The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Mason landed hard at the holy city’s teleportation beacon, surprised to find Blake waiting. For a moment they just looked at each other, neither seeming to know what to say. Which still felt weird.

“Saw the scout messages.” Blake tapped his temple like it was a comm device. “Figured you might want me over there, too.”

Despite everything, Mason felt a sense of relief at seeing his brother. He met the same, bright blue eyes that had caught his attention when they were five. Back then he’d thought Blake was some kind of…little angel from one of the orphanage bibles. In his six year old mind he’d thought maybe God had put them together. Like it was some holy charge. To be each other’s guardians. Back when he still believed in things.

“Do you have constructs in Nassau?”

“Some.” Blake winced. “I should have made more. We should have…”

“Too late now. My fault, probably. Can’t bring the ones here?”

Blake shook his head. For the first time in awhile, Mason really looked at him. He looked older, somehow, like he was carrying more weight. His hair was longer, his face unshaven, bruises under his eyes. Mason tried to think of some other useful thing to do or say before they warped.

“The others will come from all over the city. Whatever’s through the beacon, we have to hold them off, buy time.” He remembered Seul-ki and why he’d left her alive, besides the fact that she’d been pregnant. “I’ll take the champion. Any lords I can find. Where’s Seul-ki? We might want her powers.”

“A teleport away. I’ll bring her. But…I don’t think you should attack the champion. Wait as long as you can. We’ll all take it together. On a raid, you take down the trash first, then you kill the boss. Remember?”

A video game reference. Really? Mason hated that it probably made sense. His instinct was to ignore that, to ignore everything—to charge straight at his foe and end it. But he knew Blake was probably right. Their synthetic overlord wouldn’t make it so simple. Past enemies had ways to disable his regeneration, to shut down the things he relied on. He couldn’t just assume everything would work as planned.

He might need magic and civilians and strategy to beat Yalor’s champion. Which meant he needed time and opportunity for mankind to put their brains together and figure out a solution. He eventually nodded, and put his hand on the beacon teleporter.

Blake smiled, for the first time in awhile seeming like he was just there to help and not give any headaches. Mason was thankful for that.

A part of him hoped that this was the real Blake, the guy that in the end was really good and trying to help, when all the grand schemes were over. He clicked the beacon, and warped them to the other continent, hoping everything wasn’t on fire.

**

Pretty much everything was on fire.

Carl looked out at the besieged forest and ran both hands over his scalp. Planar lords and armies were spawning everywhere, leaving trails of flame and destruction in their wake.

The second champion had formed and was en route. You couldn’t miss it—it was fucking huge. And also terrifying. Like sticking out over the forest canopy, size of a small building, swirling with red, deathly miasma terrifying. He looked at the beacon controls, overwhelmed and not even sure what to tell anyone.

Haley, Sylvie, and all the rest were waiting outside, sending runners and scouts and trying to help. The time for ‘communicating’ was almost up. Carl would need to take what strength he had and get down there and…do what? Kill planar lords? Through all that?

The orcs, players, and city defenses were still bravely holding the lower wall. But he had no idea how long they’d last. What sort of casualties were they about to take?

He felt like he should pull them all out, but then what? The idea that the tree-guards would stop this was almost laughable now. What could he do? What could any of them do? And where in the name of Christ was Mason?

He looked at his profile and the wall of text and stared. Especially at the event trigger.

[Event initiated. The End Game. Defeat Doom, Champion of Yalor. Sometimes, survival is its own reward. Good luck!]

He tried to breathe. To stay calm. Not to snap when he heard Haley calling his name for at least the second time.

“What? What is it?”

“Sorry. There’s a teleporter request. It says it’s from…the fey plane, whatever that means. No signature or message or anything. Do I…um…I’m not really sure if I should just…”

Carl swiped to the teleporter beacon, the message lost in the endless spam of the invasions on two continents. Sure enough, there it was. ‘Fey plane - request teleport access’.

Was it Mason? But why the hell would he need to request access? After a few moments of hesitation, he decided it had to be friendly. This was ‘Gaia’s city, or something, right? Nature: good. Not-nature: bad.

In a moment like this, that was pretty much enough information. He put up the teleporter shields, and clicked accept while Haley was still talking.

Carl rushed over, and the command team at the beacons all turned to see…a solitary elf. In robes. They were all looking at each other with a shrug before Mason’s elven wife came running, her hands over her mouth.

“Archmage Holbron.” She sort of bowed and touched her head in the way of the elves, looking lost for words. “I’m…so pleased to see you.”

The elf looked maybe forty-five in human terms. A handsome face and shrewd eyes that moved over everyone. He nodded politely to Naya, then smiled more genuinely when Ayet arrived as well.

“Lady Anshan. You look well.”

“I am, Archmage. How did you…where are the others?”

The elven wizard didn’t answer, looking around until his eyes settled on Carl, as if he’d somehow ascertained who was in charge on his own.

“Where is King Mason? I should like to speak with him.”

Carl looked out at the horde of enemies trying to destroy him and everything he loved. Then back at the elven wizard in a magic teleporter in his magic tree city a few hundred feet in the air. Sometimes he forgot that his life had become the craziest D&D game he’d ever played. He just about laughed out loud as the insanity of it all sort of hit him.

“He’s…on his way. I’m his chancellor. We’re a little busy fighting for our lives, what can I do for you?”

The wizard smiled, though he looked uncomfortable.

