Viridian Gate Online: The Lich Priest: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 5)

by James Hunter

  <<<>>>

  Group Message:

  Cutter, Amara, Abby

  Stop fighting. It’s not what you think. Osmark and the Legion didn’t do this. We’re on the same side, just trust me. I’ll explain everything in a minute.

  —Jack

  <<<>>>

  With that done, I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, and thrust both hands forward as I prepared to trigger Dark Shield. I pressed my eyes closed, breathing deeply—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—then opened my eyes and stepped from the Shadowverse. As time resumed, I acted, first blasting out the group text, then triggering my spell. A barrier of shimmering violet light erupted to life in front of me, absorbing the deadly barrage of golden arrows before they could skewer Cutter or me.

  The arrows exploded on impact, a burst of red-orange light filling my eyes, pushing out an uncomfortable wave of heat. But Dark Shield held. Once the light faded, I moved again, dismissing the shield, then bolting forward, legs churning as I dropped my shoulders low. I knew from experience that Jay had personally studied my fighting style, so he was probably expecting me to blast him at a distance with an Umbra Bolt or roast him with a deadly column of Umbra Flame.

  He was wholly unprepared for a straight-up tackle.

  I lunged at the last moment, driving my shoulder into his exposed gut, then wrapping my arms around him as I took him to the ground. Hard. We landed in a tangle of limbs, and I scurried into the mounted position, straddling him at the hips. He bucked and fought, trying to knock me away, but I was stronger than him, and in a dominant position besides. One hand shot toward a brand near his neck, but I was ready. I batted his palm aside before he could activate the rune, then drove an elbow directly into his nose.

  There was a sharp crack as his nose broke and blood gushed down his face. While he was stunned by the blow, I struck like a cobra, pinning his wrists down, then leaning my weight against his arms so he couldn’t trigger any more of the brands.

  “Just calm down,” I snarled, lips pulled back, as I fought against him. I had seven levels on this guy, and it still took everything I had to keep him in check. “We didn’t do this, man. Just stop for a second.”

  “He’s right,” came Osmark’s voice. “Stand down, Taylor.” Immediately, the monk ceased his struggle, gaze shooting first to Osmark, then returning to my face, searching for any sign that I was pulling some kind of trick. Finally, he grunted and nodded. Slowly, I let go of his wrists—fully expecting him to strike back in retaliation—but he left his hands where they were. With a tired sigh, I pushed myself back to my feet and stole a look over one shoulder. Abby, Amara, and Cutter had retreated to the far side of the clearing and were watching the scene with intense scrutiny.

  Tensions were high, and no one was taking any chances. Smart. Exactly the way I would’ve acted had I been in their shoes.

  “Someone care to tell us what in the hell is going on here, eh?” Cutter said, his daggers twirling idly in his hands, eyes tracking Osmark and Jay.

  “Sophia is what’s happening,” I replied, resting one hand on top of my warhammer. “While we were having our little conversation in the War Room, she popped in to say hello. Just a nice chat that resulted in a kidnapping.”

  “Sophia did this?” Cutter asked. He groaned and finally stashed his weapons back in his belt. “Bloody great. Just perfect. As if things weren’t complicated enough already. It’s not like we’re fighting a blighted war or anything.” He reached up and rubbed at one temple, annoyed. “And what does she want this time? Wait, don’t tell me”—he held up his hands—“she has some suicidal mission that only we can do?”

  “Got it in one,” I said with a weary grin, shooting him a finger gun. “Apparently there’s some new catastrophic danger, and I have to stop it. You just had the good fortune to be in the room at the time, and now you’re stuck tagging along.” I paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Indefinitely.”

  “Bloody perfect. I knew I should’ve hit the tavern—this is what being a decent person gets you. Trapped in some terrible world instead of being drunk on mead. Never again.”

  Amara shot him a hard, sidelong glance, a frown on her face.

  “But where are we exactly, Jack?” Abby asked, looking up at the dark domineering woods, the riot of wildflowers, and, of course, the unnatural purple sky filled with floating islands.

  “The Realm of Order,” I replied.

