Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

“This is amazing,” Sara said around a mouthful of food. She gestured with the massive haunch of greasy meat. “You think so too, right?”

“Watch the grease,” he told her, gesturing to where a few splatters had landed on the person in front of her.

“Never mind that! What about the fights?!”

Elijah nodded, “Pretty cool.”

It was an intentional understatement. Over the past couple of hours, he’d gotten a crash course in draconic fighting. To his surprise, almost all of the participants remained in their humanoid forms. A couple had gone all-out as dragons, but they were definitely in the minority.

Of course, there were mostly serpentors and drakes among the fights, with only a handful of dragons in the mix. Sara had explained that most participating dragons had enough backing to skip the qualifiers altogether, which made a lot of sense.

“Pretty cool? C’mon. It’s more than pretty cool, right? It’s the most awesome thing ever!”

Elijah could see that Sara was desperate for his approval. But he’d also found that he very much enjoyed teasing her. So, throughout the fights, he’d played stoic and mature – a role that definitely failed to fit his true demeanor. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to shout and scream like he was at the Super Bowl. But so far, it’d been more fun to watch Sara clamber for his endorsement of her own excitement.

Finally, he grinned and said, “It’s definitely up there.”

And it was.

It was also enlightening for his own upcoming participation. The first big surprise was that each fight only ended when one of the contestants had died. A brutal win condition if ever there was one. The dragons weren’t keen on sacrificing their best and brightest, though, so they’d employed the services of a transcendent Chronomancer to protect them.

The idea was simple enough. The Chronomancer simply created an anchor in time, cued it to each of the fighters, and rewound them to that state once the fight was over. But according to Sara, that sort of mastery over time was rare, even among transcendents.

“In other tournaments, they just use copies,” she explained. “Solid illusions tied to the fighters. But unless they have a transcendent working on those illusions, they get a bit laggy.”

Elijah nodded along like that made all the sense in the world, but inside, he was reeling from the implications. Just the existence of Chronomancers or Illusionists who could create solid doppelgangers was a troubling reality of the world around them. Elijah just didn’t know what was possible at higher levels, and he knew he needed to change that sooner rather than later.

Maybe the tournament would be a good opportunity to do that. Certainly, the variety of powers he’d seen so far seemed to indicate as much. He’d watched fire and ice mages, a real dragoon who used devastating leaping attacks, and everything in between. The current fight saw two melee fighters going at it. One was a heavily armored drake, while the other was a lightning-fast serpentor who looked a bit like the progeny of a dwarf and an elf. Short and a bit stocky, but with elven features.

The half-dwarf darted in, her dagger finding the much larger drake’s elbow. The smaller figure backflipped away before her opponent could counter. And when the dust settled, the drake’s left arm hung entirely limp. His two-handed sword fell to the ground, too heavy for him to continue to wield.

“Oh, he’s toast now.”

Elijah wondered at the common idiom, but he’d long since accepted that the system was quite good at translating slang. So, he just went with it.

“I don’t know. They listed him as a Berserker, right?”

“Yeah. But he’s only got one good arm now.”

“Just watch.”

The drake defended for a few more exchanges, getting the worst of each one. Until, at last, he used an ability. Red mist collected at his feet, then enveloped his whole body until only a shadow was visible.

The half-dwarf recognized the danger and fled, kicking up sand along the way. But for once, she was too slow.

The mist-wreathed Berserker dashed forward, leaving a rooster tail of sand behind him. He closed in an instant, wrapping his hand around the smaller figure. Due to the stadium’s enhanced sound system, he could hear her bones breaking. The arena also featured a magnification enchantment that allowed each attendee to see the action as if they were sitting in the front row.

She screamed, her ribcage buckling under the strength of the Berserker’s crushing grip.

Elijah could practically taste the blood and sweat.

The Berserker let out a roar, his muscles flexing beneath his clunky armor. His giant slab of a sword lay where he’d discarded it. Dozens of feet away.

“She didn’t account for that boost?” asked Sara.

“I think she did,” Elijah said, pointing to a shimmer behind the Berserker.

Sara narrowed his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”

“Just watch.”

She leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. The rest of the crowd – millions strong – did the same. Mostly in anticipation of the half-dwarf’s crushing defeat.

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Elijah knew better. And he wasn’t surprised when the broken half-dwarf suddenly dissipated into black smoke. A second later, she leaped upon the drake’s back and buried her daggers in the unprotected nape of his neck.

He fell, his massive form shaking the ground.

Meanwhile, the half-dwarf flipped away, then gave a small bow.

“What…what just happened?” Sara asked, her eyes narrowing even further.

“She was never really a melee fighter,” Elijah answered. “Not a true one, at least. She’s an Illusionist. A good one, too. That ability is probably limited, though. That’s the only thing that makes sense for a demi-god.”

Indeed, Elijah had figured it out pretty early in the fight. While her opponent liberally used abilities, she’d relied only on acrobatic movements and speed. That told him she wasn’t really a melee fighter. The Illusionist realization hadn’t come until he’d noticed the slight shimmer that announced the presence of imperfect invisibility.

“That’s insanely good.”

Elijah just shrugged. “It’s definitely a good trick. Too bad that she had to use it in her first fight,” he lamented. That strategy wouldn’t work anymore. Not now that people knew what she could do.

“Would it work on you?”

“I’m sitting all the way up here and I saw it.”

“So, no?”

“Definitely not,” Elijah said confidently. “And it won’t work on anyone else, either. Maybe she has other tricks, though.”

