Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1)

by Ned Caratacus

  Poor Dad, he couldn't decide if he was insulted, confused, or amused. He just sort of stood there, his mouth wide open.

  “Where's Gena?” I asked.

  This guy just looked down at me, made sure our eyes were locked onto each other, and went, “You are weak.”

  Then he slammed the door in our faces.

  A few hours later, Tobias announced on Countenance that they were engaged. The 5,000 G was supposed to be the bride price—because this jackass was clearly still living in the age where women could be bought for seven goats or something.”

  “Please tell me you murdered him,” said Liv.

  “No such luck.”

  Liv groaned.

  “My dad was voggin' livid. I was angry too, but part of me thought Tobias was just being an idiot. I tried to reassure Dad about it: ‘They've been together for less than four months, she's a feminist that doesn't believe in the Gods. And he comes here and tries to buy her, without so much as getting to know us? Do you really think he has a chance with her?’

  Within ten minutes, Gena made an announcement of her own.

  On Crissmus, she'd change her name to Gena Pent, convert to North by Northwestern Orthodoxy, get married in a wooden chapel at the summit of Mt. Varg, and stay in Cocytus Village with her husband—having minimal contact, if any, with the outside world.

  I called her multiple times, and there was no answer. I tried to email her, text her, find some way to contact her, so that I could at least have some kind of explanation for what was going on.

  No answer.

  For weeks on end, I couldn't stop thinking of all the what-if's about my sister. Did she hate us? Was she being manipulated or abused?

  I couldn’t stop worrying about her and my distraction led to a ten game losing streak. Until then, our team, the Hummingbirds, was looking at our first real shot of taking the Pan-Ariesian Scholastic Dueling Cup.

  My teammates blamed me for our failures. Understandable—we all thought this was our last chance for stardom, and everyone but me was giving their 100% with a clear mind. It seemed like only Dario understood my weakened performance. He'd been through some rough patches with his family as well.

  Bartok, our dual-wielding dagger user, straight-up tried to stab me after our final loss to the South Tarlynn Cowpunchers. Dario intervened: “Era's got a lot on his mind. Also can you not stab my best friend?” Dario's exact phrasing was much more intense, but Noah's here, and he just ate.”

  “Thanks, love!” said Noah.

  “I forget exactly how Bartok replied, but it involved a lawn flamingo, hard drugs, 50 G, and Dario's girlfriend, Audrey.

  Whatever it was, Bartok came out with compound skull fractures, Dario was expelled from the school, and the Hummingbirds were disbanded. Coach Jordy didn't seem too broken up about it, on the surface, anyway. I was very confused by his attitude; he thought this tournament was his last chance, too, having been banned from Major League Fencing.

  But when I apologized, he just smiled, pat me on the shoulder, and said, “remember what Lutero said.” Whether that was just a generic phrase for cheering me up with low effort, or a reference to Lutero Gualtieri's attitudes toward fighting: ‘Those who seek only victory forget to enjoy the path—why else are the conquerors of history so brooding and miserable?’ comes to mind. I guess I'll never know how he meant it, but I'm leaning towards the first option.

  One night, in late August, I was sitting alone in my dorm, trying to think of something other than my sister or my failures. Out of nowhere, I got this Countenance message from Gena, the first in a long time.

  Hi, Era.

  Gena! Omg I've missed you so much, what's up??

  I need to tell you something, but I shouldn't do it online.

  Okay, where though?

  Come to San Cyro on September 10th.

  Meet me at the Hansgarten Pub on 7th street, at 7:00 PM.

  Might get in the way of school, but I'll see what I can do

  Would the 12th work for you? I'm off then.

  Gena?

  Hellooooo

  [√ read]

  Era shifted in his seat, drawing a deep breath. “I guess this brings us to the part I've been afraid of talking about,” he said. “Sorry if I can't really go into too much detail without freaking out or—”

  [Noah — Tension Resistance Aura]

  Era felt a warm breeze drain his fear. A wave of semitransparent blue light enveloped the bus from Noah's hand.

