Underpowered Howard: A LitRPG Adventure

by John L. Monk

  The bloodthirsty spectators went wild as a massive woggim came bounding through the portcullis astride a huge black rhino. Unlike bugbears and harpies, and various other mythical creatures, woggims were a race invented wholesale for Mythian. Standing about eight feet tall, they had sleek blue fur and short, thick tusks. They also had surprisingly pleasant voices when they weren’t trying to kill you.

  “Wraiths, attack and flee!” I shouted.

  The woggim took four hits stoically and killed two of my minions with a whopping 1500 points of overkill each.

  Woggims were difficult to kill under even ideal circumstances. They had far more health than my six remaining wraiths could rake away, and they hit for a helluva lot if they got their hands on you. They were also fast. Which is why I took to the air—though not so high as to run into the killer dome.

  “Dammit,” I said. “Wraiths—stay close!”

  Jhezherikhan had dismounted. He scooped up two of the seven harpy corpses and stared overhead, though not at me. His attention was focused on the audience.

  What’s he doing? I wondered.

  I found out when he swung the bird-women into the dome, destroying them in a flash of smoke and feathers.

  “Hey! Stop that!” I shouted.

  The worst thing about woggims? They were smart.

  “How do you like that, hero?” Jhezherikhan shouted, walking calmly in the direction of more corpses. “Yes, I know of your undead minions. They are puny, and I am strong. Will you raise more and fight me, or slink away and forfeit all victory and honor?”

  Not waiting for an answer, the woggim king began swinging the next one by its long, scrawny neck like a lasso.

  “Summon!” I shouted, but it didn’t work this time. Not with the corpse under the king’s control. I tried again when he let fly, but he was too fast for me.

  Flash, poof, feathers, and now I was down to five free corpses.

  To my surprise, Jhezherikhan didn’t make immediately for another corpse. He turned and stared up at me, head cocked to the side like a curious puppy.

  “Time is on my side, hero,” he said. “You will have to be quick if you hope to win. And exceedingly clever.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I forced myself to smile—to appear more relaxed than I felt.

  “Woggims are powerful,” I said. “Woggim kings, even more. So I wonder…”

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder why you’re so desperate to beat me without a fight.”

  Jhezherikhan snorted. “You are the one hovering out of my reach. If you want to fight, come down and we will fight. I will even send my mount back through the gate to make it fair.”

  During his reply, I’d made manual adjustments to the names of my wraiths, all of whom had reshuffled their auto-assigned names to account for the two deaths. One, Two, and Three became Eight, Nine, and Ten. Four through Six became Eleven through Thirteen. They’d keep their names no matter which ones died, and new wraiths would auto-assign to fill any gaps.

  I’d only caught part of the king’s answer, but it was enough.

  “Sorry Jez ol’ pal, I’m gonna need that rhino. Wraiths—attack!”

  I summoned a new Wraith One from a corpse nearest the king.

  “You too—go get ’em!”

  So long as my minions were in range of my voice, I could have willed them to attack by thought alone, but I had a reason for verbalizing. I wanted the king to hear me—to come to anticipate attacks whenever I said something.

  Six wraiths tore into the formidable, but slow, rhino. A seventh joined them seconds later and got the killing blow. The sudden rush of 100 vitality was a soothing balm against my raging ROD.

  “Circle the king and stay out of range!” I shouted.

  Undead, as a rule, are bad at complicated formations, but they can do simple things like line up and march—or in this case, circle like buzzards waiting for something to die.

  “Ah, that is too bad,” Jhezherikhan said sadly, shaking his head. “You have killed my friend, Utfel. He is too heavy to lift, even for me. But you will need these others. Watch this, hero.”

  The woggim king bounded to another harpy corpse. He didn’t swing it at the dome this time. No, he hurled it through the air toward me.

  Summon Wraith!

  The corpse disappeared in a puff of smoke. I sent its wraith to join the others.

  “I know of necromancers, you see,” the woggim said, unfazed. “The more of these puny things you raise, the faster you will weaken. How many can you sustain?”

