The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  Then I spoke to a psychologist. He asked tricky questions:

  “You and a friend kill a local boss. According to the loot distribution rules, he gets the item, but it’s more suitable for you. Your friend decides to sell it at the auction house. What do you do?”

  The torture lasted almost two hours until Kerry fed me some chili chocolate and led me to a studio. The chocolate burned my tongue, and I guzzled some soda to try to cool down. I started breathing faster, through my mouth. Kerry misunderstood the source of my suffering:

  “Almost done, Alex. Your fault for being late! We’ll going to record a video message for the contestant sheet…”

  There were fewer people in the studio, but everyone was still engrossed in their work. Nobody paid us any mind.

  “Sheppard is here! Hey!” Kerry shouted. “Come in! A-class Threat here!”

  The reaction to my surname was weak, but the mention of ‘Threat’ perked up some ears. A stylist and makeup artist dragged me off to their lair, escorted by my assistant. They made me try on a few outfits and settled on a ‘School Bully’ look. I didn’t come up with that, that name was just in their system. Knee-high boots, torn black trousers, a gray t-shirt emblazoned with the dumb phrase “Don’t threaten the Threat hiding in Darant”, which changed to animated advertising: “The Undead faction is your path to success!”, “Say no to tiredness! Turn Undead!”, “Turn Undead and join the bloodshed!” featuring a handsome zombie dressed like Elvis. Snowstorm should have fired its whole marketing department.

  The stylist worked on my hairstyle too, tousling my hair.

  “A scar, I need a scar on the brow!” the chubby and aging man with rosy cheeks said. He stroked his beard, leaned down, looked at me, then brightened. “No, not a scar… Something else! Earrings! That’s it! Karim, grab some earrings for Alex!”

  “Stunning!” the stylist’s assistant crowed.

  “Earrings, Dante, really?” Kerry said in surprise. “Leave the boy his individuality!”

  “That’s not what they pay me for,” he waved dismissively.

  “No earrings!” I said and sneezed. The makeup artist had gotten powder in my mouth.

  “Well, alright, just one! It’ll suit you perfectly, Alex, my dear!” Dante said, clasping his hands together. “The world sees you as a villain! All those people… They must see that you’re an awesome cute guy with a refined aesthetic sense!”

  “No!” I objected, covering my ears just to make sure. “And no scar either. Hey, what are you doing?”

  The makeup artist was running a brush across my eyebrows.

  “Makes them more expressive,” he answered, a bald man literally covered in piercings. He stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and nodded. “A little more white pomade for flare…”

  I jumped up from the chair and hid behind Kerry. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow:

  “Enough. Thank you. Wonderful as always, Dante! You too, Karim.”

  “Always at your service!” Dante answered.

  “Say hi to Chloe for me,” Karim answered.

  Kerry led me to the studio. I was seated on a black chair in the center of a black room, a drone with a microphone hovering next to me. They raced through the talking points I was meant to bring up. It was all in Snowstorm’s email, and I wasn’t surprised.

  The lights switched on, blinding me. The operator counted down with their fingers — three, two, one, action!

  “Hi!” I said, seeing nothing at all through the light bearing down on me. I think my eyes started watering. “I’m Alex Sheppard. I responded to a summons from King Eynyon to fight for the rank of Demon Fighter.”

  “Stop, stop!”

  The lights shut off. The director, who Kerry called Tim, approached.

  “Alex, dear boy, are you really the Sheppard we all know? Where is the anger, the expressiveness? You’re the greatest Threat in the history of Dis! The people want to see a cool dude, not some shy schoolkid! Do it again, but with feeling! Remember how you addressed the world in Vermillion! Feel your emotions anew, say it like in your speech above the Widowmakers’ former castle! Go on!”

  “Alright, Tim.”

  By the sixth take, I was baking. It was hot in the studio, the air conditioning wasn’t doing enough, and my back wouldn’t stop itching from the sweat. In tandem with Kerry, Tim the director got what he wanted — I got so worked up that I finally lost my temper, and the speech went great:

  “My name is Alex Sheppard. In Disgardium I am known as Scyth, the class-A Threat! I’m in the Demonic Games to win..!”

  The formalities were done. Kerry and I went back to the elevator, and there she told me what would happen next:

  “I’m about to take you on a short tour, and then I’ll show you your room. If we hurry, you’ll have time to give a couple of interviews before the Games begin.”

  The elevator doors opened and she beckoned for me to go first. I stopped, not knowing where to go; before me extended a spacious and bright conservatory filled with plants, palm trees, six-foot-tall grass with meaty stalks, even a bamboo grove. The glut of color made my eyes widen. The high ceiling was hidden behind an imitation blue sky. The wall behind me was made to look like the face of a cliff.

  “The recreation zone,” Kerry explained. “All the entertainment you need: twelve restaurants, a cinema, pool, petting zoo, gym, spa…”

  We walked along paths winding like forest trails and covered with soft carpet bearing a three-dimensional pattern that imitated stone.

