Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  As I walked to the temple, I tried not to focus on the gloomy faces of the downcast followers of the Sleepers, not to notice the harsh glances from beneath brows, the air crackling with energy before the storm. My allies wanted answers. I wanted to tell them something encouraging, but I couldn’t say anything until I’d met with Behemoth; they would tell I was faking it. I began to press through the crowd silently, and once I got to the stairs, they lost patience.

  “What is this, chosen one of the Sleepers?” trogg chief Movarak growled at my back. “You have betrayed the hopes of our people!”

  Ukavana, his wife, howled hysterically. “You abandoned Tiamat!”

  “Coward!” one of Morena’s cultists shouted.

  “Traitor!” a young kobold warrior barked.

  “The orcs of the Broken Axe demand that Scyth be overthrown!” I didn’t know where the orcs had come from. They must have come through the portal at Tiamat’s temple.

  Everyone started talking at once, shouting, barking, roaring… The voices of my friends were drowned in the racket. The unfair accusations of cowardice stung.

  Silence suddenly descended, although I saw that some were still shouting. The Sleeping God emerged from the temple. Behemoth stood next to me, put a mighty arm around my shoulder and announced to all:

  “My Initial Scyth made the right decision when he left the temple in the desert. Through that deed, he not only saved the fort on Kharinza, but also saved the lives of every one of you!” The god’s voice boomed through the whole fort, and the listeners heard not only Behemoth in the reflected echo, but also Tiamat. “Return to your business and no longer dare doubt the decisions of the Initial!”

  The people took heart and began to disperse, not forgetting to pray that the Sleepers never wake and that their sleep be eternal. Some muttered embarrassed apologies.

  Irita, Crawler, Infect and Bomber stayed behind. I nodded to them and pointed with my eyes to the far end of the street, where the tavern was. I wrote in chat: Full clan meeting at the tavern after I talk to Behemoth. Grab the guardians, Manny, Gyula and Patrick.

  I watched my friends go and then ran up the stairs and crossed the threshold of the temple. As the only remaining temple of the Sleepers, it couldn’t handle the faith flowing in, and thousands of followers were cut off from Unity, as were all our excess priests. Only Patrick, Tissa and Manny remained active — the first three priests. The adept limit was back at a hundred and sixty-nine. Tissa was taking up a spot that would have been better given to someone else. I wanted to kick her right away, but I decided to wait.

  Events had affected Behemoth. His avatar wasn’t flickering, but no table and chairs appeared like at our last meeting. That was probably why the Sleeper was direct and to the point:

  “I will repeat it for you — you made the right decision. The temple can be restored, but the followers’ lives can’t. The faith of the undying is not as deep as that of those who are born in this world.”

  “You know what the other outcome would have been?”

  “Your victory, another lost temple…” Behemoth paused. “And the loss of the Initial. Most of the variations of the future always lead to that.”

  “Most? But not all?”

  “Not all…”

  Behemoth put his hands on my shoulders — I buckled under their weight — and spoke quietly, but with iron in his voice:

  “The Nucleus must be destroyed, Initial. While it draws strength in the Nether, this cannot be done. However, the parasite who calls himself Nergal foresaw this in the creation of his puppet. I admit, even with Tiamat’s help, it took a long time of studying the weavings to isolate the single key that will cut off — for a short time! — the Nucleus from the emanations of the Nether. This can be done by pouring Concentrated Life Essence into the Nucleus’ plague reservoir. Then it can be put to rest.”

  Death to the Destroying Plague!

  Sleeping God Behemoth wants you to destroy the Nucleus of the Destroying Plague. You must find Concentrated Life Essence and pour it into the reservoir of the Nucleus to cut it off from the Nether.

  Rewards: unknown.

  “Where do I find the essence?” I asked.

  “There is a complex elvish ritual for extracting it from Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, in the Forbidden Forest. A droplet of the essence is extracted each year and has since ancient times been given to the most worthy — the winner of the yearly Demonic Games.”

  “Demonic? What do demons have to do with it?” I’d heard of the games — Mogwai had won them — but I’d never thought about the name. “What does the essence do?”

  “The first games were held by demons back when they still walked the land of Disgardium,” Behemoth explained. “Until the Games, the Life Essence is kept in the elvish capital, in the palace of King Eynyon, and reaches full power only when the names of all the contestants become known. With its help, a sentient can give a significant boost to certain character stats, but the nature of the essence is such that it loses its properties if it is obtained dishonestly.”

  “So we’ll have to wait for the Demonic Games…” I sighed, without the slightest idea what they looked like and when they started. Did we even have the time?

  “We won’t have to wait long,” the Sleeping God said. He seemed to be well informed on world events. “The cryers of all the capitals are already shouting the names of the contestants bold enough to declare their intention. Apart from that, there are other ways to obtain the essence.”

  “From the former champions, for example?” I ventured.

