Viridian Gate Online: Imperial Legion: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 4)

by James Hunter

My mind whirled, riddled with uncertainty about what to do.

  Osmark was a bad person, but not nearly as bad as the Vogthar, Serth-Rog, and ultimately Thanatos. But on the other hand, bargaining with him—even for the greater good—seemed a bit like striking a deal with the Devil. And that’s when it hit me: Osmark had been forced into this very same position. He’d accepted the help of drug lords, dictators, and corrupt politicians, but if he hadn’t, V.G.O. wouldn’t exist, and everyone inside would be dead. It was easy to judge the morality of his actions from afar, but now that the burden rested on my shoulders? It was a terrible weight.

  “Yes,” I finally said with a nod. “We can put aside our differences. For now.”

  “Finally, you’re being reasonable,” Osmark said. “And it only took an apocalyptic threat to accomplish the deed.” He offered me a thin smile, and a second later a popup appeared:

  <<<>>>

  Temporary Peace Accord

  Robert Osmark, Lord of the Viridian Empire, has extended the Crimson Alliance a temporary Peace Accord with the following conditions:

  Duration: 1 month, with the potential to renew.

  Imperial Faction members and Crimson Alliance Faction members will not engage in combat unless provoked.

  Crimson Alliance members are not allowed within Imperial controlled territories or cities without express invitation from an Imperial Faction member.

  Imperial Faction members are not allowed within Crimson Alliance controlled territories or cities without express invitation from a Crimson Alliance member.

  Ravenkirk and the surrounding territory will be considered neutral for the next (24) hours.

  Accept: Yes/No?

  <<<>>>

  I carefully read over the terms, searching for any sign of trickery from Osmark. Nothing, though. The deal seemed on the level. It still made me feel antsy, but this offer was likely the best I could hope for, so reluctantly I said “yes.” The Temporary Peace Accord message vanished, replaced by a new Crimson Alliance Universal Alert:

  <<<>>>

  Crimson Alliance Universal Alert!

  Notice: Traveler Grim Jack Shadowstrider, honorary member of the Ak-Hani clan, has established a temporary alliance with Robert Osmark and the Ever-Victorious Viridian Empire! All Imperial Faction members and their allies will not attack Crimson Alliance members unless provoked.

  Notice: The duration of this temporary accord is (1) month.

  Notice: Crimson Alliance members are not allowed within Imperial controlled territories or cities without express invitation from an Imperial Faction member. Likewise, Imperial members are not allowed with Crimson Alliance controlled territories or cities without express invitation from a Crimson Alliance member.

  Notice: Any breach of the territory clause will be considered an act of provocation—offending parties can be killed without repercussions.

  Notice: Ravenkirk will be considered a neutral territory for the next (24) hours.

  <<<>>>

  “Excellent,” Enyo purred, running a gauntleted hand through her drifting black hair. “Glad you two can play nice when the need arises. Before we depart, though, there is one other concern.” She stole a look at Sophia, then nodded her chin, you tell the worthless meat-bags.

  “Aleixo Carrera,” Sophia said softly, giving my shoulder a soft squeeze. “As you already saw, Jack, he has returned from Morsheim. But he has changed. Far more powerful than either you or dear Robert Osmark. Perhaps stronger than both of you combined.”

  “I’m the strongest player in the game,” Osmark snapped back. “And Jack is just below me. Carrera can’t be stronger than us.”

  “You are wrong once again,” Sophia replied. She waved a hand, and a floating avatar of Carrera appeared in the air before us, rotating slowly in a circle.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a swath of ebony hair and rugged good looks. He also looked odd, though. Different. Changed. He was an Imperial, but his ears were pointed now, his eyes burned with unholy green fire, and the curling nubs of horns protruded from his forehead. Stranger still, his feet were gone, and in their place was a pair of inverted goat legs capped by onyx hooves. He wore immaculate black plate armor, tooled in red-gold, and covered with angry glowing green runes.