  [Era's tension is suppressed for the next 20 minutes!]

  Noah smiled. “Whenever you're ready, Era.”

  “Okay, so...September 6th was the first day of the fall semester. At 8:27 AM I was sitting in my homeroom at Mt. Colibri Academy. I thought I had lost my love of fencing, so I was gonna switch my concentration to philosophy. You couldn't get any exciting or well-paying jobs with a philosophy degree, but dammit, I was a Gualtieri. It's either swords, cars, or ontologies with us, and I can't drive for beans.

  But I could only switch during the next period. So, there I sat with my face against the table, drooling away last night's sleep deprivation.

  Alarm buzzers issued from the intercom. Emergency announcement.

  The throaty voice of our headmaster came on. He was still a little weepy from some bad news he had heard earlier and was reluctant to share with us: Emperor Pietro had taken his own life. He continued about some nonsense involving who was appointed regent until the heir apparent could be crowned, but I couldn't make it out through all the cheering.

  You'd think everyone in the class had won the lottery or something. The pins and patches wearing kids from the anarchist club danced on the tables. The teacher got on her knees and sang praises to Galgalim for taking the emperor to Hell. Ronaldo the security guard, who was once the most joyless tightwad in all four province-kingdoms, came in and passed out all the confiscated alcohol to eager teenage addicts.

  Pietro wasn't really popular with demographics under 30.

  I walked out of the classroom with a smile on my face. The rest of the day had been canceled, and I wouldn't have to lie about leaving the biology textbook back at home. If nothing else, the death of our tyrant was another excuse to take a nap.

  At 8:37, I was in the courtyard, making a beeline for the dorm building amidst the celebration, the dancing, and the day drinking in the snow. Only one person seemed to be screaming in something other than happiness, and that was Coach Jordy.

  “How's your Dead Emperor Day goin'?” I asked.

  He grabbed me by the shoulders, his eyes bulging. “Era, what are you doing here? Get underground!”

  “Huh?”

  “The Light already got to San Cyro. We're next. Get underground!”

  Once again, “Huh?”

  “Ah, vog it! It's already too late!” He started to run off, to warn the others.

  Then he stopped, looking at the sky.

  At 8:40 in the morning, the sky turned black.

  A chorus of angry voices came from a ring of glowing figures in the stratosphere:

  People of Nabucco, despair!

  Your emperor lies dead in an act of his own extreme cowardice.

  Through complacency, you enabled his crimes against humanity. You had every chance to successfully rebel and, out of your cruel selfishness, you refused.

  By the order of Galgalim of the Wheel, Guardian of Wisdom, the Elvish race has been sentenced to death!

  Turns out it's easy to memorize an entire speech if it's something you want to forget.

  The Seraphs chanted a spell in some ancient language. This white-hot flare of energy appeared in a magical portal in the sky. In only a few seconds, it was gonna drop on South Nabucco, vaporizing everything in its path.

  [???? — Light of the Gods]

  “The wall!” said Jordy. We planted ourselves against the courtyard's outer wall, the one that faced the center of town. A few other students scrambled to join us. Some of us cried. Some of us closed our eyes. Some of us shouted, “
Don't look at it!” and, “Whatever happens, do NOT look at the Light!” and stuff like that. Some of us ignored that warning. The Light blinds you permanently if you look upon its “eternal holy splendor” or whatever too hard. If you're already being atomized, that's gonna be the least of your worries.

  8:43 AM: total silence. The snow on the ground flashed into steam. The wall behind us collapsed. Jordy and I blacked out.

  At 9:24 AM, we woke up covered in bricks and ashes. I dug through the debris like I was swimming. A gentle snowfall was coming in across the courtyard.

  When I looked downtown and saw Nabucco… Look, you'd think I'd be terrified, right? It wasn't fear. I looked at the center of the city I've known all my life, reduced to a circular patch of molten slag, still burning at the edges. A ring of smoke ate away at the city piece by piece—from the location, I could even pick out the invisible patch in the lake of fire that used to be my apartment. For all I knew, my dad was still home, and dead.