  “At night, this whole place changes,” my assistant said. “This level turns into a small resort town, the Boom Boom nightclub opens, along with some bars, a casino and… Uhh… Are you over sixteen?”

  “Of course!”

  “Oh, great!” she winked. “If you want, there are rooms for intimate relaxation here. Check the catalog, there’s plenty of choice!”

  “Sexbots?” I clarified, blushing.

  “Hmm… Are you sure you’re sixteen?” Kerry giggled. “See for yourself. I won’t spoil the surprise.”

  The level was deserted — almost all the entrants to the Games were gathered below.

  “Meeting, talking,” Kerry explained. “Most of them arrived yesterday, some even the day before. In… yep, in six minutes the hotel will let the journalists in, that’s why the contestants are hanging around down there. They all want their time to shine for the viewers… You know how it is, a lot depends on the sympathy of the public in the Games! The opening stream will start right after the shared meal. At midnight local time.”

  Midnight seemed to be Snowstorm’s favorite time. The ball at Distival had begun at twelve too.

  We toured the whole level, but didn’t go inside anywhere. All I could do was look through doors and spin my head. Unfortunately, I saw none of the promised ‘rooms of intimate relaxation.’ But I did manage to stroke a fierce-looking white rabbit in the petting zoo — that took a lot of willpower after the Nether. It was soft as a pillow.

  “You have five levels in total,” Kerry said between yawns as she stroked a listless lizard. “The two upper floors are living quarters, we’ll get to them soon. The third is the immersion level. Each contestant has their own individual capsule. The settings are taken from your own devices. The fourth is where we are now, the rest and relaxation level. The contestants gather here to talk and share impressions after each day of the Games.”

  “What about the fifth?”

  “The fifth floor is the media center. It’s for reporters and official events. After you settle into your room, I’ll take you there. That’s where the shared meal will be, by the way.”

  We went up one floor from the recreation area. Kerry led me to my room.

  “Damn, I almost forgot! Chloe asked me to take you to see her before the interview! Do you need a lot of time to get ready?”

  “I’ll just wash off this powder,” I grumbled, although I was dreaming of a shower.

  “There’s clothes in your size
in the wardrobe if you need them! But best you don’t get changed, I think Dante made you look just great!”

  There were no personal items in my room apart from what I had on me before the visit to the stylists. Hairo had only given me three minutes to pack for Alaska. I only had time to put my hoodie on.

  Looking around the room quickly, I chuckled — no worse than what I had in Dubai, more spacious if anything. It was all modern, but with retro styling: thronelike chairs, a natural-wood imitation table, a bed with a carved wooden headboard and a cupboard that was simply a work of art, with a carved door and gilded curved handle. I couldn’t help but stroke the back of a chair, and I noticed the material didn’t seem like plastic. It was real wood!

  Throwing my clothes into the laundry basket, I put the comm the organizers had given me on my arm, went into the bathroom, washed off everything the makeup artist had put on my face, then fixed my hair.

  “Hmm… Pale again,” Kerry shook her head. “Shame you washed it off. Karim made you look healthy, but now you look like a vampire. You should get more sun, Alex! Or isn’t there much sun where you live?”

  “Very little,” I lied, sending potential pursuers on a false trail. Cali got plenty of sun all year round, I just didn’t have any windows. “It rains all the time…”

  More running through corridors, an elevator, another of the hotel’s service floors, this time for the managers of the Demonic Games. It was quiet and empty. And, amazingly after what I’d seen in my room and the hall — it was humble. In one of the corridor sections, we stopped at a door labeled ‘Chloe Cliffhanger, Community and Connections Director.’

  Kerry knocked, then opened the door a touch.

  “Miss Cliffhanger, I have Sheppard here.”

  “Come in,” a sharp woman’s voice answered.

  Behind the door was a spacious room outfitted as an office. A young-looking woman in a beige pantsuit and golden-rimmed glasses walked over to greet us.

  Chloe offered me a hand:

  “Hey, Alex, how was your trip?” The woman gestured to a black sofa, the only dark item in her office. “Take a seat,” she said, turning to Kerry. “You’re dismissed for now, wait outside the door. We won’t be long.”

  My assistant walked out, leaving me alone with Cliffhanger. I bit my lip, not knowing what to expect. I doubted that high-ranking Snowstorm executives talked to every contestant like this.

  The woman offered me a drink, but I refused. Then she sat down next to me, looked me hard in the eyes.

  “Alex, you know how highly we at Snowstorm value gameplay. We know what you’ve been through…” I heard sympathy in her voice. “You’ve become an outcast. Your time in the Nether…”

  “Hold on! Did you say the Nether? You confirm that it exists, then?”

  “The Nether?” Chloe asked, her eyes wide and face blank. “What do you mean, Alex? Oh, you mean the mythical game zone? But it’s inaccessible to players! I meant it metaphorically, the abyssal situation you found yourself in…”

  Sure. She knew, but there was no way she was going to admit it. I’d already guessed what she wanted.

