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

by James Hunter

  A sharp hook slashed across my back. The Stymphalian Omegas had changed up their attack. Instead of working over Necro Earl and his forces, they were now focusing on us. Which meant we’d have to contend against the time soldiers and the winged terrors above. Damn, but I missed Toxaris and her Pegasus, not to mention the other members of my Beastiamancer air force.

  Sophia #1 teleported in, carrying Phoebe in her mech, followed shortly by Sophia #2, who was rather waxy and pale, though still kicking ass like a Muay Thai fighter. At least that was a piece of good news. Phoebe grinned up at me, her face painted with blood. “Ready to show these dickheads what we can do, my dude?”

  “Totally,” I replied, offering her a fist to bump. “Let’s light ’em up.”

  Phoebe lurched forward a few steps, raising her arms and unloading a hail of deadly bolts. An Omega swooped by, blasting us with lightning. I saw the attack from a mile away, however, and dashed forward, catching the magical strike on my shield, protecting my Rune-Caster while she worked.

  We need to get those big-ass birds off us, I sent to Sophia, glancing at the twins. Can you two play tag team on at least one of them? Buy me some breathing room maybe?

  “We live to serve,” came the prompt response.

  Both women, glowing from the Burning Aura, vanished and appeared on top of the Omega that had slashed me. Sophia #1 cut into the gigantic death bird with a flaming katana, only to disappear when the creature snapped at her. Sophia #2 materialized on the other side, landing nimbly on a shoulder joint. With a mighty swipe of her sword, #2 cut off another wing and the beast plunged to the ground, spinning wildly out of control. That was awesome, but we still had a dozen of the massive beasts attacking us.

  “Behind you, War God!” Sophia #1 cried out.

  I whirled and found myself staring down a charging Omega with its mouth open wide, ready to bite me in half with wicked fangs. I raised the War Blade, ready to cleave the mean ol’ son of a bitch in two, but I was too slow by half—

  Something huge came flashing into my peripheral vision. All I saw were scales and teeth and a mouth the size of a Volkswagen. That giant fanged maw chomped down onto the Omega. Holy. Shit. A blue T. rex chewed on the bird like it was Friday night at a Buffalo Wild Wings.

  Fuck me running! All my dreams had come true. Asteria, decked out as a prehistoric killing machine, flicked the Omega away with contempt. She lurched into action, powerful legs pumping, and lashed out again with fang-studded jaws, pulling another Omega from the air. The other hell birds pulled back to rethink their poor life choices. Between my Teleporters harrying them and the big blue dinosaur of fury, we’d stopped being easy pickings, and now they were redirecting their wrath elsewhere.

  Like on that asshole Earl Necro Earl.

  And speaking of, the douchebag had finally broken through the archway with his moronic, roided-out thugs leading the charge. The misshapen imps clinging to their backs were joyously turning the cranks on the Gatling guns, dishing out rounds at the dive-bombing Omegas. Undead harpies joined the fight, taking to wing, harrying the prehistoric nightmare birds. I shuddered. Man, but those bitches were gross. I mean even alive they were hard to look at, but they were a gajillion times worse now that they were pretty much just rotting meat shedding greasy feathers.

  With an effort of will, I turned my attention away from Earl’s army, scanning the field for Antiope, who had my Sower’s Glass. I found her going toe-to-toe with the Gorgon.

  Euryale had finally broken free from the ice coating her head, and she was putting the screws to the Dark Amazon in retaliation. She’d driven Antiope to the ground and now my former friend lay there, writhing in pain as the snakes adorning the Gorgon’s head attacked. Every inch of Antiope’s exposed skin had been bitten and the wounds dripped pus from the poison.

  I felt a pang of guilt watching Antiope suffer, but not enough of a pang to do anything to help her. Besides, Antiope was offering me a great distraction. About ten feet away from the struggling women lay the Sower’s Glass, unprotected and unnoticed—at least for the time being. Now was my chance. I triggered Fury, red rage burning through my veins, and broke into a sprint, beelining for the artifact as the Dark Amazon screamed. Unfortunately, a trio of velocentaurs on my right noticed me.

