Hairo left the cabin, but didn’t close the hatch behind him. He stuck his head back inside:
“I don’t think they’ll let me go any further. I’m not good enough for ‘em,” he chuckled. “You fly on, Alex.”
Glancing at the clock, I answered:
“Alright. Almost out of time… How are you going to get back?”
“Willy ain’t far. He brought Malik in this morning, then went to see an old army buddy of ours in the Polish district. He’ll pick me up. Anyway… Good luck, Alex!”
The door closed. I switched to the pilot’s seat, fought the urge to switch the flyer to manual for a moment before common sense took hold — I didn’t know this district and could easily get lost. Hairo had set the route back in Cali; all I had to do was press the ‘Continue flight’ button.
Europe… I’d been here on vacation after grade six. My parents had just finished a big project and saved enough for a decent getaway. They decided to make the trip both fun and educational by taking a tour round Europe. The vacation ended up mixed — a few days on beaches in Spain and Greece and tours through the historical places of Italy, France and England. My favorite part of that trip was a night in the restored Colosseum, where we went to watch the Global Gladiator League battles. Robots fought against robots and non-citizens against non-citizens — to the death. I remember mom covering my eyes at the worst moments. Why are they doing this? I thought in confusion. Now I know why. They fought for citizenship. The top gladiators joined the elite of society.
I looked down on Snowstorm Lakes without much curiosity. The district was in the Bavarian area, with high mountains in the background. Unlike Dubai, there were no skyscrapers, and it was hard even to call the place spread out beneath me a city. A huge zone of untouched nature with dewdrops gleaming on rich greenery — that’s how the lakes looked from above as they reflected the sunset. Luxury villas, mansions and whole castles hid among the trees.
One of those was the Ruhm und Ehre hotel, chosen by Snowstorm to host the Demonic Games this year. I’d seen holographs of the interior — only the outer walls of the castle remained, with everything inside done up in a modern style.
Ruhm und Ehre wasn’t Snowstorm’s only hotel. The corporation owned dozens of such establishments all over the world, so the Dis developers had never held the Demonic Games in the same place twice.
I spotted the castle hotel from afar. It was hard not to notice it. It stood out clearly against the background of the virgin forest, although it somehow didn’t look out of place. It seemed the huge and ancient ten-story structure had stood there untouched since medieval times. A stone arch decorated the brick castle wall, with turrets of rough stone at its corners, and beyond them the castle itself, dotted here and there with more turrets and towers of all sizes, piercing the gray clouds like daggers. The old stone walls were moss-covered and worn by bad weather and the burning sun, or at least they seemed to be. And somewhere down there far below, green firs brushed the stone monolith of the foot of the castle…
A couple of minutes later, the flyer slowed and landed softly in a parking lot in front of the castle that fit elegantly into the landscape, hidden behind tall firs and pines and almost invisible from above. The parking lot looked out over a clear view of the mountain gorge and drawbridge.
“Destination reached: Ruhm und Ehre hotel, Snowstorm Lakes district,” the on-board AI reported. “Ambient temperature at…”
I didn’t bother listening to the weather report, just jumped straight out of the flyer, almost knocking over a bellboy — a real one, not a robot — and running along the path leading to the gates, where a crowd of reporters and herds of camera drones hovered.
Sheppard, confirming, came a commanding voice from one of the security guard’s comms. The hotel’s security service encircled me, keeping the journalists, streamers and bloggers back as they rushed to meet me. Paying no attention to the flood of questions and the microphones pointed at me, I walked through the gates into the inner courtyard. There were no reporters here, but there was a whole cordon of police droids.
A massive imposing man towered over me:
“Mr. Sheppard? Welcome to the Games. We’ll just clarify a few things before you go in. You have been told that throughout the event, all participants are forbidden from any communication with the outside world, apart from accredited journalists?”
“Yes. I have no communication devices with me.” I’d left my comm at the base.
“Alright. Raise your arms and pass through the arch.”
I did just that, and judging by the lack of an alarm, I passed the check.
“Thank you, Mr. Sheppard!” the guard said. “Good luck in the Games!”
Thanking him, I entered the castle and stopped to look around. The hotel’s hall was full to bursting and voices filled the air. People were gathered around the carved marble columns and talking excitedly, holding glasses of juice or wine. Human and robot waiters drifted between them. The former carried drinks while the latter offered finger food.
My eyes paused on the holographic sign beneath the ceiling. Burning letters triumphantly announced: Welcome to the Demonic Games XIX! Beneath the greeting was an arrow pointing to the right and down: Registration.
I started heading that way. I quickly felt eyes on me and heard the even hum of voices switch to whispers. Finally, I was across the hall and at the registration desk.
A clerk in medieval clothes sat there as if snoozing, his head bowed over a leather-bound book. A holomask gave him elvish features. His arrow-like brows jutted out to either side like a cat’s whiskers. Next to him stood three shapely women in the leather armor of experienced forest trackers.
