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

by Dan Sugralinov

  The friends of the arguers joined the fray, there was an uproar, but Octius made a signal and music thundered, drowning out the cries. When it faded, the gamesmaster raised his hand and declared loudly:

  “Don’t be so quick to say goodbye to Alex!”

  The hall gasped, broke out in whispers. Some even rose up in their chairs to better see what was happening on the stage. But there was nothing unusual there: Octius paced from edge to edge, his hands crossed behind his back, then suddenly stopped:

  “Right…” he breathed, listening to someone in his ear piece for a moment, but then shrugged and said quickly: “After hearing what Alex told us, I have changed my opinion. As the master of ceremonies of the Demonic Games, I hereby cancel the decision of the ethics committee and put the matter to a court of contestants! As you know, the court of contestants is applied very rarely. In my memory, only twice in the whole history of the Games have I put the weight of a decision on the shoulders of the participants.”

  A chorus of surprised gasps fluttered across the hall. I heard whispering from behind me. A court of contestants? Is he out of his mind? Sheppard broke the rules! He has no place in the Games!

  “Your attention! The court of contestants must decide: should Alex Sheppard, aka Scyth the Herald, be disqualified from the Games? Please check your contestant comms. Answer ‘yes’ if you are in favor of disqualification, and ‘no’ if you are against. Alex, you are not allowed to vote. The voting begins in three… two… one… Please begin! You have one minute.”

  My eyes were glued to the holocube. Right now it showed two columns: red for votes in favor of disqualification, green against. The timer counted down the seconds: 00:57… 00:56…

  The red column grew rapidly — forty, forty-nine… no, sixty-four votes against me. Come on, Meister! I thought. This comes under our contract!

  Boom! Ten votes ‘against’ at once gave shape to the little green column. Shame I didn’t know who was supporting me; the votes were anonymous.

  As each vote was counted, there was a sound like a splash, as if the contestants were pouring water onto scales. Splash! Another fourteen votes for disqualification. Seventy-eight!

  Splash! Exchanging glances, the Travelers, Modus and Anna all voted ‘against’ at once. I had expected that and been watching them. Sixty-eight against twenty-two. I wondered, who were the first ten? Surely not Quetzal’s group?

  “Thirty seconds!” Octius declared.

  What was the hold-up with Meister? I found him with my eyes and saw that he and the others were in furious debate. Could the old man be upset at the accusation that he sold out?

  In the meantime, the red column rose to almost a hundred votes. There were just over two hundred participants left. The picture looked bleak.

  “Fifteen seconds!”

  I watched as Bloomer rose, started gesturing fluidly as he spoke. What was he doing, reciting poetry? The others listened closely.

  A few more votes dripped into the disqualify column — already a hundred and eleven in favor! Come on, Meister!

  “Five seconds!” Guy Barron said urgently.

  Joseph Rosenthal glanced back and nodded to me.

  Splash-splash-splash! A waterfall of votes fell into the green column all at once, and it shot up by a hundred and twelve!

  A siren rang out. Shouts of disappointment carried through the hall…

  “The court of contestants has spoken!” Octius announced. “A hundred and thirty-four votes ‘against,’ a hundred and eleven ‘for.’ My congratulations, Alex! You are still in the running!”

  Chapter 16. An Oversight of the Directors

  THE FLOOD OF EMOTIONS that had begun during my battle with Abaddon and ended only now had nearly burned all the way down the fuse on the bomb that was my sanity, so I stayed at the table to calm down. I knew I’d be under an avalanche of questions in the media center. I had to figure out what kind of thing they’d ask and how to answer. As I considered that, I studied the faces of the contestants.

  Octius had already departed the stage, the lights had come on, and Meister’s people were still arguing about something. Accusations and insults flew back and forth — not everyone liked that I’d been saved, and in particular, that they were the ones who’d saved me. Joseph was silent, and Bloomer took on the weight of leadership. He read no poems and made no gestures, just spoke with such hard seriousness that the others fell silent and started listening. In the scattered phrases I managed to hear, he mentioned the prime notary, the contract and the penalties.

  People from Destiny Windsor and Marcus Jansson’s camps flocked around the stage. The orc bruiser shouted something fiercely and beat his fist into his other hand. Destiny listened thoughtfully, her eyes locked on me.

  Quetzal’s group left right away, but Hellfish, Anna and the Modus fighters stayed behind, from time to time nodding in my direction.

  I was watching them, so I didn’t notice when the trio of gankers from the woods walked over. It wasn’t easy to recognize the dark elf Smoothie in the busty woman of around forty before me. Riker the vampire and the orc Phobos were shorter in real life than in the game.

  “Little early to celebrate,” Smoothie said, smiling sweetly. “You slipped away today, but tomorrow…”

  “We’re going to…” long-haired Riker ran his thumb along his throat.

  Phobos just pointed his finger and thumb at me, emulating a gun.

  “Pow!” he fired.