  Need some coverage! I mass sent to my crew, hoping someone would be close enough to give me a hand. A boom rocked the ground beneath me as Asteria cannonballed into view, now in the form of a massive triceratops. She bellowed and snorted before absolutely steamrolling the incoming centaurs, impaling one on her horns, trampling the others underfoot. Good blocking, I yelled at her through the link.

  The Gorgon off to my left whipped her head around, finally realizing what was happening, but it was too late. I closed the last five feet in a matter of steps, stooped low, and scooped the Sower’s Glass from the ground. Like before, my gaming system flashed an alert—an item description. This time I bothered to read it while I hauled ass away from Euryale and her stony gaze.

  My jaw nearly dropped. Damn, but I wished I’d looked at it earlier.

  I dismissed the item description as I ran, then glanced over my shoulder. The Gorgon was hightailing it toward me like a lunatic, snake fingers straining, and catching up despite my speed. I flipped her the bird with my free hand and triggered Sands of Time. The white sands inside the glass, like glittering ground diamond, flashed in a dazzling display of brilliance as every grain burned as bright as the sun.

  Around me, the chaos of the battle immediately died. I slowed my frantic feet and sheathed the War Blade. Suddenly, I found myself alone in a frozen world. The battle had become a tableau, stopped and still.

  Dude, sometimes it’s good being a god.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Time Flies When You’re Having Fun

  I nearly cackled in mad glee as I threaded my way across the battlefield toward the temple. This was my chance to get inside the Temple of Cronus without all the muss and fuss of warfare. I glanced around, spinning slowly, awed by what I was seeing.

  Zombie harpies and Stymphalian Omegas hung suspended above me, trapped in midair as though someone had painted them there. Sophia #1 and Sophia #2 were both in the process of reappearing, and I took a moment to marvel at how half of them were there, half of them gone—a torso here, a pair of legs there. Absolutely wild.

  The air was completely still, not so much as a breeze since wind needed time to work, and I’d taken all the time away and tucked it safely in my pocket. The Sower’s Glass dropped blindingly bright sand into its bottom chamber, ticking away the ten minutes.

  I needed to get into the temple, but I also realized that this was a perfect chance to give my troops the upper hand. True, I couldn’t harm or attack my enemies, but that didn’t mean I had no options. I spotted a burlap ammunition bag hanging off a Gatling gun thug. Gently, I pulled it free and emptied out the bullets. Then I headed over to the enraged Gorgon, slipped the sack over her head, and pulled the drawstrings tight. I tied them up using the best knot I knew, so it would take Euryale a hot minute to tear the bag off.

  Next, I grabbed my shield off the ground and ran past frozen werewolves and three-headed dogs to where Necro Earl sat on his Rex mount. He had his mace, Deathbringer, raised and ready to slam the blue triceratops about to ram him. I couldn’t let that dick hit Asteria. Still, I wasn’t about to chance breaking the spell, so I didn’t take the mace out of his hand. Instead, I carefully adjusted his arm so the swing would go wide. Not much, but it would buy her some time.

  Similarly, I moved through the battlefield like an unseen ghost, knocking arrows from the air, or repositioning them so they’d miss my troops and plow into opposition forces instead. There were still a fair number of clockwork men remaining, and they were definitely the biggest threat to my ’Zons at the moment. So, I turned the mechanical warriors around so they’d be vulnerable to the bears and Amazons attacking them. I surveyed my handiwork and nodded in satisfaction. Damn would our enemies be in for a rude surpris
e when time finally got its ass in gear again.

  I checked the Sower’s Glass—just about five minutes left. Time to hit the temple.

  I sprinted up the worn marble steps and entered the temple proper, which was a silent place where not even dust dared to go. I moved through the columns, winding my way deeper into the complex. The world was frozen all around me, yet I heard the clank of moving gears as though I were walking into the heart of a giant clock. I hooked right and passed under a meticulously carved archway, which let out into a massive circular chamber. Torches, trapped in time, lit the inner sanctum, their flames motionless, long shadows perfectly preserved.

  Huge fluted pillars curved around the perimeter of the room and the walls were absolutely plastered with whirling cogs and clicking brass gears. The floors were decorated with colorful mosaics depicting the legends of Uranus, Gaea, and their children, who included Cronus, Entomo, and a bunch of other foul titans and gods. A right nasty looking bunch of bastards that I wouldn’t want to go up against.

