a Mass Heal, hitting all my Amazons at once, my Essence dropping by fifty-five. I steadied my Huntress while Sophia puffed away, eager to rejoin the fight. Meanwhile, the tick-tocking, metallic stamping grew louder. Loxo spun, xiphos in one hand, her Snow Claw dagger in the other. “By Artemis’ sweet ass cheeks,” she cursed, dark eyes going wide.

  I turned. In all that wonky chaos, I didn’t think things could get any weirder. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Time after Time

  Behind us, Earl Necro Earl’s troops and the last Gorgon’s velocentaurs fought in a clash of swords, whizzing bullets, and screaming arrows while Stymphalian Omegas killed indiscriminately. But the real show was dead ahead of us, pouring out the humongous, scythe-bladed arch leading into the temple proper. Apparently, Cronus had an army of his own.

  As though we didn’t have enough shit to deal with already.

  But Cronus’s force was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Hell, it was like nothing I’d ever even imagined before.

  A host of bronze clockwork soldiers. Some armed with shields and wicked swords, others wielding bows, spears, and deadly javelins. The creatures were bulky automatons, each about seven feet tall and covered with thick metal armor, heavy rivets, and whirling gears—every saw-toothed cog visible. Their faces were the familiar circle of a clock: twelve digits, the little hand for the hour and the big hand counting minutes. They marched toward us like gladiator versions of Cogsworth from Beauty and the Beast.

  As they drew closer I noticed an odd abnormality. At the center of each creature, imbedded right in the chest like a mechanical heart, was an hourglass. A smaller version of the Sower’s Glass, which was currently in Antiope’s possession. Seeing that, I felt a flash of unease rush through me. I’d seen enough fantasy and sci-fi movies to know whatever those things did, it wouldn’t be good.

  But I banished my inkling of worry, since there was nothing I could do except push on. We might’ve avoided the battle with the Gorgon’s velocentaurs and Necro Earl’s nightmares, but clearly we were going to have to fight our way through the time god’s private guard. The sword-wielding clockwork warriors charged us while the ranged warriors knelt on the temple steps, knocking bows, raising javelins, preparing to pepper us with death from a distance.

  I missed Sabra and her spells. She could’ve shielded us with vines so we didn’t have to take the first wave of incoming missiles head-on. Once I got back to Lycastia with the scythe in hand, I was gonna resurrect her and power-level the crap out of her.

  I managed to bat away three arrows with my shield. Or so I thought …

  I watched in a combination of awe and horror as the ranged automatons quickly flipped their hourglass hearts upside down, the white sand inside trickling into the empty chamber. The air around them shimmered, distorting, and suddenly arrows streaked back to their bows and they fired again in double speed. This time I was too slow, and I only dodged one arrow. The second slammed into my thigh and the third sunk into the meaty part of my left shoulder. These bastards could reverse time, which didn’t seem even remotely fair.

  Battles shouldn’t have do-overs, dammit.

  More clockwork support soldiers flung their javelins. Loxo ducked and danced, avoiding every spear like a total pro … Right until one of the time-shifting bastards blasted her with a re-thrown javelin. Down she went, gasping for breath as life leaked away and blood oozed from the sucking chest wound. She was alive but wouldn’t be for long. Ariadne, on Thunderfoot, stormed unhurt through the first round of arrows, but not the second-chance shafts. She and her bull were pin-cushioned by the projectiles, but she didn’t seem to have two shits to give.

  Riding on top of her horned mount, Ariadne thundered forward, engaging the clockwork warriors.

  Euryleia, I messaged, we need multiple targets to keep these freaks busy. Time to get the bears out!

  The Beastiamancer didn’t miss a beat. She leapt from Buttercup and transformed in midair into a savage grizzly. At the same time, five other bears materialized out of thin air, landing on the ground with a boom. The seven battle bears broke into shuffle-footed runs and promptly smashed into the front-line clockwork warriors head-on. Absolutely brutal. Bear paws crashed into bronze armor, but the bodies reversed the damage.

  Wait, what? How was that even possible?

  The restored automatons slashed into the huge animals, spraying blood across the dirt.