  “It’s a restricted content area,” Osmark offered, cocking his head to one side and folding his hands behind his back. “Eldgard is a tremendously huge place, but we put in seven of these expanded content areas, though they don’t show up on any of the typical world maps. Each area is loaded down with expanded features and special quests, but they also serve another function—each of the areas belongs to an Overmind. They act as sort of the digital expression of each system. Sophia might be the physical avatar, but this?” He swept a hand out, indicating the trees, the floating skies. “This place is Sophia. Being here is a bit like being physically inside her mind.”

  “The Ancestors honor us,” Amara said, dropping her head in reverence. “The Blessed Realms are sacred to the Dokkalfar.” She squatted down and ran her hand through the lush grass, then traced the petals of a neon pink flower with one finger. “Incredible. Never did I think I would be so blessed.” She shook her head.

  “Right, blessed,” Cutter said, rolling eyes. “That’s one word for it I guess, though I might lean toward cursed.”

  “What I want to know,” Jay grunted as he climbed to his feet, “is how we leave. Mr. Osmark, the Empire won’t run itself. And while we’re gone, there’s no guarantee that one of those snakes won’t make a move. I’m worried about Peng and Novotny, in particular. Maybe I can touch base with Sandra.” His eyes momentarily glazed over, his mouth going slightly slack. He grunted, then shook his head. “No good, I can’t seem to get a line out.”

  “Unfortunately,” Osmark said, “I’m afraid we don’t have many options at this point. The Overminds are incredibly powerful—if Sophia wants to keep us from leaving, she can. For now, we need to find a town. A base of operations. Then we can regroup and figure out what to do.”

  “In the meantime, do we work with them?” Jay asked, nodding toward us. “Because, personally, I think we’re better off without them. They’ll slow us down with all their moralizing bullshit.” He glared at Abby in particular as he said the last part.

  “Like we’d want to work with you,” Abby fired back, eyes narrowing to slits. There was no love lost there. “You’re just as likely to stab us in the back as help us.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” I said, looking at Abby and Jay in turn. “There’s one other small complication that we haven’t mentioned yet. Osmark and me? We’ve been cursed. Our lives are entwined until we finish this mission—if he dies, I die.”

  “And vice versa,” Osmark added, offering Jay a sharp look. “And worse, we’re also suffering from a curse called Shared Trauma. We share all debuffs. So, when you slammed me with a fireball,” he said pointedly to Abby, “you hurt your boyfriend, too. Which means we have a vested interest, Taylor, to ensure our friends”—the word friends oozed sarcasm—“stay safe and healthy.”

  The monk grunted, his fists clenching tight. “Well this is a real mess, but I suppose it is what it—”

  A colossal roar cut the monk off mid-sentence as something huge and hairy appeared at the edge of the tree line, its eyes glowing a Chernobyl green.

  It looked like a bunny.

  If that bunny was the size of a tiger who had been pumped full of steroids, then drenched in toxic waste. Its fur was a deep charcoal gray, and formidable muscles rippled beneath its skin. Floppy ears dangled down, while thick black lips were pulled back, revealing chomping bunny teeth that looked capable of taking an arm off with a single bite. Razor-sharp, spiked plates trailed down the creature’s back and ran along a formidable tail that looked like it was better suited to a crocodile.

  Unsurprisingly,
I’d never seen anything like it before. Ever.

  A tag appeared above its giant head: [Necrotic Rabbit Thrall].

  “Do you think it’s friendly?” Cutter asked, sliding his daggers free, the rasp of steel on leather slicing through the stillness.

  “I have never seen a thing that looks less friendly,” Amara muttered under her breath as she drew a short recurve bow from her back. “I think we’d best prepare for a fight,” she whispered, carefully putting an arrow to the string.

  The freakish monster-rabbit lifted its deformed snout and sniff, sniff, sniffed at the air, strings of green drool dribbling from its jowls. It opened its maw and roared again—the sound of a hungry T. rex instead of a mild-mannered forest critter—then charged into the clearing.

  FIVE_

  Nightmare Bunny

  “Taylor, you’re on point,” Osmark hollered as he flew into action. The Artificer pulled the fanciful repeater from its holster with one hand while unleashing several baseball-sized metal grenades with the other. The grenades landed in a loose arc and exploded in a flash, releasing a puff of acrid gray smoke and a hail of matte-black spikes, called Caltrops. The spits of metal bit into bunny fur, drawing dabs of blue blood. They didn’t seem to slow the creature down, though.