  “You can’t imagine how many people like you have told me that,” I said, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hmm…” Riker slowly licked his lips, then smiled wickedly and glanced at Smoothie. “He’s sweet, ain’t he?”

  “See you tomorrow,” I quickly said good-bye, realizing that matters were taking an unexpected turn.

  “Come visit us after the interview, Alex,” Smoothie crooned to my retreating back. “We can talk about your position, maybe make a deal.”

  “Always more fun with four… making deals, I mean,” Phobos laughed. “Come by, Alex, you won’t regret it!”

  “Think hard!” Riker shouted. “I promise you’ll have an unforgettable time!”

  Heading toward Meister’s raid, I studied the ganker trio’s achievements while I walked, to see what had gotten them to the Demonic Games. ‘Champions of the Ditch’? I followed the link and found some information about a tournament. The Ditch was a local competition for the dark races of the Empire. It took place in Shak between teams of three. Bound by magical ties, the teams were thrown fully naked into a trench. They fought up to their chest in mud. The last surviving team was declared winner of the Ditch. The tournament took its roots in an ancient tradition of the ogres to elect their leading triumvirate of chiefs. The forefather of current emperor Kragosh loved the Ditch and ordered it to be made into a yearly tournament across all the races of Shad’Erung.

  Reaching Joseph, I waited until I had his group’s attention and said:

  “Thanks for not letting them kick me out! Thanks a lot to all of you.”

  “You knew something!” Roman accused me. “Pretty big coincidence otherwise, don’t you think? Did you know there’d be a court of contestants?”

  “No. I’ve never even heard of it before. To be honest, I’d hoped for a viewer’s vote. I was sure they’d show my battle with the final boss in the highlights.”

  “We’ll make like we believe you,” Bloomer said. “At least, some of us will. Personally, I’m convinced that you were honest onstage. Snowstorm wouldn’t have given you the rank of worst player every day if they were in cahoots with you. And that means you couldn’t have known about the court of contestants either. Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to get through to certain individuals!” He glanced back angrily at his group. “Anyway, time for the interviews… Anything else to tell us, Alex?”

  “Since we’re a team now, we should discuss our strategy for tomorrow.”

  “Not today,” Joseph shook his head. “We don’t know what your penalty�
�s going to be. Once we find out, we’ll go from there. Come on, let’s get to the media center, or they’ll pull us up for not fulfilling our obligations!”

  Along the way, I noticed that my allies were still trying to keep their distance from me. Even Michelle, with whom I seemed almost able to have a normal conversation, moved away to the side as soon as she saw me next to her.

  “Reputation, young man,” I heard Joseph breathe nearby. “Don’t be offended, but having you as an ally is a lifelong black mark.”

  “Hinterleaf and Horvac…” I began to argue, but the old man interrupted me:

  “Too high up to care what the masses think. Notice how the top clans send their low-ranking troops here. People like Otto don’t need cheap popularity. Him, Horvac, Colonel, Glyph, Joshua and Vivian… None of them have fought in the Battlefields or the Arena for a long time. And the Alliance members who win those tournaments once don’t show up at them again either…” Meister coughed, clearing his throat. “Anyway, where were we?”

  “Reputation and black marks. Is it my citizenship status?”

  Bloomer and Roman walked on the jeweler’s other side, but both were silent.

  “What’s your parents’ category? F? I’d say that’s a pretty low status for many here. It’s not bad of course, a strong middle class, but…” Joseph twirled a finger in the air and Bloomer came to his aid:

  “It’s common. The contestants think themselves outstanding individuals, and to tell the truth, they’re not wrong. Think about it, young man, being one of three hundred chosen out of twenty billion people, and getting there through hard work, effort and personal sacrifice… That’s worth a lot, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly!” Roman said. “Now look at this from our point of view: a schoolkid used imba Threat abilities to dishonestly win the Junior Arena, and then he has the balls to show up at the Games! And, like a nouveau-riche loser, he tells the world that he really wanted to… How was it you put it?”

  “He really wanted to make some new friends,” Bloomer answered. “Who he decided to buy with artifacts stolen from honest players.”

  “Thanks, partners,” Meister said dryly. “You must see how it looks from the outside, young man. It was your naive admissions we were arguing about. I have to admit, even I regretted signing that contract with you. But, as honest people, we will fulfill our obligations to you — we’ll do everything in our power to get you the essence. With that, allow us to part ways. I wouldn’t like to appear before the reporters in your company.”

  The jeweler, poet and curser sped their pace, leaving me embarrassed. I got the message: they’d help, but not be my friends. That was beneath their status. I didn’t forget that Rosenthal had mentioned the separate gift for him in passing, and the hypocrisy made me smile. The Nether with them. I didn’t care if they helped or not, as long as they didn’t get in the way.

  I was far more worried about what penalty I might get on my fifth game day, and whether I could handle the three gankers, but as soon as I crossed the threshold of the zone for journalists, streamers and bloggers, I forgot all that.

  Surprisingly, nobody noticed me arrive. Octius was at the center of attention, surrounded by contestants, and answering questions from the media.