  “Though Carrera is technically a lower level than you, Osmark,” Sophia said, “he is a higher level than Jack. But because he was banished to Morsheim, he wasn’t counted on the leaderboard. Currently, he is level forty-four, but that is not his real advantage. His real advantage is the demonic creature possessing his body and sharing his mind. Serth-Rog, Lord over the Vogthar, was unable to cross over without a host. And not just any host, but a willing one. He has found such an ally in Carrera. The man you knew is not gone, but he is transformed. Now, he bears the power of a demigod. Carrera is Serth-Rog made manifest in the flesh.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Osmark replied with a frown, dropping one hand to the butt of his pistol, tapping his fingers restlessly on the wooden grip. “He’s liable to be extremely unhappy with both Jack and me.” He paused, his frown deepening into a scowl. “Do you at least have a plan for defeating him?”

  “Yes,” Enyo replied with a malevolent grin. “Hit him hard, and hit him often. And we have a little more help besides.”

  Then, before I could ask more, Sophia pulled me away from the center of the clearing and toward her throne, out of earshot. “Jack, things have become far more dire than I expected, so I have two gifts for you. The first is a simple tool, but one which will help you in the fight against the Vogthar. Hold out your hammer, please.”

  I pulled it from my belt and lifted it up; she regarded the weapon for just a moment, then tapped it with the tip of her finger. A brilliant flare of golden light enveloped the weapon, and when it faded my Gavel of Shadows was gone, and a new hammer was in its place. It was a wicked-looking weapon, crafted from black forged steel positively covered with pulsing golden runes, which twisted up the shaft and twirled around its blunt face. A hooked spike protruded from the back end, while another spike protruded from the top.

  <<<>>>

  Divine Gavel of Balance (Faction Bound)

  Weapon Type: Blunt; Warhammer (Modified)

  Class: Ancient Artifact, Two-handed

  Base Damage: 85 (Modified)

  Primary Effects:

  50 pts Shadow Damage + (.5 x Character Level)

  35 pts Fire Damage + (.25 x Character Level)

  +10% Damage to all Blunt Weapon attacks

  Strength Bonus = .25 x Character Level

  Spirit Bonus = .5 x Character Level

  Weapon Durability +25%

  +50 pts Holy Damage + (.5 x Character Level) to all Vogthar and “Evil” aligned characters

  Secondary Effects:

  +550 EXP per kill

  +35% Extra gold dropped

  +15% Increased chance to receive a rare item drop.

  Increases all Blunt Level Skills by 1 while equipped

  Luck of the Divine: +10 to Luck

  Special Ability:

  Detect Vogthar: The weapon glows golden with Divine energy when in the presence of Vogthar or the agents of Serth-Rog.

  <<<>>>

  Wow. After looking at the description, I realized she hadn’t removed the Gavel of Shadows, she’d just improved it in every conceivable way. Extra base damage, added fire damage, holy damage against Vogthar, plus the additional luck boost. Even the extra EXP per kill had jumped by a whopping 300 points. Awesome didn’t even begin to cover it. I grinned and closed out the screen, my inner gamer deeply satisfied despite the severity of the situation. “What’s the second thing?” I asked, giving the hammer a twirl, appreciating the weight and balance.

  “Take care of Carrera and the Vogthar at Ravenkirk first—I wouldn’t want you to get too distracted.” She shot me a wink. “Now our time is short, so prepare to defend yourself. And good luck, Jack. You’re going to need every ounce of it.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against my cheek. A wav
e of inferno heat roared through me like piping hot magma as the world spun and reeled around me.

  THIRTY-THREE_

  Familiar Faces

  The crash of battle washed over me: the scream of men and women, the ring of steel on steel, the thud-boom of offensive spells landing with devastating impact. I was right in the heart of the fight, my legs wobbling from the sudden transport spell. As I glanced around, I realized I was actually behind enemy lines, less than fifty feet from where Carrera waited with Cutter clutched against his chest, a dagger digging into my friend’s throat. There was a flash of movement to my right as Osmark appeared a stone’s throw away, clad in his towering mech suit once again.

  “Two for one,” Carrera said, his voice deeper and more guttural than I remembered from our last encounter. “How fortunate for me, no? Having you both here saves me the trouble of hunting you down.” He fixed his demonic gaze on me. “Grim Jack, a dirty, toothless hijo de puta. A coward without honor and a thief who steals from his betters. And Robert Osmark, a man without an ounce of loyalty in his body.