  Jay bounded forward, slapping a hand on one shoulder. As he ran, a shimmer of silver enveloped his skin, and in an instant the shirtless monk was covered head to toe in gleaming steel. He planted his feet and lashed out with a devastating roundhouse kick. The blow connected with a bloom of golden light—the bunny’s HP dropped by a fraction—but the attack did all of jack-shit to stop its charge. The bunny just kept right on rolling like an unstoppable freight train, lowering its head and slamming it into Jay’s chest.

  Metal armor or not, the monk wasn’t equipped for that.

  He was airborne in a second, arms pinwheeling before he smashed into a tree with the force of a car crash. He slid to the dirt, eyes hazy, though his life was still above 80%.

  The monstrous bunny seemed to dismiss the downed monk, tearing toward me instead.

  “Abby, firebomb. Cutter, backstab. Amara, strafing fire. I’ll draw aggro.” I whipped one hand forward, the arctic power of shadow exploding out as I summoned Umbra Bog, hoping to slow this thing down before it steamrolled me. The ground beneath the creature sagged and shifted, grass turning into tar as a forest of living black tendrils shot up, wrapping around oversized legs and massively powerful limbs.

  Unlike Osmark’s Caltrops, the Umbra Bog did the trick, miring the creature in place, though it fought like mad—clawing at the tendrils of power, chopping with powerful jaws as it tried to free itself. But the shadowy power holding it in place wasn’t a material force—there was nothing to rip or tear.

  A fireball the size of a Slugbug landed against the struggling bunny, detonating with terrible light and a wave of unbearable heat. As the initial explosion faded and died away—leaving a purple afterimage behind—Amara unloaded. Wicked, poison-tipped arrows peppered the creature’s hide; feathered shafts protruded from broad shoulders and a powerful chest.

  I rushed into the gap, throwing my left hand forward, palm up, and conjured a wave of violet Umbra Flame that splashed over the creature’s muzzle. A claw-tipped paw flashed out in response, carving through the beam, aiming straight for my head. I cut my spell off, threw myself right, avoiding the attack, and rolled to my feet while simultaneously drawing my warhammer. I laid into the creature’s side with my weapon, triggering Black Caress and Savage Blow as one. Ribs snapped and flesh caved beneath the force of the blow. A burst of raw life essence trickled up through the hammer and into my body, reinvigorating me like a shot of good coffee.

  Black Caress wasn’t my most powerful attack by a long shot, but being able to leech life off my opponents was always strangely satisfying.

  The creature whirled and lashed out at me with its fangs, but with Umbra Bog in place, the nightmare bunny was far too slow. I backpedaled, avoiding its teeth by inches, and struck again, whirling my hammer in a tight arc then battering the bunny in the jaw. Meanwhile, more arrows flew. Dozens of them jutted from the creature’s side, courtesy of Amara. Abby planted her feet, determination etched into the lines of her face, and machinegunned fist-sized fireballs into the creature’s face. A quartet of steampunk drones, courtesy of Osmark, swooped down from overhead, unleashing a hail of automatic gunfire.

  Bullets pounded into the bunny’s body; blue blood spurted out like mini geysers from each impact. But shockingly, the creature was still above 50% Health despite the devastating amount of firepower we were dishing out. What the hell is this thing? I found myself wondering as I sidestepped a swipe that would’ve removed the head from my shoulders. I didn’t know, and now wasn’t the time to ask. Now was the time to kill. I jabbed the wicked spike on my hammer up into the creature’s throat.

  I briefly considered triggering Night Cyclone as I pulled my weapon free but decided against it. Night Cyclone had an enormous Spirit cost and a ten-minute cooldown timer.

  This thing was tough, sure, but we were doing fine for the moment—

  At least until the timer on Umbra Bog hit zero and the shadowy tendrils retreated into the Shadowverse, where they belonged. Then, the creature spun like a top, mule kicking straight out with one back foot, which caught me dead in the chest and sent me flying as the air rushed out from my lungs and a combat notice appeared:

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Stunning Blow: You have sustained a stunning blow! Attack damage -15%; Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; movement speed reduced by 35%; duration, 1 minute.