“You humans are very direct. I shall honor you by trying the same. I’ve come to help my people, Chancellor. To protect them from this…doom.”

Carl managed to keep his face neutral. He was pretty sure he understood—the fancy wizard elf thought he’d scoop up the other elves and teleport them away before the dumb humans all died in a fiery inferno. How nice. He kicked down the small part of him that wanted to ask if he could take all the rest of them with him, too.

“We aren’t leaving them,” Naya said, her tone firm. “These people took us in. Gave us a home. We are their friends, their family. We won’t run from the prime again, my lord, it’s no life for us hovering in the in-between, without futures or hope.”

She took Haley’s hand. Seeing the women exchange a small half hug was almost heart warming enough to make Carl forget about the whole ‘imminent apocalyptic doom’ thing. But he noticed the other one, Ayet, was just smiling. There was even some wetness in her eyes.

“I suppose I deserved that,” the wizard said. “But that isn’t what I meant, child.”

He took something from his pocket. Carl strained with everyone else to see as the elf took a breath and held out a big acorn, or something. Was it maybe that seed Mason found before? He hoped it wasn’t an elf bomb, and reflexively checked the beacon shield again…

“The Seed is ready now. As are we. If you’ll allow us, Chancellor, my people are waiting on the other side. Every wizard of the portal city is ready to defend your Nexus, and our people, until the end. If you’ll have us.”

Carl stared, unsure. He didn’t trust orcs or goblins or elves. He hardly trusted people, which was maybe why Mason had made him chancellor in the first place. They had that in common. He was about to ask exactly how many ‘wizards’ and what exactly they intended as he blinked and watched the shields go down.

“You are most welcome, Archmage,” Haley said, not even giving him a side glance, and therefore missing the glare. “Welcome to the House of Mason. I wish the circumstances were…”

A few fiery projectiles blasted from somewhere above, bouncing off the Nexus shield.

“Your courtesy is appreciated,” said the wizard—one of the only people who hadn’t ducked. “But perhaps we should proceed with…human practicality.”

As the teleporter shields dropped, and dozens more of the skinny elves in robes starting warping in like they were in Star Trek. They kept on coming, until the first ones had to move out to the platform, and soon enough there was something like fifty of the buggers all clumped up and staring like tourists from Middle Earth.

Carl really hoped it wasn’t some kind of treachery. And that he didn’t have to kill them all. Because it was already a pretty bad day.

“Thank you,” Naya was saying, bowing low to the elves and clearly fighting emotion. The high wizard or whatever made the same gesture to her, and to Ayet.

“No, child. Thank you, for teaching us courage. I apologize it took so long.”

Carl was sure it was all very meaningful and nice. But as he watched another swarm of flyers building up the courage for a dive bombing run, he lost interest.

“Get back on the God damn crossbows,” he shouted at his civilian guards. “Show’s over. Move.”

There were mannable defensive turrets all over the platforms, and anyone could use them. Some civilians rushed over to obey, loosing bolts to hopefully scare off the flyers.

Carl took a breath and tried to pay attention to which elf was more impressed with the other elves, giving a forced, pleasant nod. The wizard seemed to understand the situation, at least.

“We’ve interrupted the defense. I apologize. Please, tell us where we can be useful.”

Carl just about scoffed. Where did one put a small company of non-player wizards? He had no idea. Would they run out of mana quickly? If he sent them down, and the lower city fell, pretty soon they’d just be trapped down there and lined up for the lifts like everyone else in a wild panic. He shook his head.

“You can…guard the platforms. The city in the trees. We’re going to lose that lower section soon enough. I don’t know what happens after that.”

His mind cleared as he said it out loud. There was nothing much for it now. He and his other stronger players were wasting time up in the trees now. They needed to get down there. To find and kill a lord, if they could. He hoped his scouts had identified some and he’d know which were vulnerable to his ambush. He gestured to his player guard and explained they’d take the lifts down.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the elves, mind getting clearer by the second. “I’m going to my men now. We’ll hold the lower section as long as we can. Hopefully Mason and reinforcements will be here soon. I hope we meet again.”

Finally he turned to Sylvie, relaxing when she just took his hand and didn’t say a word. He saw the understanding there, the knowledge that he did what he had to, that she would do everything she could, that they were in this together. He kissed the back of her hand, then moved towards the lifts.

“Chancellor?”

Carl stopped as the elf held up a hand, glancing at one of the lifts over a rail with a frown.

“If it would be useful, we can improve on those. I assume you and your men intend to move to the walls?”

Carl nodded, and the elf exchanged a few words with his people. A few seconds later, a dozen spells flashed with glowing symbols in the air as the elves started gesturing.

Carl recognized arcane magic, and quite a lot of it. He started to hope a little harder there wasn’t any kind of treachery, and held his breath until several glowing circles opened. He blinked and looked through, seeing sections all over the walls below.

“Those will hold for the day,” the archmage explained. “They are two way, instantaneous. Primal creatures only.”

Carl took that in and stared, looking back and forth between the portals and the elf, finally at what could only be described as proud and slightly smug faces on Mason’s elven women. He might have underestimated these people.

“Archmage,” he said, taking a step closer to stick out his hand. “Welcome to the apocalypse. I hope to properly thank you tomorrow.”

The man smiled politely again, slowly took his hand, like he was trying a new food, then gestured to the portal.

“Perhaps we can be of some assistance below as well. After you.”

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