  But it wasn't scary at the time. It was just...unfamiliar, like taking your first steps on an alien planet. You see the place around you, and a basic piece of your subconscious starts screaming, this is a thing that should not exist, and your mind goes blank. You feel like going back to bed until this all blows over and tell yourself you'll think about it when you wake up.

  Save for a wall or two, the school buildings were still in one piece. Survivors panicked, or at least repeated “don't panic” in a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of tone. I found it comforting; the presence of others meant there were still Elves in the world, so the Seraphs didn't do a very good job with the whole genocide thing.

  That's when we heard the helicopters.

  [KM-9HH Attack Chopper — Razing Salvo]

  Missiles.

  [Destroyed Mt. Colibri Academy for Boys!]

  Smoke and shattered glass.

  Whoever was attacking us made no difference to me. I only really cared about the “attacking us” bit. I grabbed my bag and my sword and bolted away from the burning school. I headed downtown. Maybe being near the boiling debris would make me a less desirable target, right?

  That was just one squadron. There were hundreds of these helicopters. The sky was roaring with their blades, and paratroopers flung off their sides with their guns blazing. I could vaguely make out a voice on a chopper's loudspeaker: “for Jauncliffe!” Another: “10,000 G for every Rosie head!” Another: “Glory to Celsior!”

  Before then, I had heard of Celsioran “cleanup crew” tactics—they were never too far behind the Light of the Gods to loot, pillage, and kick their enemies when they were down. I thought it was just another conspiracy theory. Too evil to actually happen, right? I hate people.

  I tripped at least three times on the way downtown, startled from the explosions. The fourth time, in the Sun-Drees parking lot, I bumped into someone. I reached for my sword in case it was a soldier—it was an elvish girl. Her skin was solid Necrylic under her dress. Her face was twisted into a silent shriek. She couldn't have been more than 15.

  This younger kid, probably her sister, was clinging to her side, sobbing. “Stop it, I don't like this, turn back to normal,” she kept saying. She hit the older girl a couple times.

  [Greencoat #39 — Medusa Gun]

  Screech. The young girl became another grey statue, melded onto her sister.

  [Elle Nordley was slain!]

  That was the first time I saw what a Medusa Gun was capable of and heard how they sounded. Screech. Screech. All coming from this guy, one guy, making his way out of the store with a Medusa Gun, laughing through his helmet's voice-distorter.

  He had this bulky body armor covered by a green latex trench coat. He was the same kind of guy that gave Raphael the Medusa Guns last month. I think they're called...

  [Boss Battle!]

  [Greencoat #39 ~ probably too soon for a witty caption ~]

  [Bestiary — Greencoat]

  [Type: Human, Elite Soldier]

  [HP: 300,000]

  [Weaknesses: Any problem they can't solve with a killing spree]

  [Description: Greencoats are scientifically enhanced living weapons used by the Celsioran military. Currently, 40 Greencoats remain in use. Their usual weapons include an anti-tank machete, a grenade pistol, and a Medusa Gun.]

  “The Greencoat caught sight of me and pointed the Medusa Gun. “Drop the sword, Rosie!”

  I didn't. Figured he was gonna statue me regardless of my sword-holding status.

  [Coach Jordy — Lunatic Spiral]

  Jordy's scimitar swept out in front of me, covered in red flame. He'd been following me the whole time; I must have not heard him over the genocide.

  Spinning around the Greencoat, the scimitar left a few streaks of white before returning to its master's hand.

  [Hit 5 times!]

  [1,300 DMG to Greencoat #39]

  “Get him, Era!” said Jordy. “Either we die as civilians, or we live forever as Hummingbirds!”

  Right after he said “hummingbirds,” a little metal canister rolled out in front of our feet.

  [Celsior Shock Trooper 2 — Concussion Grenade]

  We both hit the cold pavement. Our swords fell out of our hands.

