“I’m not going to kill you.”
“You dumb… piece of shit… you’re… barely alive yourself… It’ll give you more health…” The goblin raised his head, spat out a clump of blood, then smiled wickedly: “Can’t let down the Green League, buddy! That’s the point of my sacrifice, mo-fa! You have to get out… Otherwise… I’ll find you on the other side and… take a dump on your chest… while you sleep!”
Navalik laughed hoarsely, gurgling and swearing.
“Dolt… Halfwit! Ugh… May the Sleeping Gods never wake!”
His voice was clear and bright now. I answered automatically:
“And may their sleep be eternal!”
A divine gong rang. The forcefield barrier popped like a bubble, and red letters flashed up:
MAY NONE REMAIN BUT THE RIGHTEOUS ONE!
THE ORDEAL HAS BEGUN!
It was like a veil was lifted from my eyes. The air cleared up and I saw in full where we were trapped: in the great nothing, on a round arena at least half a mile wide hanging in the mist, a multitude of winding paths of stone stretching out from it. Like the sun in a child’s drawing. At the end of each sunbeam was a pair of convicts. They all leaped into motion, either fighting each other or running toward the arena.
“Don’t waste any time,” the goblin whispered. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms at his chest; he was preparing to die. “You can do it… Come on, kid, I know you can! Pick up a stone… It won’t take… much…”
He was writhing in pain. The bleeding was killing him. I picked up a rough stone lying by the goblin’s head, weighed it in my hand.
Stone (damage: 2)
It had stats, and that meant it could be used as a weapon. Perfect. Casting a farewell glance at the goblin, I ran toward the arena.
“Bonehead…” he threw at my back.
I heard his final death rattle as I ran.
And with it, the sound of breaking glass.
Looking back, I saw his body break into shards that glimmered and then disappeared.
“Damn it, Navalik!”
I went back. In the goblin’s place was a black cube that smoked with mist. It was no larger than a billiard ball, but something told me it was too heavy to lift. I touched it and the cube turned into an inky black cloud that poured into my hand. My wounds healed, my health went up, it got easier to breathe. The dull pain beneath my ribs disappeared.
+1 to level. Current level: 1.
Lesser Gift of Montu: +1 strength.
Attribute point available!
I felt eyes bearing down on me. Throwing my head back, I saw that the silhouette of Montu, a god with the head of a falcon, had gotten larger and was lit up. The glow disappeared along with the weight of his gaze — the god had switched his attention to others.
So that was how this worked? No experience. It wasn’t even killing Navalik that leveled me up; he had died on his own. It was picking up that black cube that did it.
I glanced at my stat window:
Convict Scyth, level 1
Vitality: 1.
Strength: 2.
Speed: 1.
Agility: 1.
Defense: 1.
Health points: 10/10.
Damage: 4.
Fatigue: 1%.
Damage was obviously calculated with the rock I’d picked up. If I dropped it, the numbers would be cut in half. I glanced at the progress bar:
Total surviving convicts: 716 of 981.
Almost a hundred and fifty dead in the first minute! I couldn’t afford to waste time. Otherwise everyone else would level up before I knew it, and I wouldn’t have a chance.
With amazing calm considering the high stakes, I rushed to the arena, which was already fraught with battle. I felt some confidence from the fact that at least we all started with the same stats. With that thought, I ran thirty yards…
The edges of my field of view turned red and a system notification popped up:
Fatigue at 100%!
I felt pressed to the ground; I couldn’t even stand. My legs just collapsed under me, my arms turned to jelly. Another difference from Dis discovered…
“Aaaaaahhhhh!”
The earsplitting roar came from ahead. Holding a club that looked more like a tree trunk in his hand, a huge orc rushed toward me, his eyes wide and white, the ground shaking beneath his feet.
Convict Zaremba, level 2
Could have been a player or an NPC — there were none of the usual labels next to the name. And I didn’t care! My Fatigue had gone down a few percent, but the enemy was only around twenty yards away.
I panicked, threw my rock at him — and hit! The orc lost a point of health and the rock bounced off into the chasm. The bastard just grinned, still running.
Learned Throwing Stones!
+10% damage with stones per skill level.
Pulling his arm back, Zaremba jumped at me from three yards away. I rolled to the side an instant before the club would have landed on my head. Crunch!
Learned Dodge!
+1% chance to dodge successfully per skill level.
The orc worked his club furiously, pouring all his strength into each strike, but there was a two to three second pause between each hit. I dodged, rolling around and trying not to slip off the edge into the abyss.
My Fatigue dropped by 1% with every heartbeat, and that saved me, giving me strength to dodge and roll. But after rolling to the side, I still couldn’t get up. Zaremba redoubled his efforts. There was no way I could stand.