  “Unlikely, but it would be short-sighted not to explore the possibility.”

  “Or coming to an agreement with the elf king, Eynyon…”

  “Even less likely,” Behemoth rumbled. “You won’t be able to defeat the Nucleus even if you cut it off from the Nether. The Sleeping Gods need at least three active temples to give you enough power. The second must be dedicated to Tiamat again. Her support is the most effective against undead. The third is up to you.”

  Three Temples

  Sleeping God Behemoth wishes that you build a second and third temple in places of power and dedicate them to the Sleeping Gods: Tiamat and another of your choosing (Leviathan, Abzu, Kingu).

  Rewards: unknown.

  I stared distantly through the divine patron. Both quests seemed impossible. No Immortality, weakened divine abilities, a ton of real-life problems, Triad headhunters on my tail and vengeful Mogwai on my heels… We might be able to build one temple on Terrastera, maybe, but a second? Holdest would kill me, it would be suicidal to go out into the Nameless Ocean until Orthokon blazed a trail for Bomber, we couldn’t get to Meaz, and players already roamed the Lakharian Desert and the Ursai Jungle. Some of the legates would definitely be leveling up there. If we built a temple there again, it would be torn down just as fast.

  As for Concentrated Life Essence… A terrible suspicion hit me, and Behemoth lowered his inhuman eyes for an instant, nodded.

  “On its own, Life Essence is just a unique medicine capable of curing even the terminally ill. It will make a blind man see, a cripple grow new legs… The high demons strengthened Life Essence with the souls of the defeated. By drinking it, the winner of the Demonic Games became a personal guard of either Diablo, Belial or Azmodan, depending on who exactly oversaw the games that year. Since the time when the demons were banished to the Inferno, the souls of the defeated have not been taken, but are sealed with a Hell’s Curse. From that moment, some of their life force belongs to the champion. Forever.”

  Leaving me deep in thought, Behemoth disappeared. Once again catching myself thinking of how little I knew about Disgardium, I opened the game encyclopedia and studied the section dedicated to the Demonic Games. I learned that one can enter them only with outstanding achievements earned in the time since the last games ended. Such successes might include achieving prize-winning places in world-class tournaments like the Arena, the highest league of the Battlefields, races on terrestria
l and flying mounts and mechanical transport. Others who could take part included the owners of Battle Pet Skirmish champions, winners of global crafting tournaments, prize winners of the Battle of Mages and other class contests like the Bards’ and Musicians’ Song Contest and the contests for seducers, warriors, healers…

  Another way to gain access to the games, which were held each year in May, was to pass through the qualifying rounds, but it was already too late for that. There was nothing in the encyclopedia about the Junior Arena, but my victory there was the only achievement I had that matched the criteria.

  At least I had a new goal now: to destroy the Nucleus. Everything else, as Uncle Nick used to say, was just detail. I’d figure it out when I got to it.

  Before I’d even walked out of the temple, my message lit up the clan chat: I need all the info we have on the Demonic Games! How do I enter them?

  Chapter 5. Ready to Start Right Away!

  THE DEMONIC GAMES have been held since time immemorial. According to Behemoth’s tales, the Higher Demons, before they were banished to the Inferno, used the Games to recruit new members of their personal guard. In all that time, the Games had been canceled only once — in the first year of Disgardium’s launch, when, all across Latteria, the invasion of the undying began. Players.

  After the demons were banished, the Games were taken over by an elvish tribe that had common roots with the demons at the dawn of time. The name was kept, but the point of it changed fundamentally: naturally, the victor no longer joined Belial’s personal guard. Instead, he was declared a demon fighter, one of those who will stand up in Disgardium’s defense on Judgment Day. The day when the Sleeping Gods will awaken and our world will be opened to the demons.

  “Not just to them, actually,” Flaygray added as he told me about this. “All the Barriers between the planes will disappear, and the gods will be able to do whatever they want, unconstrained by the First Law of Equilibrium. Astral beasts will flood into the physical world, the boundary of the Nether will tear…”

  “Enough filling his head with tales!” Nega interrupted him. “In fact, on Judgment Day all sentients living and dead will stand before the Celestial Arbitration and answer for their actions. Even the New Gods, and then the Fallen Three — the highest gods — will remind Nergal, Marduk and their minions who has the greater right to this world.”

  The satyr smirked, but didn’t argue. He and Nega were participating in the clan council, while Anf and Ripta seemed wholly unconcerned by clan business — they were present, but didn’t contribute. The conversation wasn’t about battle, after all. Although maybe the trouble was elsewhere — in the difficulty of translation. Before he got stuck in the Treasury of the First Mage, Anf was the general of an army of the now dead race of colicods, destroyed by the Swarm. Ripta would have had something to say about the Demonic Games too, but both guards reported everything they knew to Flaygray and then, after sitting a while longer, left for the street, to join Iggy and the Montosaurus.