  I blasted Loxo with a burst of healing power, bringing her HP back up past ninety percent

  With that done, I turned my sights back on Ariadne. She hacked her ax into the head of a clock-faced warrior, and its head exploded in a spray of gears and cogs. But then the damned hourglass inverted. Ariadne’s ax shot back, and the gears and cogs glommed together, repairing the mortal damage as the clock hands on its face spun backward. So, the ranged warriors got a second chance with their arrows, while the clockwork brawlers could reverse any damage they took. How the fuck could we fight against that?

  I glanced at the hourglasses, and an idea hit like a brick to the back of the head.

  No hourglasses … Well, then no wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. “Focus on the sower glasses in their chests,” I shouted. “Take those things out, pronto!”

  Thunderfoot charged and drove a horn through the metal chassis of a clockwork warrior, obliterating the hourglass in the process. The attack didn’t drop the creature, but the ferocious follow-up blow to the head, courtesy of my Beastimancer, did. And this time, the automaton stayed dead. That confirmed my suspicion. These things could regenerate as often as they wanted … unless, of course, their fancy time-turners were busted to shit.

  Next to me, my generals attacked. Myrina hurled her lightning, fire, and cold javelins, taking out ranged support fighters. The lightning crashed through hourglasses, sending the white sands exploding into the air. The cold spear froze fragile joints and stalled clanking gears. The heat missile melted through the metal, slagging the creatures where they stood. Three of the support warriors toppled and didn’t get up. That’d learn ’em. But even with the secret unlocked, the odds were badly stacked against us.

  Zombies and velocentaurs behind, Stymphalian Omegas overhead, and self-regenerating Clockmen ahead of us.

  “This looks bad, Jacob,” Asteria said, sprinting up, then skittering to a halt beside me. She looked far more worried than usual. “I just leveled up though, so perhaps it is time for me to … to push myself. To test my limits. To try something new.” I glanced at her and noticed the utter determination etched into the lines of her face. Before I could stop her or even ask her what in the heck she had planned, she was gone …

  The shifter sprinted forward, naked, lithe, and beautiful. But with each step, she grew bigger, bigger, bigger until she was the size of an elephant. Her body lengthened and contorted, arms elongating until she was running on her hands as well as her feet. A tail sprouted out of her back and a bulbous spike-studded wrecking ball bloomed on the end. In a handful of seconds the old Asteria was gone, and only a blue-scaled ankylosaur remained.

  The turtle-shelled monstrosity spun and brought her spiked tail down into a collection of archers and brawlers, cracking glass and kicking ass. Loxo shot forward from the shadows around the temple and drove her magical dagger into the neck of a wounded automaton. Asteria had already killed him once, but that wasn’t going to cut it. Loxo murdered the creature a second time, and it finally stayed dead. The Huntress and the Beastiamancer fought together, Loxo taking care of Asteria’s leftovers.

  Then i
t was time for me to do my part.

  I cast a Mass Heal to take care of the missile damage my Amazons took in the first round. Next, I unleashed Plague Locust on the remaining archers, both blinding them and stopping their deadly onslaught. The three-inch-long insects chewed into the glass, ravenously gnawed on cast metal, and clogged clanking cogs with their chitinous bodies. The clockwork soldiers swept their bows and javelins through the air, trying to clear themselves of my plague, but the insects couldn’t be swatted away so easily.

  That would buy us a little time. I ripped the arrows out of my thigh and shoulder, annoyed at the pain, getting pissed off. One of the summoned bears clawed through a warrior but missed the sandy heart. The hourglass tipped, and gears and cogs sprang back into its body, its mangled form working once again. And in retaliation, it rammed a short sword deep into the bear’s chest. The furry tank vanished with a puff of golden light. One bear down, but six more continued to fight.

  I hit my Amazons and their friends with Burning Aura, and the results were immediate. The bronze-plated men closest to the deadly Amazons and bears tumbled to the ground as their legs melted from the sheer heat. A few had their gears fused together while others dropped their weapons, hands turning to molten goo. Their clockwork faces also burst into flames. But those damned hourglasses remained miraculously undamaged, and boom, with a single turn, the utter devastation was undone.

  Arms, legs, and bodies reformed in an eyeblink.

  Sons of bitches.

  Ariadne had transformed into an enormous minotaur and was chopping through automatons left and right—her ax now painted with melted bronze. But in a whirl of hourglasses, her enemies were whole again. First one sword chopped into my minotaur, then another.

  We were in trouble.