“Ughhh!” came a sharp cry from the orc with the dull thud of wood on stone.
Dodge +1. Total: 2.
The Fatigue bar was almost full red. A few more successful rolls raised my Dodge skill to four and brought Zaremba to a fury. I didn’t fully dodge the next attack, just moved my head and shoulder away. The club split my ear and I lost a point of health, but managed to do what I’d done a thousand times beneath a pile of mobs in Gloomwood, the Lakharian Desert and Terrastera, — I punched him three times.
Learned Unarmed Combat!
+10% unarmed combat damage per skill level.
Unarmed Combat +2. Total: 2.
The orc’s leg twisted and he lost his balance, missing his swing. The club glanced off my shoulder and I lost another two health points, but managed to get up. The orc, on the other hand, fell down to one knee, breathing hard. He was exhausted. I couldn’t let him recover!
A kick to the temple and Zaremba fell to his side, dropping the club.
Unarmed Combat +1. Total: 3.
One more hit would finish him off. The orc tried to get up, but all he could do was raise his head…
A “whoosh!” whistled through the air.
A blade burst from Zaremba’s throat, followed by a spear haft. Showers of blood erupted from the wound. The lifeless body shattered into pieces and the spear fell at my feet. Stunned, I missed my chance, and the nimble elf who owned the weapon reached the black cube first.
Groaning in disappointment, I picked up what was left:
Spear (damage: 4)
“Give it back,” the former spear-thrower said peacefully. “Let’s stick together! We can unite with the other players against the NPCs! What do you say?”
Convict YourMajesty, level 3.
Definitely a player. Only they could have such dumb names. And an elf, of course. I shook my head. He kept showing me his teeth as he edged closer to the late Zaremba’s club.
“Come on, why not? We players have to stick together! That’s the only way to survive, by joining forces! Team play, you know?”
“Of course, YourMajesty,” I laughed and lunged at him with the spear. “Of course…”
He reeled back and I kicked the club over the edge, into the misty chasm. It had less damage and there was nowhere to hide it, and my hands were full with the six-foot serrated-tipped spear.
“Alright, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want.” The elf shrugged. “Just leave me alone.”
I moved to
ward him and waved my spear. He started jabbering in panic:
“You don’t get it! I’ve put six years and a ton of money into this toon! I can’t lose it! Let’s just pass at the edges…”
The sharp tip of the spear aimed at his chest grazed his side, cutting a hole in his shirt — the elf had managed to dodge out of the way. He slipped by my next thrust too, and generally turned out far more agile than me. But he had no weapon. I took my time and continued to drive him toward a small outcropping over the chasm, letting my Fatigue drop back down after each strike.
The space got too tight for maneuvering and I finally hit him, stabbing him in the waist. The elf’s life fell by five points and I got a skill:
Learned Spears!
+10% damage with spears per skill level.
YourMajesty was trying to convince me to stop. My spear kept him at a distance and he was beginning to tire. The figures of various divinities lit up on the skyline multiple times — convicts died almost every second. I heard a roar, thunder, trampling behind me, but feared to turn around and let the elf go. He seemed to be remembering where he’d heard my name before.
“Wait, you’re Scyth… the Scyth?” The looter’s eyes widened. “How’s that possible?”
Realizing who I was, the elf, already stressed and constantly looking for a place to dodge, let his his guard down. Without hesitation, I delivered the final blow.
Spears +1. Total: 2.
YourMajesty died, losing his character forever. Before the shards of his body had fully dissipated, I was already absorbing the black cube.
+2 to level. Current level: 3.
Lesser Gift of Bastet: +3 agility.
The weight of divine attention descended upon me once more. On the right, a figure in the sky of a busty naked woman with the head of a cat came closer and lit up. Nice to meet you, Bastet, and thanks for the gift! I felt the extra agility right away — although I moved no faster, my body was more mobile.
The huge arena with the stone paths flowing into it looked like a fair where everyone had been given as much strong dwarven ale as they could drink. We were all at the center of the New, or True, Gods’ attention. They celebrated deaths and generously rewarded killers.
Fifty paces away, a few dozen prisoners were locked in combat. Once in a while, the bodies of the dead exploded into glass shards within the crowd, and an even fiercer skirmish burst out over the loot.
Stopping my stream of thoughts, I thought of my strategy. It was easy to get stabbed in the back in a crowd of hundreds. Better to fight one on one, pulling opponents to me. Here on my narrow strip of rock, defending myself would be easier.
Slowly, to avoid Fatigue, I moved forwards, step by step, carefully watching my surroundings and keeping an eye on the meter:
Total surviving convicts: 373 of 981.
By minute ten of the Ordeal, each survivor had an average of almost two kills. The main tussle was here, and it was hard to tell who was fighting with who. It was every man for himself.