  Apart from me and the two guards, the table, or rather, several tables put together, hosted Manny, Gyula, Patrick, Irita, Crawler, Infect and Bomber. Our clan had grown, as had its officer contingent. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kobolds, troggs and cultists of Morena joined us soon — NPCs were sometimes invited into an in-game clan, but it was rare due to the finality of their death.

  “How exactly do the Demonic Games work and can I enter them?” I asked once I’d figured out the history and mythology of the contest.

  “If you checked your mail a little more often, you’d know,” Crawler grumbled.

  He was right; I hadn’t checked my mail in a while. Usually you need to have someone in your friends list to write to them, but there was a downside to fame; after a certain level, anyone at all could write to you.

  Since I was exposed, I got tens of thousands of messages per day from strangers, even with filters on. Insults, death threats, demands to divulge how I became a Threat and requests to send a thousand gold or two. The beggars wrote more than the rest. Some pleaded, some told heart-wrenching stories, others offered investment opportunities in promising projects. Still others asked to toss a spare legendary their way… There were admissions of love from women of all ages, and comm numbers from people ready to do anything if it meant meeting the top-level Threat, the one who had become world-famous.

  Considering the pace of my average day in Dis, I couldn’t have read all the messages even if I’d wanted to, let alone answer them. My friends knew perfectly well that I didn’t have a spare minute, and Crawler’s rebuke knocked me off balance.

  “For one thing, I was choking on acid last night in the Giant Dalezma’s stomach to level you ingrates up!” I began, starting to count off my fingers. “For another…”

  “Alright, alright,” Crawler raised his arms in peace. “I’ll just give you the gist. No, your victory in the Cookery Duel doesn’t count — that was a common weekly tournament. If you’d won the yearly one, with all fifty-two winners, on the other hand…”

  “He’s making fun of you, Alex!” Irita flared up and sat back in her chair. “Basically, all five of the Awoken who won the Junior Arena got invitations to the Demonic Games. These three only just found that out too, because their inboxes are full of trash just like yours, and none of them had enough intellect to think of checking the Important label, where messages from the developers go by default.”

  “I don’t need intellect, I’m a warrior!” Bomber declared, finally tearing himself away from his mug of ale to wave a finger.

  “You ruined all the fun,” Crawler complained, casting a reproachful glance at the girl.

  “Ru-i-ned a-a-a-all the fu-u-u-u-u-uuun…” Infect bawled, plucking at his guitar strings. He got a slap round the head from Patrick.

  “Stop your wailing this instant!” the First Priest of the Sleepers demanded. “This is a council meeting, not a brothel!”

  After regaining his true past, the ‘honored citizen of Tristad’ had started to take everything too seriously. That said, for a man of his real age, approaching seventy, it was forgivable. Infect frowned at Patrick, moved away from him and muttered:

  “We suffered your wailing for two years in Tristad, Mr. O’Grady…”

  “It’s true, old man,” Nega said, sitting opposite Patrick. “You’ve gotten kinda boring!” She punched him playfully in the chest. “And do you know why?”

  “I won’t drink!” Patrick cut her off as he finished quaffing his non-alcoholic ginger ale. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “You humans love your extremes,” Flaygray marveled. “You don’t have to make a vice of it, do you? Just drink a barrel or two and stop.”

  “You demons have a different metabolism,” Patrick objected. “Anyway, I’m the clan manager now, I bear real responsibility!”

  We could listen to the guardians and Patrick banter until morning, but I was so exhausted from the last few weeks that I interrupted their back-and-forth. Either my fatigue had built up or I was sick of making all the decisions. Overall, despite that our situation had not only failed to improve, but had gotten several times worse, I just yawned, listening as Manny weighed in as another expert on the influence of alcohol on sentient minds, and then Trixie as chief carouser of brothels. The little man noisily guzzled Leprechaun’s Uplifter and leaned against the window. He wasn’t formally included in the clan meeting, but it’s “easy to pick on the little guy!”, so we decided to let him stay within Crawler’s Dome of Silence.

  The sound of commotion from outside. Trixie reported in alarm:

  “The Montosaurus is fighting! Ripta too…” I jumped up from my stool, tense in expectation of Mogwai. “The dinosaurs are fighting!”

  I reached the door first, opened it, looked outside and made sure there was no danger, then silently closed it. Then I said admonishingly:

  “You’re not much of an alarm. Can’t you see they’re just playing, Veratrix?”

  “But you told me to say if…”<
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  Sighing, I explained:

  “I told you to tell me if a stranger shows up and the beasts start fighting them!”

  “Trixie not stupid,” the little man said, puffing out his cheeks and pointing at one of the orc newcomers from the Broken Axe clan. “There’s a stranger! And there are the beasts — fighting!”

  “Nobody said you’re stupid.” Irita said, ruffling his hair.

  I returned to the table. Patrick, who never had much time for tact, shook his head and whispered so that Trixie couldn’t hear: