But then I hit a snag. The timer counted down to zero, and I was sent to the Cursed Chasm cemetery.
Second Life didn’t proc, and I finally realized: the perk must have diminishing returns, dramatically dropping the activation chance after every death in a short time period.
The world glowed in monotonous black-and-white through the semitransparent interface. Players breathed life into the Cursed Chasm for only a short time. They would leave, the graveyard would be empty again, grass would grow over the trampled paths, vines would ensnare the leaning old tombstones, but right then… I found myself in a hellscape.
Just like after my last death here, I didn’t see my body — I had become a spirit, one of many hovering at the graveyard, fearing to resurrect. The figures of the living stalked the cemetery. Marcus’s raid wreaked havoc, cutting down defenseless contestants from Meister and Destiny’s groups. Somehow, some of Destiny’s people were among the attackers… And they were killing their allies of yesterday!
Laurie the level 2 fairy chef resurrected before my eyes, then instantly fell. I was almost right on time!
A little off to the side, penpusher Jokemaster and mystic Lordmance were fighting back, but didn’t last long: the first folded up bristling with arrows, the second puffed on a pipe full of mystical herbs and threw himself bare-handed at dark knight Caville, and even managed to cover him in acrid smoke, but fell to a single careless sword-swing. After wrapping the wailing mystic’s guts around his blade, Caville pulled the weapon out, then wiped it fastidiously on his victim’s shirt.
The gnomish engineer Joker from Meister’s raid appeared right next to me and started running away, but didn’t get far before an icicle pinned him to the ground. The second spear from the ice mage finished him off.
I looked for Destiny, but couldn’t see her anywhere — my spirit was bound to the one spot, and I couldn’t see all those involved in the slaughter from where I was. I decided to take care of the silver ranger later — I had bigger fish to fry for now. I needed to stir up the enemy ranks, buy time for my allies to escape.
Your soul’s connection to your body is fading!
Return to it, otherwise you will be forcibly resurrected with the Despair debuff (-25% health)!
Forced resurrection in: 00:59… 00:58…
I’d seen enough. I revived and immediately went into Stealth. At rank two, nobody had a chance to detect me. I might not even need to use Clarity.
The main thing was to avoid the random area-of-effect spells firing off all over. All the space around me flared with multicolored flashes of enemy magic, and whirlwinds stormed their way through the churchyard here and there. They juggled deadly sparks of all colors that ground up their almost level-zero victims. The screams and cries of the wounded and the dying, the clank of metal, the whistle of arrows, the hum of roaring magic all melded together into a single deafening song of war.
Laurie the fairy chef, for some reason in a hurry, revived again. No sooner did she appear than she tried to fly away, but a dwarven bullet broke her wing. Twitching, Laurie fell at the feet of vampire rogue Riker. He waved a bony hand and the poor fairy threw up her arms to defend herself… But the sadist changed his mind. He took out a blade and quickly flicked his wrist, cutting off both her wings. The fairy flopped on the ground like a fish out of water, blood spurting from the stumps on her back.
“Now try with your legs, dumb little fly!” Riker said, grinning and stamping his feet, but the fairy stayed sitting. Tears flowed down her young face, but she was crying soundlessly. “Don’t you want to run away? Too proud, huh?”
I remembered that Laurie was Clarissa Giovanni, a friend of Joseph’s. She was an old woman over eighty, and I hated to see how Riker was treating her. It would be wrong to show myself. First I needed to find Marcus, watch and hear what he was planning, and only then methodically pick out and kill the leaders! Then there was a chance that the fighters would concentrate their efforts on me, and the crafters would have time to get away.
But my mind gave in, my anger overflowed. Clenching my teeth, I attacked.
Less than a second of objective time passed in Clarity. Riker’s body, with a huge hole from my Hammerfist gaping in his chest, flew backwards beyond the edge of the churchyard and collapsed, motionless. By then, I had already picked up the wingless fairy and flown her three hundred yards away from the cemetery. I reappeared for a moment to set down the stunned elderly woman, still reeling from her sudden journey.
“Run to your allies, Mrs. Giovanni!” I had to shout for her to come round, then she blinked a few times and ran off for the village.
Clarity again for a second to enter Stealth, return to the churchyard and watch what was happening from above. An apocalyptic dusky landscape unfolded beneath me, the strongest players roamed free and scoffed as they ground the weakest beneath their boots.
Most of their forces were spread along the collapsing hedgerow. The fighters mostly fired at the crafters from a distance as they resurrected, but the worst sadists among them rampaged through the battlefield. They bolstered their self-esteem by bullying the weak, or maybe they thought they were winning the audience’s favor by taking a head off in one swoop or raising a cute elf girl up on a spear upside down to bare her legs.
Around a hundred enemies. Alone, this was enough work to last me until nightfall, considering they could resurrect right here and practically instantaneously. The resurrection process had to be controlled, which meant I’d need Spirit Shackles. Just a shame the thirty-yard radius wouldn’t cover the entire area around the graveyard…
Finding Marcus, I targeted a spot close to him and activated the skill.