  “I fought for you.” He fixed his gaze on the Artificer. “I stood by your side when no one else would. When Sizemore tried to finish you, I was there. In your corner. Killing the Coldskulls, or don’t you remember that, Osmark? And how did you repay me? You let me die, you backstabbing pendejo. And then you abandoned me in Morsheim. You didn’t even look for me. Wrote me off. Just one more broken tool, ready for the dump.”

  He paused and offered Osmark a feral grin—Carrera’s teeth had been filed into jagged points.

  “But I found a new benefactor,” he said after a beat. “Someone who is willing to give me all the power I want. Someone who always has my back. Someone who is as hungry for revenge as I am.” His eyes turned a shade of fallout green. “And now, I’ll get my revenge. I’m going to take back what belongs to the Vogthar, and what belongs to me, and I’ll make everyone pay the butcher’s bill. And I’m thinking, perhaps, I should start with the thief here.” He smiled at me as he pressed the dagger a little deeper into Cutter’s flesh, drawing a bright bead of red. “Just a little warm-up, to set the mood.”

  “Leave him alone,” I said, stepping forward, my brow furrowed as I raised my new hammer, which crackled with divine light in the presence of so many Vogthar. “Your fight is with me, not him.”

  “You’re right,” Carrera said, rolling his emerald eyes. “The thief was bait to draw you in, puto”—he offered me a predatory grin—“but I also know how much it will hurt you to see him die.” Carrera moved like lightning, plunging the dagger home, but I was faster, triggering Shadow Stride before Carrera could open Cutter’s throat from ear to ear. The world lurched to a halt, and I moved like the wind. I wasn’t sure what kind of abilities this upgraded version of Carrera had, but the old version had some nasty tricks specifically designed to stop Shadowmancers.

  I couldn’t spare even a single second.

  I dashed across the distance, aiming my new hammer at Carrera’s hand, muttering a silent prayer that this would work. I stepped back into the Material Realm and struck, smashing the spike on the rear end of the hammer into the back of Carrera’s gauntleted hand, triggering Crush Armor and Black Caress. The spike pierced the black armor with pitiful ease, knocking his blade free before he could finish the job. Cutter tumbled from the man’s grasp and hit the forest floor with a thud, clasping at his bloody throat.

  “Get clear,” I shouted at him, while simultaneously circling right, heading deeper into the trees and away from the rest of the Vogthar horde.

  Cutter shot me a hasty nod, then scampered to his feet and darted into the undergrowth, quickly swallowed by the trees and the descending shadows. Good. Unfortunately, I wasn’t nearly fast enough. Carrera charged at me like a junkyard dog, a fierce war cry rending the air as he lashed out with a brutal front kick that caught me dead in the chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind from my lungs and hurled me back several feet.

  Before I could recover, a wrist-thick beam of white light—riddled with flecks of green corruption—slammed into my gut, slashing through my HP as it lifted me off my feet and slammed me mercilessly into a nearby tree trunk. Stinging pain crawled across my skin like an army of fire ants, and white pinpricks of light danced in my vision as I pushed myself up onto my hands. But Carrera was already looming over me, one palm planted on his hip, the other casually leaning a massive two-handed sword against his pauldron.

  The sword looked to be crafted from raw magma, though a string of noxious green runes ran down the length of the blade.

  “Adios, cabron.” He raised the sword high, but before it could split my skull like cordwood, gunfire roared as a multitude of blazing white rounds slammed into Carrera’s legs, back, and head. The man staggered drunkenly as the bullets punched through his metal armor as if it were made of fine silk instead of black steel. Lines of green blood oozed from the pockmarks, and Carrera’s HP dropped a notch, but he seemed more annoyed than genuinely hurt.

  The demonic drug lord whipped his free hand out, conjuring a shimmering green shield, which deflected the incoming bullet fire. Rounds whined off the magical barrier, peppering the ground or slamming into surrounding tree trunks, which exploded with a spray of wooden shrapnel. In seconds, Carrera had closed the gap between him and the Artificer; he dismissed his barrier spell and lunged with his impressive sword. The Gatling gun fell silent as Osmark lumbered forward, his giant saw blade screaming to life. The weapons hit with a thunderous clang, blue sparks flying.