  He dashed to another corpse. I raised it at the last second and ordered it to attack. This surprised the woggim, who must have thought I’d wait for him to throw it.

  “Circle!” I shouted to clear it from harm.

  The wraith retreated an instant before the now angry woggim’s claws could reach it.

  I renamed this wraith George.

  “Wraith Eleven, attack, circle!”

  The woggim king whirled in fury and pain, swiping uselessly at the already retreating wraith.

  “Nine, attack, circle!”

  I could identify my wraiths like penguins their mates using an instinct built into necromancers. As such, with an eye on Wraith Two, I waited until it was directly behind the woggim and shouted, “Two, attack, circle!”

  The woggim king hesitated for the barest second and the wraith scored a free hit.

  Between Two and Nine’s attack, I’d scored 1100 points of damage. With the king being a Ward 1 mini-boss, and this being early in the tournament, I figured he probably had around 45,000 health points.

  “Ten, attack, circle!”

  The woggim king didn’t try to attack or defend this time—it bounded toward another corpse. I converted it, but Jhezherikhan was faster and killed it instantly.

  My troop of now eight wraiths was spread out and doing its best to maintain a circle. Jhezherikhan ran to the last corpse, grabbed it up, and hurled it at me.

  I dodged easily, but my attention was scattered long enough for him to kill a wraith that had drifted too close.

  I raised the decoy corpse and mentally ordered all wraiths, To me!

  As one, they flew out of range to hover nearby.

  “Wraiths, circle!”

  They flew down and resumed circling the woggim king.

  “Eleven, attack, circle! Three, attack, circle! Ten, attack, circle! One, attack, circle! Betsy, attack, circle. Seven, attack, circle! Two, attack, circle! George, attack, circle! Twelve, attack, circle! Five attack, circle!”

  There was no Five, nor a Betsy. From the harried woggim’s perspective, it must have appeared completely arbitrary which commands resulted in a strike and which didn’t. Rather than keep getting hit, he ran along the wall.

  “Stop circling!” I shouted desperately. If they flew into the shield, they’d be toast. “To me!”

  The woggim was down more than 6000 points. Meanwhile, I was losing nearly 300 health a minute purely from ROD. Fine for a short fight. Awful for anything too long—and the Tourney was on a two-hour timer.

  “I can do this all day, hero,” the woggim called up to me. “Unlike you.”

  “What’s in this for you, anyway?” I said. “Only heroes win a prize.”

  Still jogging, the woggim said, “Winning is the prize. Glory! You fight for profit, I fight for glory.”

  “But you’re not really fighting, are you? You’re running away. I’m not that frightening, am I?”

  The woggim didn’t reply, but I distinctly heard a growl carry over the deep thuds of its heavy steps. Every woggim I’d met had been both honorable and proud. I was willing to bet this one—instantiated for this event as a “king”—was no different.

  Shaking my head in disgust, I said, “What would your countrymen think if they saw you running in circles like Mythian’s biggest mouse? What would your harem think? They’d swear off woggim men forever, that’s what. Probably start dating goblins! Picture it—a whole new race of … of wogglins! They’d be just as c
ute as the dickens. Little green faces, furry blue heads—and great joggers!”

  He was definitely growling now.

  “But hey, I understand. It’s a good tactic,” I said. “You should definitely keep running around. Maybe after you win they’ll give you some cheese. I’ve heard mice love cheese… You know what else mice like? Woggim women! I can see it now—a whole race of gob-wogga-mice squeaking around Ward 1 in tennis shoes, begging for cheese, and not getting in fights for fear of losing. Oh, I’m gonna giggle my ass off when I—”

  “Enough, hero!” Jhezherikhan shouted.

  With a howl of rage, he ran from the wall toward the exact center of the arena—to the roaring approval of the audience.

  “Come here and fight me! I will show you who the mouse is! Fight me or it is you who are the coward! It is you who will squeak for cheese! The goblins will mate with your women!”