Spirit Shackles failed to activate!
Unable to create soulcatcher for dead players near a resurrection point!
Fine, I’ll do without, I decided. Then I flew straight at Marcus, pulling back my fist as I went, but stopped the attack when I heard the name of missing Destiny.
Apart from his previous allies — Youlang, Inchito, Caville, Geyserix, Frankie and Enigma, — the lopher Urkish, who had sat at Destiny’s table the previous night, stood alongside the huge orc bruiser. They surrounded the magician Messiah, who fell to his knees and begged for mercy:
“I’ll do anything, Mr. Jansson! Please invite me to your group! I have… I mean I will have useful buffs, once they level up again! I’m a good support! I know cool tricks! I…”
“I! I! I!” Marcus barked angrily. “Go prove your loyalty! Find Destiny and bring her to me! We almost zeroed her, but the damn princess slipped away. She took advantage of my order not to finish her off, and these morons let her go!” The big man nodded toward dark knight Caville and barbarian Geyserix. “Go, find her and bring her to me! I want to give her one last chance…”
Messiah nodded, gabbled his thanks, swore his loyalty and rushed away. Had he really betrayed Destiny? That would block his path into the Children of Kratos forever, he must know that!
“Pitiful sight,” Urkish commented as Messiah ran. “You sure about him, Marcus?”
“We’ll take him out whatever happens,” the orc grinned. “But not right away, if he brings us Des. He can hang around a day or so longer then.”
“I get it,” the lopher laughed.
“Are you sure Scyth won’t just kill himself to get here faster, Marcus?” spellcaster Youlang asked.
“I don’t think the kid will do anything that drastic,” the orc answered. “He won’t wanna lose the exp. Why waste it if he can just fly here?”
“As long as he doesn’t bring his pet…” Urkish murmured.
Jockey Frankie, surprisingly lean for a dwarf, raised his head and looked back and forth, searching for me in the sky. Inchito stood nearby, listening to the screams.
“That’s Riker screaming,” he said thoughtfully. “Somebody must have one-shot him.”
“Idiot. His own fault,” Frankie said. “Dumb pervert!”
I had heard enough. Going into Clarity, I identified my target
s and released all my pent-up anger on them. The first Hammerfist sent Youlang off to resurrect, and the second Spirit-Crushing version smashed through Inchito the priest’s ribcage as he stood scanning the sky. Saboteur Enigma stood frozen, his leg raised, and I couldn’t help but send him flying with a Stunning Kick right in the ass, then crushed Geyserix's skull and broke a few of Caville’s bones.
The half-smile ever so slowly fell from the orc bruiser’s face, and I fired off a Combo to wipe it off entirely, windmilling my arms, smashing the armor into his chest, crushing his ribs and sending bloody mist out in all directions. One strike landed higher and the helmet cracked along with the orc’s skull, his neck folding up. Minus one Marcus.
Two foes left. Urkish went down after two attacks — he was a strong bastard. My last hit knocked the wind out of Frankie — his spine crunched and burst out of his back in fragments along with his ribs. From an outsider’s perspective, it must have looked like they all exploded from within.
Fitting it all into a couple of seconds, I left my accelerated state and Stealth, then took off above the field of death, shouted to my allies:
“Meister’s raid: Run to the rendezvous point!”
After that, I went back into Clarity and flew in a circle above the graveyard. The hunt was on.
I descended on Riker the rogue again as he materialized beneath me. The mage girl Smoothie fell without knowing what hit her when I took off half her head as she stood laughing. Then Rindzin’s Ghostly Talon easily separated the nimble shapeshifter’s head from his shoulders. His dismembered arms flew away along with his grinning head… Blood, scraps of flesh and shards of bone scattered all over in slow motion. A red mist hung over the graveyard.
I had never felt such sick satisfaction from ripping through enemies. Leaving a trail of corpses behind me, I soared over the cemetery like a vengeful spirit, invisible and deadly, my fists finding my next victim before the last touched the ground.
Exiting Clarity only for a moment, I ordered my own raid to flee again and again, promising cover. Those few seconds were sometimes enough for the enemy mages to locate and attack me. In my sped-up state, their projectiles looked like moving obstacles in a magical kill house. Veering between them, I sent the mages back to respawn, but still managed to run head-first into a paralyzing cast. Liberation neutralized the effect and went on cooldown.
A few seconds more and only my allies were left in the graveyard, frozen in place. If it weren’t for me, today would have been their last in the Games.
I checked a few bodies, but unfortunately there was almost no loot. The mechanics of the Games meant that the chances of losing something after your first death were close to zero, but the second death raised the chance by a third. Shame. My allies could have used some gear…
A roar from Marcus behind me cut off my thoughts:
“Hey, Threat! Catch!”
And I felt something cold jabbing into my back. I didn’t have time to turn round or activate Clarity. My whole body started to go numb, first my arms, then my legs, then my heart itself seemed to stop and I dropped to the ground like a stone. I tried to activate Flight, but it didn’t work. My body no longer obeyed me, and nor did my voice.
An explanation flashed up before my eyes in the form of a notification:
Utterly Petrified
You have been turned into a statue of solid stone.
You take no damage, are immune to all other negative effects and can see and hear what goes on around you, but you cannot move, attack or use items, skills, abilities or perks.
You cannot dispel this condition or remove it by any other means.
Duration: 00:59:54… 00:59:53…
In futile hope I tried Tactical Retreat, but the icon was inactive.
Suddenly, I realized bitterly what reward Marcus had been given as the best player of the day. That was why his people had been cutting through the churchyard so carelessly even though they knew I was coming for them, that I was stronger than all of them and had a powerful pet. Then another thought came to me, and if I wasn’t made of stone, it would have sent a cold sweat down my spine: all Marcus had to do now was throw me to the bottom of the Pitfall, where the final boss would end my path in the Games.
The adrenaline kept pumping, rage and indignation seethed in my immobile body, but there was nothing I could do. One thought gave me hope: my allies had managed to run away and were now hiding in their private rooms, which would keep them safe for an hour.
Marcus’s snarling face appeared before me. He loomed over me and said in satisfaction:
“That’s it, Sheppard. I thought you’d show up here with your pet demon, but you made it even easier. What, couldn’t get him here? Inchito was right! Ha-ha!” He spat at me, then chuckled and shouted: “Come on, people! Time to feed Scyth to Abaddon!”
Marcus grabbed my legs, strained, pulled: veins popped out on his sloping orcish brow, droplets of sweat began to form… But he couldn’t lift me even half an inch! Grunting and swearing profusely, the orc straightened and shouted:
“Bastard’s too heavy! Must weigh ten tons. Can’t carry him alone! God dammit! Come on, hurry up! Meister’s people will be kicked out of the tavern soon, we need to make it to them in time!”
Torturer Urkish and dark knight Caville came to help their leader. I didn’t feel their touch, but saw that even the three of them failed to shift me.
I began to hope that nobody would be able to. Judging by the disappointment on the faces looming before me, my enemies had the same thought. I just prayed they didn’t decide to leave me and go after my allies.
Even six of them together couldn’t move me an inch. In the meantime, the petrification timer ticked down. They’d already killed ten minutes for me. All the better for me if they kept straining themselves like this.
Marcus’s strongest fighters surrounded me like ants around a caterpillar, straining as hard as they could to move me. Thanks to the fact that they were all distracted, some of my allies managed to slip out of the churchyard unmolested.
My enemies grunted and groaned for another five minutes. They managed to move their antique Scyth statue around half an inch. I watched as lopher Urkish sweated, his eyes popping and the tendons in his arms bulging. All in vain: my enemies fell down exhausted. Another eight players replaced them, and they also didn’t achieve much. They might have been able to lift me all together, but there wasn’t enough space for them all to take hold at once. As long as nobody smarter turned up…
“Hey, engineers,” someone said in an unfamiliar falsetto. “Fix something up to drag him with!”
Nether! I swore internally. Jinxed it! The voice continued:
“We can drag old stony here to the Pitfall. There’s no way we’ll do it by hand before the day is out. And look, his petrification ends soon. How much time is left? Three quarters of an hour! Less, even…”
“Good idea,” Marcus said thoughtfully, then roared: “Anyone have any ropes and planks? Anything to make something to drag him with?”
He went out of my sight and I couldn’t even move my eyes, I could only stare into the sky and try to make out what was going on in my peripheral vision. Thankfully, my enemies were talkative types and kept me in the know.
“Have you forgotten about Meister’s raid, Marcus?” Youlang asked.
“The hell with them! We’re dealing with the Threat now.”
“Well, it’s dumb for us all to hang around here,” the spellcaster argued. “How am I going to help you? Or Frankie? Our strength is below ten, and our carrying capacity is low too.”
“Good point… Alright then!” Marcus roared again. Either he always shouted or his character’s voice was set that way. “Mages, healers, take a couple of meleers and head for the village! Youlang takes the lead! Meister is a cunning bastard. He’ll try to get away. They’re about to be thrown out of the tavern, so be on guard! The rest of you — stay here…”
My anger at myself boiled up again with renewed strength. By promis
ing to protect Meister’s raid, I might have doomed them. They were sitting there and hoping, but soon they’d be thrown out of their rooms, and then… Damn it! If only they’d hidden in the cleared instances like Modus and the Travelers, they would have had more of a chance. As it was… It would be Joseph’s tale of his cousin Elizar and the MacMillan neighbors all over again. Why the hell had I come out of Clarity?! I should not have done that!
“Hey, Marcus, we have some planks, but no ropes. They won’t work anyway, they’ll break. We need chains!”
The voice belonged to light priest Inchito. He was the one who had suggested fashioning some kind of sled in the first place. So that was who really ran the show in Marcus’s raid. What was the orc? Just a brainless bruiser. But then Marcus made me doubt my conclusions, growling:
“So go to the smithy and get some, Inch, you asshole! Take someone with you! Every second counts! Make sure the chains are thick, and grab spares. And some planks too!”
The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Page 37