“Good evening!” the platinum blonde greeted me. “How can I help you?”
A holographic label hovered above her: Irime, elf, level 1,000 Assistant. The label above the clerk read Ravencrow, Royal Scribe.
“I’m Alex Sheppard. Scyth. I’m here to enter the Demonic Games by invitation from King Eynyon.”
Leaning over the scribe, she translated into elvish:
“Ha na Scyth…”
Only then did Ravencrow raise his head, study me with his gaze and open his book. He leafed through it, ran a finger down the lines and stopped at my name. Our entire conversation from that point went through Irime the translator.
“Summoned Scyth, what made you answer the call?” Ravencrow asked.
“The path of justice brought me here,” I said, repeating the phrase mentioned in the message from Snowstorm. “I wish to become a Demon Fighter, to rise up to defend Disgardium on Judgment Day.”
I sensed a crowd forming behind me. Disapproval and even hatred burned into my back. Someone laughed and commented:
“Said the guy who killed thousands of innocents! Defend, my ass…”
“He’s a brainless freeloader!” an older grating voice added.
“Unworthy!” some girl squawked. “Go back to your hole, Sheppard!”
“We demand he be banned from participating!” came from all around.
“Go home, kid!” a rough male voice barked. “You don’t have a chance!”
“Hey, cheater!” This one shouted right in my ear. Turning my head, I saw the harsh face of a gray-haired man in a dinner jacket with a bow-tie. “Remember Kinema? You answer me!”
I’d expected something like this, but I was still shocked. So much concentrated hatred in just a few seconds! With some effort, I straightened my slouching shoulders and back, raised my head and turned around to look at the diverse crowd. Young and old, they all looked amazing. Healthy, fit, flourishing. Each had achieved great success in Dis through hard work and patience. And here I was, a contradiction to everything on which their self-importance was built. An ordinary schoolboy from an ordinary family who happened to be in the right time and place to become a top-tier Threat.
Suddenly, Malik’s curly head flashed in the crowd, along with… Tissa? She was here too! I felt a little easier and started to look for t
hem again in the crowd, but that man’s face appeared before me again:
“Hey, kid! Look me in the eye when I’m speaking to you!” Bow-tie said, turning to the crowd and shouting: “He doesn’t give a damn about us! Throw him out of here and be done with it! Shame I can’t lay a finger on him!”
Neither the guards nor the Snowstorm employees paid any attention to what was going on. I rubbed my face, kept my eyes on the furious man, then reached out and adjusted his cockeyed bow-tie:
“Easy to be brave here in real life. What did you say your nick was in Dis?”
Bow-tie choked, reddened, said nothing. I turned away and didn’t turn back again, ignoring the rising wave of indignation. I pretended like the damage from the words just raised my psychological Resilience. Words can’t hurt you unless you let them.
The scribe had been silently watching the exchange and now pinned me with a hazy stare, his eyes as if covered in white film. It looked like he was reading data right on his retina — must be some new technology that hadn’t yet reached the mass market.
“Summoned Scyth,” Ravencrow suddenly said. “You have arrived in time. Your entry is confirmed! Welcome to the Demonic Games!”
The furious hum of the crowd drowned out his next words. The people split into groups and spread out through the hall, chattering disappointedly.
The three ‘elf girls’, their smiles blinding, handed me a backpack branded with the Dis logo and full of souvenirs, a platinum token that would add ten thousand phoenixes to my account (for gifts for relatives after the Games ended, one of the girls said) and several books and booklets: Complete Encyclopedia of Disgardium, The Demonic Games: The Complete Rulebook and a ream of other pamphlets including a map of the hotel. They also gave me a special comm — it wouldn’t contact anyone outside the hotel except Disgardium Daily, and it had a bunch of pre-installed applications to allow the participants to communicate amongst themselves.
I turned my head in search of Malik and Tissa, but couldn’t find them. But I did see one interested glance among the sea of despising eyes — a tall and thin man with a big smile winked at me and waved. I nodded and he came closer. His multicolored locks stuck out in all directions. He looked around twenty, but could easily have been forty — if he was a high-category citizen, he could have ‘frozen’ his appearance.
“Loran,” he introduced himself, offering a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Just Alex,” I said.
“Sure,” he smiled even wider. “Or Scyth. Let’s take a walk? Everyone is watching. And listening, for sure!”
We moved off to the side. Loran grabbed a couple of glasses from a waiter’s tray and offered one to me. I sipped it and grimaced: dry white wine. Mom’s favorite.
“You kept your cool pretty well, Alex!” Loran said so loudly that many turned around. “I didn’t hear what you said to that man, but it looked like he was having a stroke! Do you know who he is?”
“No clue.”