At the center of the crowd, a huge two-headed ogre with a mighty stone club span in place, dishing out sweeping strikes with such power that even I heard the air whistle. The ogre was protecting someone, but I couldn’t make out who. My view was blocked, and then I found myself in battle once more, and against three at once.
A troll with dreadlocks cut me across the shoulder with his sword and a gnoll sank his teeth into my left arm. I dodged the next strike of the sword and drove my spear into the gnoll’s meaty neck. I didn’t have time to finish him off; I had to dodge an attack from a bearded black dwarf armed with a curved dagger.
The swordsman put down the gnoll. He didn’t have time to pick up the loot before falling victim to the dwarf, his dagger stabbing like a sewing machine through the troll’s back and shoulders, then finally disappearing into his ear. The troll collapsed in a bleeding heap and the black dwarf turned to me…
Roaring, I jumped, stretched out my arms, absorbed the black cube in flight and rolled to the side.
+1 to level. Current level: 4.
Medium Gift of Tlaloc: +1 vitality, +3 damage (Spark of Tlalok).
Total surviving convicts: 255 of 981.
At the edge of my vision, one of the divine figures glowed. I caught the scent of rain, overpowering even the stench of stale whiskey and sweat from the filthy dwarf.
“You won’t get away!” he growled. “In the name of…”
His beard was suddenly above me, the dagger flashing. With no time to dodge, I stabbed my spear up through the dwarf’s chin.
Spears +1. Total: 3.
The dwarf was wounded, so the spear strike didn’t just land, it was a critical hit. A snake of electricity ran along the spear haft with a crackle and the dwarf’s head exploded, showering me with brains and blood. An instant later, his entire body exploded into shards. The black dwarf from a tribe of outcasts who preferred Chaos to the eternal gods was gone from Dis forever.
I heard a guttural growl nearby. The troll with dreads had survived and was now trying to reach the black cube lying nearby. I beat him to it. Stabbing my spear into the troll’s hand, I absorbed the cube…
+2 to level. Current level: 6.
Medium Gift of Yama: +3 strength.
For a second, I caught the almost forgotten scent of a rotting tomb. Yama must have been a god somehow related to death. Licking the blood from my lips, I finished off the troll, raising my Spears skill by another level. I absorbed the next black cube into my palm and felt a cold fresh breeze on my face.
+1 to level. Current level: 7.
Medium Gift of Fujin: +3 speed.
Just in time! Two little hobbits, arms outstretched, were crawling on their bellies toward the loot I’d just picked up. I jumped back, stood on a foot, turned around. A snakelike naga hissed as she fought a gnoll and a vampire for the troll’s sword. They were all unarmed and each had a hand on the loot.
In the meantime, the level 1 and 2 hobbits exchanged glances, then attacked me from two directions at once. The halflings’ twisted snarling faces were covered in blood. One had an ear hanging off.
I attacked the higher-level one first. The helmet on his head was too big for him, and he was injured and closer. At the last moment, the hobbit dove under the spear in an attempt to dodge, but was too slow. The blade glanced off his metal helmet and raked down his back, cutting in deeper with every inch.
In the meantime, the hobbit with the hanging ear jumped onto my back and sank his teeth into my own ear. He must have been out for justice, aiming to restore the balance of ears in the universe. He managed it. I screamed and tried to punch the hobbit off me, but the little bastard climbed even higher, wrapped himself around my shoulder and bit me in the throat. Late Navalik would have said I shat myself, and he would have been nearly right. I lashed out chaotically and managed to break the hobbit’s jaw. He whined and fell off. I took up my spear to finish him off and quickly loot what was left of the first halfling…
Chapter 33. Those Who Shall Not Be Forgotten
…WHEN TIME suddenly stopped, and I found myself in the same spot I first appeared in when I passed through the portal from the Vinculum.
Forced ceasefire!
Total surviving convicts: 196 of 981 (less than 20%).
Get ready, convicts!
The gods are preparing great gifts for you! Find them and grow stronger!
Ceasefire ends in: 00:59… 00:58…
The whole battlefield must have heard my roar of fury. I just had two kills taken off me! The bastard that chewed my ear off got away with it! And that helmet I needed so badly from the first hobbit was just lying somewhere out there now… My first thought was to run back, but a glimmering forcefield stood in the way. My path to the center was blocked again.
I had a minute to rest.
I crossed my legs in lotus pose, closed my eyes and started to breathe, calming my blood and cooling my head. Without any practical purpose, mostly for myself, I read mantras to drive away my rage, spit
e and disappointment. Fight with a cool head, Oyama had said.
Breathing in and out deeply a few times, I got a grip on myself. The time meant I could review what I’d gained:
Convict Scyth, level 7
Vitality: 2.
Strength: 5.
Speed: 4.
Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series Page 33