  <<<>>>

  I gasped for breath, pushing myself up onto my palms. Holy crap, did that thing hit hard. Seriously, that’s what getting punched by an adult silverback gorilla had to be like. I blinked several times, clearing away the white spots dancing across my vision, and gained my feet, plucking my warhammer from the ground where it had fallen. I wobbled on uncertain feet for a moment, thoughts hazy, and surveyed the battlefield. Abby and Amara continued their onslaught, while Osmark’s drones harassed the dread bunny from the air.

  The Artificer had also deployed one of his steam-powered Gatling guns. The turret was built from copper tubing, brass fixtures, and hundreds of clanking cogs; it sat balanced on a set of spindly tripod legs. This turret, though, didn’t fire bullets. Oh no, it fired mini-rockets, which exploded on impact with a whomp. Though Osmark could take an ungodly amount of sheer damage due to his unique build, he was a ranged fighter and tactician at heart—at least until he activated his Iron Golem and jumped into the cockpit of the giant mech.

  Then he could tank with the best of ’em.

  “Jack, watch out!” Abby screamed between bouts of fire-slinging. “It’s powering up.”

  Yep. Sure enough, the bunny was undergoing some sort of terrible transition—its fur flaking away as a spiderweb of toxic-green cracks broke out across scaly gray skin. Its eyes burned like wildfire, and as it opened its maw wide, I noticed a ball of churning jade energy growing in the back of its throat. A mega attack. I stole a look at its Health. Just under 50%. It was pretty common for a major level boss to change tactics after sustaining enough damage, but I’d never seen a random wild monster with that kind of ability.

  A lance of corrupt power as big as a telephone pole shot out. I triggered Shadow Stride before the attack could turn me into water vapor and pink mist. Thankfully, even in this new backward area, the Shadowverse was still a constant. The beam of raw energy crept to a herky-jerky halt, and I slipped out of the way.

  I headed for the creature, maneuvering past Osmark’s frozen rocket turret, then edged to the creature’s back as I dropped into a low crouch, activating Stealth. Though I wasn’t nearly as sneaky as Cutter, I was better than all but the best Rogues. And with my Stealth at level 14 and my Backstab at level 12, I could do some serious damage. I had a 5x damage multiplier while backstabbing with my warhammer and a 13% increased chance to earn a critica
l hit. When I combined that with techniques like Black Caress and Savage Blow, I could one-shot most low- to mid-tier creatures roaming Eldgard.

  Still, I had some serious doubts about this thing.

  I took a second to square my shoulders, breathing deeply as I aligned my shot—aiming for the creature’s back leg. Because of its build, I couldn’t hit its head from this angle, but there was a damn good chance I could cripple the thing with a single well-placed blow. I stepped from the Shadowverse and swung my weapon, driving the head into the creature’s oddly shaped knee joint. The hammerhead landed dead-on, Critical Hit, and with all the extras I piled on, the dread bunny never had a chance.

  Its HP plunged to 25%, its Health gauge flashing a brilliant red—danger, danger, danger—as shards of white bone jutted through skin.

  Even better, Cutter materialized a moment later, flipping through the air like an acrobat before landing on top of the bunny. As he touched down, light as a feather, he dropped to a knee, driving his daggers hilt-deep into the beast’s skull. Another Critical Hit. This one dropped the creature below 10%. Frothy yellow foam leaked from its mouth as its eyes rolled wildly. In a fit of spastic rage, the bunny reared up, bucking and thrashing, desperately trying to shake free the thief clinging to its back.

  Cutter, try as he might, couldn’t keep his footing.

  But, instead of tumbling to the ground in a heap, the agile thief used the bunny’s momentum to flip up into the air, twirling head over heels, landing lightly on his feet eight feet away.

  “Now, Taylor,” Osmark boomed, his voice a whip crack of command.

  The monk shot in while the bunny was still up on its hind legs, its belly exposed to the world. He moved like lightning, the motions so quick they were hard to track—in a blink, Jay was inside the creature’s guard. He dropped into a front stance and tapped a black brand in the shape of a flaming fist. The tattoo flared, then faded, and suddenly his hands were enveloped with golden fire. It almost looked like he’d dipped both limbs into glowing magma.