  “…escaped my attention,” the master of the Games said gravely, his plate armor gone and replaced by an ordinary suit. “An hour before the game session ended, Mr. Jackson called me to a meeting of the ethics committee. Immediately after that, I was prepared to go out on stage, so I didn’t take part in the editing of the highlight reel.”

  “Mr. Octius, do you believe this was an ordinary oversight of the directors, or was it a deliberate attempt to hide Scyth’s successes?” asked Lia Solo, a streamer girl on roller skates who I’d already met. “Why did Snowstorm go to so much effort to convince Alex to stay in the Games on the first day, but then change its position?”

  “Of course it was an oversight of the directors!” Octius asked, annoyed. “Believe me, nobody in their right mind would deliberately cut such an event as a battle with the final boss or a skirmish with gankers! We will find whoever was responsible and punish them!”

  “Uh-huh, sure,” Lia Solo rolled her eyes. “Next you’ll say you ‘accidentally’ made that misleading cut of Alex’s request to his assistant! Everyone knows you wanted to set the audience against the Threat!”

  “Make no mistake, my dear,” Guy Barron said in reassuring tones, approaching the girl. “We will get to the bottom of this! In the meantime, think about it — if I already knew everything that Alex Sheppard told me onstage, and I wanted to get rid of him at any cost, then why would I let the contestants choose? And let him speak?” he turned his head, found me with his eyes. His face brightened. “Ah, the culprit himself! Talk to him while I get ready for the press conference! Then I will answer all your questions!”

  Octius pushed his way out of the crowd and disappeared into a service corridor, and the crowd of media representatives rushed toward me, shouting questions as they came. Tough without Kerry, I thought. My former helper would have lined them all up, put me in one of the special interview rooms, pressed a can of soda into my hand and whispered tips in my ear, telling me what to say or whether to open my mouth at all.

  “What are you feeling right now, Alex?” In the shower of questions, I made out Lia Solo’s familiar voice.

  “Nothing at all,” I admitted. “But I’m really grateful to everyone who voted against my disqualification, and to my viewers for the support. I promise to keep my play exciting!”

  “How did you manage to survive in battle against the final boss?” Peter Davis asked as he elbowed his way forward, a very short man with a Disgardium Daily holobadge.

  “Using the same ability that saved me when the mages attacked on day two, remember?”

  “That was awesome!” Davis smiled. “Can you explain exactly how that ability works?”

  “Sorry, no. You’re from Disgardium Daily, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” David nodded.

  “How’s Ian Mitchell doing?”

  “Uhm… Mr. Mitchell is still in the hospital, sir. But he’s already conscious, the prognosis is good…”

  “Give him my best regards, Mr. Davis. I hope he gets well and goes on writing good material for us.”

  Surprise flashed in Peter Davis’s eyes:

  “I’ll be sure to pass that on. In your speech on the stage, you spoke of a certain conflict with Snowstorm. This statement raised a range of questions at our publication. Didn’t it seem strange to you that the viewers voted you the worst player three days in a row?”

  “It’s not strange!” Axel Donovan, another Disgardium Daily journalist, shouted from the back. “It’s a logical consequence of Scyth’s cowardly playstyle! Mr. Sheppard, how do you excuse your shameful gameplay?”

  Stunned for a moment, I quickly took hold of myself:

  “It’s the corporation playing a shameful game. Mr. Davis is right, the results of the viewers’ votes looked very strange to me! It’s obvious that Snowstorm wants to get rid of me, and with time, everyone will find out why.”

  “How convenient…” Axel said, finally pushing Davis out of the way and forcing his way to the front. “A global giant, a leading corporation and a young schoolkid. Ooh, the fight of the century! More like you’re butthurt at Snowstorm for some reason and that’s why you make these claims. As for them… I don’t believe they have any conflict with you at all. I won’t believe a word you say, Mr. Sheppard, until you reveal the reasons for this so-called conflict!”

  “That’s up to you, Mr. Donovan,” I said, turning away and looking at the other journalists. “I’d like to address the viewers…”

  Everyone fell silent and a swarm of microphone drones moved to hover by my mouth.

  “To everyone who voted for me, who supported me online… Please, speak out! I don’t believe that the majority of you are against me. It’s one thing when the Preventers have a bone to pick with me, when the other co
ntestants think I’m taking up someone else’s spot here… But to believe that nearly every viewer wants me out of the Demonic Games? I just won’t do it. So don’t be silent — if you supported me or at least didn’t vote against me…”

  “My God, so cliche!” Axel said, facepalming.

  Paying no attention to his pantomime, I spoke with even more passion in my voice:

  “You are ordinary people, people like me. There are more of us than them! Let’s prove that we, the unchosen, the non-elites, are together! And together, we are strong..!”

  After my fiery speech, I answered a bunch of easier questions: What’s going on with you and Michelle Ardi? What did you promise to Joseph Rosenthal? Is it true that Meister’s entire group will get a million each after the Games for supporting you..?