  Silently, I raised the rhino, bringing my count of wraiths to ten. I ordered each of them to circle. Jhezherikhan thrashed about wildly and with such speed I actually heard the whooshing of his mighty paws.

  “Two, attack! Circle!”

  “Six, attack! Circle!” (There wasn’t a Six).

  “Four, attack! Circle!”

  “Ten, attack! Circle!”

  “George, attack! Circle!”

  “Mary, attack! Circle!” (Another feint).

  I kept up this alternating swarm of attacks, both real and fake, while concentrating on where the woggim was looking and how it responded to the feints.

  To keep him confused, I called them back and renamed them. When the woggim ran to the wall, I landed and cast Harrow. He gave chase and I retreated. Then I started the routine again with the new names.

  Though hurting, Jhezherikhan hadn’t lost any of his speed or power. Over the next five minutes, he killed four more wraiths, forcing me to jump down several times with Harrow to add to the confusion. Eventually, he fell, and I didn’t even get a full Death Blossom for it.

  The announcer kicked in with his ludicrous commentary—praising my “deceptively cowardly tactics” and my “hurtful rhetoric” as the crowd cheered.

  I’d gotten 135,000 experience points for the king. My leech would have gotten fewer because they hadn’t done anything. But if they made it to the end of the Timeless Tourney, they’d share in the prize. Annoying, but I tried not to think about it. Honestly, so long as they didn’t screw me up, they could have whatever they wanted. Well, unless they were also a necromancer…

  “Come on, who’s there?” I said loudly. When nobody replied, I added, “Fine, suit yourself. I could actually use the help, but whatever…”

  Five wraiths strong, and with one corpse on the floor—that of the woggim king—I waited for the next round.

  Chapter Seven

  After all the pluses and minuses, my aura was sitting at just under 1000 vitality. Despite the steady flow of XP, I still hadn’t leveled.

  The announcer had been talking for five minutes now–83 vitality, gone, poof—reminiscing over previous contestants who’d come and gone, and how my “secretive friend” and I had fared in comparison. Pretty good, it seemed like.

  Five more minutes and 83 vit later, the taliathe in the boxed seat near the portcullis fired a glowing red beam of light at a spot in the center of the arena. A fiery red portal appeared, which meant I couldn’t go through it yet. This was a common theme among Mythian portals: red for stop, green for go.

  Soon afterward, the world turned dark, as if night had rapidly descended. I looked up and saw that yes, it was night out. New to the scene was a giant cube floating in the air that hadn’t been there before. Though I could only see two sides, each was filled with a picture of my impatient face.

  The cheering died and the announcer began speaking:

  “Oh my goodness, look what we have here! A taliathe portal! Wherever could it go? What mysteries lie beyond? What terrible dangers? These are questions only true heroes of Mythian can answer, but I’m on the fence about yon Howard, here—and his invisible friend, of course. Can’t forget her, haha, even if Howard’s doing all the work. Ho, ho! See what I did there? A bit of fun, calm down, don’t get your chromosomes in a twist. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the portal. On the other side is a villain borrowed from one of the infinite Mythian possibilities, plucked mid-scheme to fight for our taliathe host’s amusement. And ours as well! This big cube you see was spawned by a wizard named Ti’ron using very ancient words of power. Mumbo jumbo, to you laypeople. Now, if you’ll just have a look at the Mumbo Jumbo Ti’ron—ahem!—you’ll see a scene from the ruins of ancient Molcharia, that doomed city in faraway Ward 2, where the deer and the antelopes play … or used to, before they grew up, cut their hair and got jobs…”

  When he didn’t start talking again, I raised the woggim king back as my sixth wraith and watched the portal turn from red to green. I stepped through and found myself at one end of a massive stone-cut chamber the size of a spaceship hangar. Massive hexagonal columns held up the vaulted ceiling, itself sculpted with deep coffers inlaid with glowing gems that served conveniently as ceiling lights. At the far end stood a towering dais of black rock, about thirty feet high. Around it, a faintly glowing invulnerability shield. Standing on it was the familiar figure of Anz, the Researcher.