“I hope so. She’s kind of cool.”

Elijah nodded, but he knew the truth. The half-dwarf wouldn’t make it another round, and not just because she’d shown her cards earlier than she wanted to. She was a serpentor. Not even a drake. And while that didn’t mean she was worthless, it did mean that she’d had much fewer advantages than higher-caste people.

Maybe she could overcome that disadvantage. Plenty would. But those kinds of talents didn’t have to participate in the qualifying rounds.

Was it fair?

Probably not. But that was just how draconic society worked. For better or worse, nothing Elijah could do would change it.

Besides, it wasn’t as if serpentors were mistreated. As far as Elijah could tell, they enjoyed almost limitless freedom, and they formed the backbone of draconic society. They just weren’t dragons.

The reality was that even if they occupied the lowest caste of citizenship within the Empire of Scale, they still had it much better than most people outside the empire.

The tiered arrangement of the population just cemented a fact Elijah already knew. There was no such thing as equality. Dragons – and the other elder races – were just inherently better than others. Could some people close that gap? Sure. There were plenty of people who’d shown that they could overcome the circumstances of their race. Or rather, their core.

But on average, dragons would always come out ahead. So would angels. And demons. Mechaniques. And any other surviving elder race. The only answer was to fight quality with quantity, as the vespirans were known to do.

Elijah pushed those thoughts aside as he continued to watch the qualifying round until, at last, the show came to a close. They’d watched more than a hundred fights, and there would be hundreds more each day until they narrowed the field enough to start the tournament proper.

As Elijah and Sara left the stadium behind, he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. He’d already seen some talented people. Some real strength. It reassured him that he needed to get back to work so he didn’t embarrass Kirlissa with his performance.

Elijah wasn’t sure if he could win. She seemed to think so, but that wasn’t really his goal. In fact, if it had been left up to him, he would never have chosen to participate. But now that he’d had it forced upon him, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited about the prospect of going up against the best the Empire of Scale had to offer.

Along the way out of the Praesidium, Sara insisted on buying some souvenirs, while Elijah enjoyed some sort of fried vegetables that resembled okra but tasted more like popcorn. The dish was served in a rough clay mug.

The trip back to Ashakar followed the same pattern as the journey to the stadium, though it was accompanied by a din of conversation and a buzz of excitement. Elijah had felt something similar when he’d attended sporting events back on Earth. A sort of aura that came with the territory.

By the time they reached the city, it still hadn’t faded.

It did become more diffuse as he escorted Sara back to the academy. Apparently, she lived in the dorms and not in the palace on the moon.

“I wish I could go again tomorrow, but…well, classes,” she complained. “Unless…maybe you could talk to my teachers and…”

“I’m not getting you out of classes,” Elijah said. “Besides, I can’t afford to take any more days off from training. I need to be at my best, right?”

“I guess…”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Before he could react, Elijah found himself wrapped in a tight hug. As he patted her back, Elijah couldn’t help but wonder how he’d grown so attached to Sara so quickly. She really was like the little sister he’d never had.

Soon enough, they broke apart and she ran into the academy tower. Elijah just shook his head and continued on his way.

He didn’t go back to Tura’s cabin, though. Instead, he made his way toward the Branch. As he strode through the city, he considered the reality that it hadn’t been that long since he’d thought he was going to die in the void. Or stranded in the abyss.

Now, he found himself in a literal city of dragons on a magical world.

If someone had told that old version of him what was in store, he would have scoffed at the obvious lie.

Considering that, Elijah couldn’t help but smile as he approached the massive, nonagonal complex that housed the Branch of the world tree. The crowds were predictably thick, but upon entering, he only had eyes for the Branch itself. It glittered with barely constrained power, its age apparent at a singular glance.

Elijah wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring at it, but it must’ve been a little while, because a few of the guards had taken notice of him. They didn’t step in, but they looked like they were ready to do so at a moment’s notice.

What they thought he might do was a mystery, but Elijah wanted nothing less than to antagonize them. So, upon recognizing their attention, he moved on to the reason he’d come to the Branch in the first place.

He had some messages to send.

That, more than anything, characterized the difference in his current situation. He was absent from Earth, but he could still communicate with the people he cared about.

After paying a nominal fee, Elijah headed into one of the off-shoot chambers, then queued for access to one of the subsidiary Branches. He waited almost an hour until his turn arrived.

“Emerald Archon,” the Envoy said with a nod. He bowed. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” Elijah replied, feeling uncomfortable with the apparent authority granted by his demi-god class evolution. He knew he was tied to the World Tree, but he still didn’t know exactly what that meant, other than getting a discount on the services provided at every Branch. The Envoys all seemed to feel like he was special, though.

Upon laying his hand on the Branch, Elijah navigated to the messaging function and checked to see if anyone had attempted to contact him. They had. There were updates on the grove, as well as messages from his friends and family. Elijah replied to them all, describing what he’d experienced so far, the nature of the upcoming tournament, and the people he’d recently met.

By the time he’d finished, Elijah felt like a weight had slid off his shoulders. The messages weren’t complex. He didn’t really say anything incredibly important. But the mere fact that he could still communicate with the people he loved was a boon he’d underestimated.

Not anymore, though.

With a happy sigh, he turned to the Envoy and said, “Sometimes, we take the little things for granted, don’t we?”

“We do, Archon.”

When Elijah left the Branch compound, it was with a renewed lightness to his step.

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