  “What’s this conversation about, Miss Cliffhanger?”

  “You don’t beat around the bush…” Chloe said thoughtfully. Sitting back on the sofa, she looked at me again with fresh eyes. “Alright, I’ll be straight with you. Your victory in the games would not be good for us. Nor for anybody else. What would the people say? Even now, they call you a cheater. All the contestants have signed a petition to get you banned…”

  “I know.”

  “Then you must know what awaits you. My superiors will reward you generously for your loyalty. Alex, you’re about to meet with the journalists and make a statement.”

  “A statement?”

  “You’ll say that you changed your mind, that you’re resigning from the Demonic Games. We’ll make a show of trying to convince you to stay, but you’ll refuse. A mutual acquaintance of ours asked me to convey to you that you will get what was promised if you do this… And what you said you would do before.”

  “Kiran?”

  She remained silent, only half-closing her eyes for an instant. I got the picture — that lying son of a bitch wouldn’t lift a finger to do what he promised. So they want to play, huh? Alright, let’s play!

  “I agree,” I said.

  Chloe sighed in relief and smiled widely.

  “Attaboy! My man! Good decision! Best for everyone!” She brought her comm to her lips. “Kerry, we’re done here!”

  The assistant led me to the press center. Cliffhanger gave her instructions alone, but I figured out what they were later.

  It was loud in the press center corridor. A multitude of reporters all rushed toward us to ask me questions, but Kerry blocked their path. She raised her hands:

  “Mr. Sheppard will not be answering any questions before his official statement! Everybody please move to the press conference hall!”

  The other contestants watched me, frowning after instantly losing all the reporters’ attention when I walked in. Camera drones swarmed around like a cloud of midges, getting shots of me from all angles. Kerry walked along with her head raised proudly; a little of the fame of the class-A Threat bounced off me onto her. The whole world was watching us.

  The woman led me to a conference table with microphones, sat me down and disappeared behind me.

  The hall was filled to the brim with hundreds of journalists, buzzing, crowding by the door, rattling chairs as they sat down. The contestants were there too, pressed against the back wall. The chairs next to me were empty.

  A tired young woman in a Snowstorm t-shirt was seating the journalists. She held a microphone:

  “Mr. Katz, Disgardium Daily, your seat is there!” She lit up the second row. Mr. Katz asked something and the woman answered: “No, the first row is for accredited streamers. Yes, yours are on the list too! No! I will not change the seating…”

  Looking around, I foresaw the spectacle that set to unfold. Holographic labels over the chairs showed all the speakers of the conference: Chloe Cliffhanger, Alex Sheppard, Kiran Jackson. It all became clear as day. They had counted on me failing at the Ordeal, but just in case, they had a plan B: Sheppard would resign from the contest, lose his chance to get Concentrated Life Essence and accept Kiran’s offer, which required him to destroy the Sleeping temples and delete his character. Dis would lose its Threat, and the Sleepers their Initial. Everybody would be happy except Behemoth and a few hundred non-citizens.

  Two people emerging from the crowd caught my eye: Malik and Tissa. My heart quickened and I waved to them:

  “Malik, Tissa, over here!”

  Without looking at me, they walked past the journalists, stood before them with their back to me and raised their hands, calling for attention.

  “We have an announcement to make!” my friends shouted.

  “Excuse me, please go back to…” the woman organizing the journalists began, but Tissa grabbed her microphone and interrupted her:

  “Hi! I’m Melissa Schafer, a.k.a. Tissa. My friend and I have an announcement!”

  Malik stood next to her and leaned into the microphone:

  “I’m Malik Abdualim. Infect.”

  “We’re from Sheppard’s clan. From the Awoken,” Tissa said.

  There was jeering, whistling. The noise rose and Malik raised his voice:

  “We officially declare that we are leaving the Awoken! We understand what we might be risking; after all, the Threat might not let us go! But in that case we swear that we will harm the clan until Scyth frees us!”

  “We want nothing to do with Sheppard!” Tissa shouted.

  It was as if a taut string in my soul had suddenly snapped. What were they saying? What was going on?

  The noise of the onlookers began to subside, but the journalists all shot to their feet. Questions rained down from all sides.

  “We’ve suffered Sheppard’s arrogance for too long,” Malik said, his voice ringin
g. “We’ve had enough!”

  “Alex Sheppard is a fame-blind piece of shit!” Tissa shouted. “From now on, please remember that we have nothing to do with him! We hate him! He’s our enemy!”

  “And…” Malik laughed, turning to me. “Melissa and I are together now!”

  My former friend embraced Tissa and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was long, and the hall erupted in laughing approval. A spatter of applause turned into a thundering ovation. The crowd started chanting:

  “Class-A Threat, class-A loser!” It sounded so harmonious that it was as if they’d been practicing for days. “Class-A Threat, class-A loser!”