  At the far end of the room was a raised dais of sorts, with a hulking chair of white marble positioned at the center. A throne if ever I’d seen one. Behind the dais was an enormous clock face, at least the size of Big Ben, inset into the temple wall. Bronze hands ticked slowly by, undeterred by the fact that I’d frozen time. In front of the dais was a set of marble stairs, leading down. I paused, lifted my nose, and tasted the air. The smell of old incense drifted through the seemingly empty room.

  “So, finally, a god has come to face me.” An old man’s croak echoed around the temple. Something moved on the other side of the dais, followed by the tap of wood on stone and the scrape of sandals shuffling across marble.

  I stepped forward and drew the War Blade. “Yeah, that’s right,” I replied, searching for the speaker. “I’m Jacob Merely, the new god of war. And I’m guessing you are Cronus?”

  “Being the god of time is a wearisome thing,” the voice replied, ignoring my question. A tap. A shuffle. A bald head fringed with white hair appeared. Above it was a blue blade. The air shimmered and danced, parting to reveal the rest of the man. He was bent and ancient and held the Crystal Scythe in a gnarled, arthritic hand. He wore a baggy ivory-colored tunic; beneath it was a skeletal body. His limbs were frightfully withered—little more than twigs—his skin as thin and frail as fall leaves. He looked like a strong breeze might kill him on the spot.

  And as for the scythe, well he was using it as a cane, not as a weapon. Truthfully, the guy looked about as dangerous as a toothless housecat. An old, arthritic one at that.

  Cronus inched his way to the front of the dais and stood beside the hulking throne, resting his free hand lightly on the chair’s high back. The Crystal Scythe had a polished stone shaft—petrified wood—topped by two feet of blade curving downward. It looked like a gigantic piece of sapphire had been chipped away to create the scythe head. The god of time wheezed then spat. “I feel every second, you know. From the moment I was born to this moment now, and onward, into the future. All the way to the end of the universe. All that relentless time, it weighs on me even more than my defeat at the hands of my own son, Zeus.”

  “Well, you were going to eat him like you ate your other kids. Pretty messed up,” I said.

  Cronus turned pensive, lips pursed into a thin thoughtful line. “I was young. Foolish. Back in those seconds, I didn’t want to give up my power and my glory. It’s hard to see your own star fall even as another rises. Surely, you as the god of war should understand that?” He glanced up, his eyes piercing despite his incredible age.

  I shifted on anxious feet and remained silent. I would love to say the allure of power wasn’t important to me, but after going from zero to hero—from a nobody to a literal god, surrounded by an army of adoring women—it would be hard as hell to go back to the way things were before. That was probably why I hated Earl Necro Earl so much: he reminded me of who I had been. Of my old life. Of my failures and humiliations.

  “Look, gramps,” I said after a beat, pushing away the uncomfortable thoughts, “I’m not looking to chitchat, okay? Just give me the Crystal Scythe and I’ll be on my way, no muss, no fuss. No one needs to get hurt.” I really hoped he’d take me up on my offer. I didn’t want to have to put the beatdown on such an old fogey. Hardly seemed fair.

  Cronus simply stared at me, weighing me, measuring me, his gaze burning with an eternity of unknowable wisdom. I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. After a time that seemed to stretch on forever and a day, he moved away from the throne and toward me. A step, then two. The scythe tapping on the stone. His robes rustling, his feet shuffling.

  Seeing him walk, I had to chuckle. “It’s totally like the riddle, about the old man and his cane … You know the one. What walks on three legs in the evening?”

  “By my father’s fury, that is an old riddle,” Cronus offered in reply, a small, tired smile on his pencil-thin lips. He got to the edge of the platform, and hair abruptly sprouted on his head. In an instant he looked younger. Healthier. Another step, this time moving down the stairs, and his withered arms grew a little thicker.

  Well, that didn’t look promising. “Listen, Cronus, I want to save the world,” I said seriously, standing my ground. Refusing to back up. “Hades is back, he’s gathering an army, and if I don’t find a way to stop him, Earth is royally screwed. I know you gods don’t think too highly of humans, but I’m pretty fond of ’em. And I think I can use the Crystal Scythe to do some good. So let’s not do this thing, ’cause it’s gonna turn out poorly one way or the other.”