  I’d encountered different versions of Anz on quests throughout the wards at one time or other. An eccentric seeker of lost knowledge, he was always one MacGuffin away from assembling a powerful artifact to blow up the world. When asked, he’d lie and say the device was for “educational purposes only.” However, immediately after you turned in your last quest item, he’d demonstrate the completed artifact by summoning otherworldly beings to fight you. If you lasted long enough, he’d “draw too much power.” His shield would then disappear, and the energy would consume him.

  For the purposes of the Timeless Tourney, there’d be no fetch quests for the annoying researcher. This Anz was holding his fully assembled artifact: a crystalline staff with an intricate jumble of glowing metal rods and spheres on top. He pointed it at me and shouted in a magically amplified voice:

  “Foolish heroes! How dare you interrupt my research? Perchance you have come to steal the El’cuin-uk-ta’ a hriuk sol’ dachti? It will not be easy, of that I can assure you!”

  It had been years since I’d last seen him, and I couldn’t help but smile. Anz could never say the ridiculously complicated name twice the same way.

  “You talking about that thing in your hand?” I said, trying not to laugh. “What’s it called again?”

  “It is the En’cliun-ut-ta’ a hriuk zol’ dah’gity, as if you didn’t know. I’ll give you one warning—leave now or be destroyed! You have one minute to decide!”

  Despite his words, I couldn’t leave. The portal was red and would kill me if I tried.

  “Hey, Mysterious Person,” I said. “If you help, I’ll pay you a hundred thousand gold after we’re done.”

  I waited for a response—in vain, it turned out.

  “You have thirty seconds left, heroes!” Anz shouted. “Leave or be destroyed!”

  Thirty seconds came and went.

  “Oh, you’ve done it now, heroes!” Anz shouted. “Tremble in fear! None can stand against me!”

  His staff began pulsating with red and gold light. With each red flash, a demon appeared—gnarled, spiky, and gibbering through a toothy mouth that dripped sizzling slime. With each golden flash, a nimbus of light materialized something less gross but equally dangerous: a sleek seraph with many arms, reminiscent of a Hindu god. Each hand clutched a dagger or sword engulfed in holy fire.

  “Curse this stupid thing,” Anz shouted when there were three demons on one side and three seraphs on the other. “It seems to be malfunctioning!”

  In other words: This was the first wave of many such to come.

  All of these creatures were roughly man-height, and I knew them to have about a thousand health points each. Which meant two of my wraiths could instantly dow
n one. Which further meant I didn’t have enough wraiths to do this as cleanly as I’d hoped.

  Being a necromancer—and technically evil—the seraphs were particularly dangerous to me, so those were the ones I killed first.

  “Wraiths—get ’em!” I shouted.

  They knew the ’em I meant and streaked past the columns into the seraphs, killing them in a single pass with six strikes for 500 points each. In the process, two wraiths were hit for 515 and 535 points of damage, respectively. They would have died if I hadn’t spent 10 extra skill points on them.

  I received a quick 300 vitality from the kills—much needed, after all the waiting I’d been doing.

  Summon Wraith!

  To me!

  The silently cast spell raised all three corpses.

  I flew to the right side of the huge chamber to put extra time between me and the demons tearing toward me. I then flew to the ceiling. The demons could fly too, so there was no escape that way, but I gained another two seconds.

  “You two, attack!” I shouted, willing them at the closest demon.

  My new wraiths tore it apart.

  “Summon! Kill!” I shouted.

  A new demon-wraith and my third seraph-wraith ripped the second demon apart.

  “Summon! Follow!” I shouted, raising the latest kill and flying to the far side of the chamber while angling downward.

  The demons, it seemed, could fly as fast as I could. When I hit the ground, I shouted, “Kill!”

  Two of my original wraiths, off cooldown, killed it instantly. Just in time for Anz’s next onslaught.

  He’d gotten his artifact working. This time, he summoned eight minions: four demons, four seraphs.