“It’s Quetzal. Heard of him? No? Damn, what rock have you been living under? Ah, sorry!” He smiled disarmingly again. “Of course, that makes sense, why would you know them in real life? Quetzal is from the Excos, a top gladiator in the Arena. He started from the very bottom, which is probably why he didn’t like it much when you rolled right over him and his buddies at Kinema. Rumor has it they lost some top PvP gear that cost them years of Honor Badges…”
A voice boomed through a loudspeaker in the ceiling:
“Mr. Sheppard, please approach the registration desk. Mr. Sheppard…”
Loran shrugged:
“Snowstorm wants you. Alright, it was nice to meet the legend! Want to team up in the Games?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll find you. I’ll be a shapeshifter, nick Messiah.”
I shook his thin hand and then walked back to the registration desk, still looking around for my friends. When I approached, the ‘elf girls’ took me by the arms and led me through the background hologram of a forest glade behind Ravencrow the scribe’s table. There stood a bald lady around thirty years old, her eyebrows shaved and her face covered in thick gothic makeup. For a moment, I felt like I was looking right into the face of a legate of the Destroying Plague.
“Thank you, girls, I’ll take him from here!” she said in a singsong voice and offered me a hand: “Hello, Alex. I’m your personal assistant. The name’s Kerry.”
Chapter 2. A Stab in the Back
“MISS…” I SAID to her, trying to make out whether she wore a wedding ring. There was a ring, and more than one! Two on each finger.
“Pleased to meet you!” she said, chains jangling from her strange black gown covered with cuts. She gave me her arm and said happily: “Just Kerry, Alex. Like I said, I’m your assistant. Let’s hurry, we need to record your video message and get you scanned!”
As she said this, Kerry led me toward a silver door behind a column in the corner of the hall.
“Quicker this way,” she said. “Your arrival really riled up the people. They signed a petition to have you disqualified, did you know that?”
“No, how could I? I only just got through an Ordeal…”
“Ah… the Ordeal, yes, of course. That’s why Ravencrow hesitated. Management was uncertain…”
“About what?”
The door took us into a long service corridor. Kerry sped her pace, not answering. We reached an elevator and she pressed a button. A broad scanning beam passed across her face and the doors opened. Inside, Kerry pressed a button marked DG — Training Grounds on the control panel and only then answered me:
“You see… You were added to the list of entrants, but nobody expected you to make it here. So the petition wasn’t taken seriously either: why set a precedent when gameplay would sort things out? You weren’t even assigned an assistant…”
“Aren’t you my assistant?”
“I am, but I only found out half an hour ago when you arrived at Snowstorm Lakes. I actually work in the PR department. The other contestants have assistants hired on a one-time contract. That means your character and information sheet for the viewers won’t be as flashy as the others’. You shouldn’t have…” Kerry yawned, covering her mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep much. I meant to say, next time don’t be late if you want a proper welcome with fairies and fireworks.”
“Yeah, you’re not much of a fairy…”
“Exactly, bro, exactly!” Kerry grinned.
Her teeth were painted too. Black.
The elevator doors opened. We emerged onto a service floor filled with bustling Snowstorm employees.
“The Demonic Games Department works its hardest one month out of the year. The rest of the time it spends getting ready for it,” Kerry said. “But nobody envies them, because… Well, see for yourself…”
Waving to a man sitting down and thoughtfully eating a burger, she shouted:
“Vel, Sheppard’s here!”
“Who? Didn’t you say he’s not coming?” he shouted back angrily. His burger fell from his hands and covered his knees with ketchup. Vel threw the remnants of his food into a wastebasket in annoyance. “Take him to section six first! God, what did I do to deserve all this? We haven’t even compiled the kernel yet!”
“Hey, Alex! Could I take a selfie with you?” asked a girl with layers of makeup and bronzer on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She clicked her comm into camera mode. “Why the long face, huh?! Say ‘ti-i-itties’!”
I smiled automatically, but didn’t even have time to ask the girl’s name before Kerry dragged me along another spacious corridor full of unpacked boxes and heaps of cables. A real two-handed sword leaned against the wall. A corgi ran by us, a projection collar on its neck making its head look like a dragon’s. The little guy barked and flame blew from his dragon mouth.
People bustled behind transparent partitions. Finding myself behind the scenes at a global show, I looked around with interest. I felt some envy for these people, so engrossed
in their work.
In section six, I was asked to undress and climb into a medical capsule. For several seconds in total silence and darkness, the system took my physical readings, then Kerry led me to the testing hall.
The testing hall was something like a library that had opened an archery range, and one of its visitors had left behind a barbell. All kinds of devices were built into the walls, one of them a punching bag for measuring strike strength.
An analyzer was placed on me. An athletically built girl led me through the hall. I lifted a magnetic barbell, first bench presses, then squats. The girl recorded the data. Then I hit the punching bag, ran on a special panel, jumped up and down, stretched out…
After the physical tests followed mental ones. I was asked to solve a range of puzzles designed to test thinking, attentiveness and memory.
The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Page 6