  Osmark slashed with the saw blade again, but Carrera danced just out of reach, deflecting the incoming blows with the flat edge of his monster blade. Osmark pressed in though, putting Carrera on his heels, buying me just enough time to slug down a Health Regen potion and gain my feet. I was done playing around with this jerk. With an effort of will, I conjured Umbra Bog, summoning a forest of crawling tentacles beneath Carrera’s hooves. The tentacles whipped and flailed at the air, searching for something to grab onto, but they avoided Carrera like the plague.

  A combat notification flashed in the corner of my eye:

  <<<>>>

  Umbra Bog failed! Lord Carrera resists Umbra Bog with the Holy Light Aura ability! Your Shadow-based spell does not affect him!

  <<<>>>

  Great, so not only did Carrera have the powers of Serth-Rog at his beck and call, but he also had his abilities as a Holy Templar of Light—the natural enemy of Shadowmancers everywhere. I had no idea how he could be a Holy Templar and have an evil alignment, but the combination was bad news for me. As a Holy Templar of light, Carrera had extremely high resistance to shadow-based magic, and even had a powerful ability called Revealing Light, which could dispel all Umbra-based effects. That spell could even pull me from the Shadowverse.

  That sucked. A lot.

  On the plus side, Osmark and I still had one thing in our favor: numbers. Carrera was tough, but taking on the two highest level players in the game was no easy feat, even for a man like him. Osmark shuffled right, then lurched forward with a tremendous front kick, followed up by a wicked hook, his saw blade aimed squarely at Carrera’s head. The Templar sidestepped the kick, while his sword whizzed through the air, intercepting the buzzsaw inches from his flesh.

  Carrera’s defensive maneuvering was perfect, but it did leave him open on the right.

  I bolted in low, dropping to a knee as I drove my hammer squarely into his hip, triggering Crushing Blow and Black Caress. My weapon clanged against his armor, reverberating up into my hands, but I could see a grimace of pain flash across his chiseled features. Carrera responded with a snarl, surging forward, slamming a shoulder into Osmark’s mech. He forced the impossibly heavy machine back through sheer brute strength, then spun around like a top, his sword flying toward me. I was already moving, though. Speed was my only advantage against the drug lord, so I couldn’t afford to stay stationary for long.

  I dove into a tight roll, narrowly avoiding decapitation, before coming up b
ehind Carrera in a crouch. His heavy plate armor covered pretty much everything, but the creases at the joints were still open and vulnerable. So that’s where I struck, this time using the razor blades lining my vambraces to dig into the back of his knee. Green blood spurted from the wound, dribbling down his calf in a steady stream. Carrera responded on instinct, mule kicking straight back with the injured leg, which caught me in the teeth like a sledgehammer of pure force.

  I felt something crack and give inside my jaw.

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Fractured Jaw: You cannot speak and cannot cast mage spells; duration, 2 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  I stumbled back, my jaw throbbing dully from the blow, and counted my lucky stars I wasn’t a wizard or priest. An injury like that for one of them would be tantamount to a death sentence.

  I shook off the pain and darted back in, lashing out with my hammer at the same instant Osmark lunged in with his saw blade. Carrera, as fast as he was, couldn’t stop both hits at the same time. Or so I thought, until a column of jade fire erupted directly beneath my feet like a geyser, battering my body with bitter cold, which crawled across my skin, eating through my Health and Stamina with brutal efficiency. The world around me bucked and quivered, black invading the edges of my vision as my HP bar strobed an angry red.

  Danger, danger, danger.

  My legs gave way, and I dropped to the ground, pulling my knees into my chest while my teeth chattered frantically from the cold. I pressed my eyes shut to protect them against the searing frost. For a long beat, I thought I’d died, but when I opened my eyes again, the column of arctic fire was gone. Vanished. My health loitered just a handful of points above zero, but I was miraculously alive. Curled up in the fetal position, yes, but alive. I blinked away a layer of white, icy rime coating my eyelashes, and caught sight of Carrera, currently wailing on Osmark.

  I had no idea what had happened, but Osmark’s suit was in pieces; gears, cogs, and steel plates were scattered across the ground like debris. The Artificer was on his feet, though. His fancy suit was in tatters and covered liberally with blood, but he was giving Carrera a helluva fight. I mean, Carrera had an edge, but Osmark was making him work for every inch. The Artificer twirled around the drug lord, firing rounds from his sidearm, hurling brass grenades, and slashing at exposed limbs with the buzzsaw attached beneath his gun.