  The godstone in my chest grew hot with frustration. It didn’t want to talk. It wanted battle!

  Cronus stepped down, and his varicose-veined legs grew stronger, thicker. The wrinkled skin smoothed as newly formed quadriceps bulged. Even the yellowed toenails sticking out of his sandals changed as he stepped nearer.

  “You know I can’t simply let you have the scythe,” Cronus said. He now had a full head of white hair and a big, bushy gray beard. “Its power is immense and in the wrong hands, it could be disastrous.” Another step and his white hair blackened, as did his beard. He was no longer using the scythe as a cane. He hefted it high as his biceps bulged. “Besides, it has been eons since I’ve known the thrill of war. Come, Jacob, come and fight me for it. Come and feel the wrath of time!”

  The last brilliant grain of sand dropped into the bottom chamber of the Sower’s Glass and the light faded, died. Outside, the din of battle resumed. Distant noise trickled in. I knew my Amazons could handle themselves, but I wanted to get back there and help them. Time to take out Cronus and get what I’d come so far for. “Fine then, let’s see what you got!” I snarled, surging forward.

  He bounded off the last of the steps, now the same age as me, though he was taller than me by at least a foot. Which was really saying something since with all my levels, I was now edging up past nine feet.

  I triggered my Defender ability as I ran, and my skin steeled over, a wave of cold rippling over my torso and along my arms and legs. Cronus let out a deafening war cry and the scythe came screaming down toward my face. With a flick of my wrist, I caught the strike with my War Blade, golden sparks blasting away in a shower on contact. But damn was he quick. He jerked the scythe down, canted the blade, then slashed—the tip leaving a deep gash in my bicep, easily cutting through the metal. Blood streamed down, shining scarlet against the bright steel.

  Well, that cleared up just how powerful the scythe was. Clearly, it could end me if I wasn’t careful. Apparently, the god-killing-hype was true.

  He shot left and lashed out again, but this time I used the indestructible Sower’s Glass to block the attack before lunging in low with my blade. He danced back, his movements quick and agile like a boxer wearing down his opponent, and parried my thrust with the shaft of his weapon. Then, in a blink, he ducked in, driving a knee upward, blasting me in the gut, followed by an elbow to my face. Even with my steel skin, my nose crunched and more blood dri
bbled onto the mosaics covering the floor.

  I staggered back as a fierce wind blew through the temple. A piece of the ceiling fell to my right as a column crumbled. Terracotta tiles came smashing down in a rain of debris.

  “What the hell!” I gasped.

  “This is my home,” Cronus taunted, “and you’ll have to do much better if you hope to best me, youngling.” A massive column as big around as a redwood crashed toward us. Without even looking, Cronus simply slipped out of the way as though he knew exactly where it would tumble. Marble and tiles exploded in a wave of shrapnel that peppered my face and arms. Not painful, not with the Defender ability in place, but the swirling debris cloud made it damn tough to see.

  A swish of movement on my right. I spun just in time to see a blue blade flash toward me. Suddenly, I was back on the defensive, turning each stroke, narrowly keeping the deadly weapon from hacking me to pieces. But it was a near thing, and more blows fell every second. A flurry of slashes, thrusts, and twirls. The Defender ability lapsed, my steel skin fading away. I felt painfully exposed. I knew the ability wouldn’t protect me from the scythe anyway, but still …

  While we fought, the room morphed around us. The stone altar melted away, piece by piece, as did the dais, and more of the temple dropped down around us. What in the hell was going on? I deflected another blow with the Sower’s Glass and tried to skewer him on the lightning-wreathed War Blade, but he backpedaled—always just out of reach. The guy was fast as a fucking cheetah and just as graceful. Another column fell. Cronus spun, avoiding it by inches and making it look easy. I, on the other hand, had to dive out of the column’s path.

  I rolled across the now colorless tiles and leapt to my feet. The mosaic floor was gone, the colors all faded to gray.

  Which is when it hit me—I knew what was going on. Cronus had sent the temple spiraling forward in time, returning it to the loop I’d seen before I’d used the Sower’s Glass to stop it. Not only was he a tough son of a bitch, but he’d turned the whole fucking room against me. Perfect. Just what I needed.