  [Era was paralyzed!]

  [Coach Jordy was paralyzed!]

  A pair of lower-ranking Celsioran soldiers came out and picked us up by our armpits, presenting us to the Greencoat like we were Godsdamn engagement rings.

  The next thing I remember was a black cloth bag placed over my head as they dragged me to their camp.

  [The party was captured...]

  A few minutes later...

  I mean, it wasn't minutes per se, but...y'know...”

  Era's forehead glistened with a cold sweat. He trembled. His fingertips dug into his forehead as his elbows tried to dig into the sofa..

  Noah groaned as he tried to reinforce the tension resistance aura. “Sorry, something's probably wrong with the aura. Usually it works pretty—”

  “I'm gonna keep going,” said Era.

  “You sure?” asked Liv. “We can stop if it's too uncomfortable.”

  Era shook his head. “I've come this far. Maybe emotional pain is temporary, too. Only one way to find out, right?”

  “So, I must have spent an hour in dark silence. I couldn't see anything the whole time. From the acoustics I was in a tent. Some kinda encampment for the Celsioran troops. There were some elves screaming and crying. Medusa guns screeching. Lots of “stop it” and “let me go” and “no” and “I wanna go home” and “you bastards.” I tried to sleep through it, but I couldn't. You know me. I can sleep through the end of the world, but I can't sleep while kneeling. Only a starving monk living in a cave can do that.

  At least ten separate times I felt boots come right near me. Maybe that would be when I die. I knew I was gonna die. That had to be it. But why would they take me to their tent when they could have Medusa Gunned me in the parking lot? Jordy made them angry. I was gonna be tortured.

  Still, I wanted to go out like a Hummingbird. Old saying at the school was: Galgalim Hates a Coward. No crying. No screaming. Laugh in the face of the King of Demons. Tell your tormentors they missed a spot. Otherwise, you're not a man.

  It's a load of crap. I'm a human first, a man second. All the stories you hear make it sound so easy to put on a voggin' puppet show to make the Gods laugh while you hear the guy sitting next to you getting skinned alive during an interrogation.

  Is that what the Gods think we are? Entertainment? Some kind of video game?

  Anyhow, I heard the Greencoat's voice again as he slapped me on the side of my still-covered face. “You went to Mt. Colibri Academy,” he said. “Where's the Iron Pearl?”

  Vog if I knew what the Iron Pearl was back then. Wouldn't be until later that I found out it was the school's secret treasure. Some kind of fancy crystal with magical powers, because of course it is.

  “I don't know what that is,” I told him, knowing well that wouldn't help. “I swear I don't
. Get a truthseer if you think I'm lying—”

  “What, you’re too Rosie to tell the truth on your own? We didn’t have to use a truthseer on anyone else today. You’re not special! Or is that the first time in your life you’ve been told that? You’re not! Vogging! Special!”

  I was so mad I could scream. Actually, I did scream. Wish I had something witty to say back to him but sometimes, all you can do is scream.

  Jordy was screaming too. In the other corner of the room, I could hear him yelling out a series of numbers. Something about vault numbers and offsite storage. “Got the pearl!” said a soldier near him.

  The soldier threw something at me as he said that. A hard but squishy object hit the side of my head, then slumped over me like a scarf. On the tips of it I could feel hair and rings. It was Jordy's right arm. Still charred on the side from the heated machete that had sawed it off.

  The Greencoat grabbed me by the neck like a kitten, dragging me out of the tent and into the cold. “Looks like your sugar daddy was nice enough to give us what we needed,” he said. “Which means you're vog outta luck, Rosie.”

  He kicked my back and I'm kneeling again in the snow. He pulled my hood off.

  I opened my eyes.

  I'm staring at a shallow grave. One foot through the snow, two feet through the dirt. There were many others like it, in rows. Dead elves were being tossed in them three at a time. Some were still alive.

  This was it. This was where my body was gonna be until the world exploded.

  Only an inch away from my right ear—