The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

“That’s it. They just keep comin’. I’m feckin’ Cataclim-sing. Cataclysm-ing. Whatever the feck, I’m blowing them all to hell!”

“I said wait!” Carl gave the Irishman a glare until he was sure he wasn’t going to kill them all. Then he looked out over the endless horde of creatures now climbing up the walls of Nassau.

Objectively, the enemy soldiers were getting slaughtered. Undead or planar, big or small, they were getting blown up by elven wizards, hacked apart by rampart-guarding orcs, or obliterated by players.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the nexus-armory armed civilians, or the static defences. The walls themselves were grabbing up the enemy with vines and crushing them. Turrets and archers from the upper city were laying down a constant barrage from above.

But the bastards just kept coming. They flew, they jumped, they burrowed. Most just ran up and climbed. The whole forest seemed filled with enemies that didn’t care if they lived or died. Even the usually self-concerned demonic types were racing with abandon to their own doom, as if driven wild by their masters.

The huge champion loomed in the distance. But the new lords had started to arrive at the walls. Killing one of the elemental pair had been difficult enough, and the air lord had escaped—God only knew where and when it would attack again. But it surely would.

Carl counted at least three more lords in his immediate view. Their auras were dark and glowing to his Arcane Sight, their minions all around them doing who knew what. He was getting that terrible feeling of panic again, doing his best to fight it.

“That lord’s vulnerable to your dagger, sir. Physical based. High defences. You should be able to surprise it, kill or seriously wound it, and warp away.”

Phuong’s son Hieu was pointing. Car blinked and gave the young man a smile. He couldn’t think of him as a ‘kid’ anymore. Not since his father died, and his keen eyes had gotten even harder than they’d become these last months.

Go out beyond the wall? Alone? And cut down a primal lord amongst an army? Sure, why not. Who wanted to life forever?

“No Cataclysm! Unless you’re completely overwhelmed!” He jabbed a finger at Seamus. “And make sure everyone falls back before you do it.”

“You people are such fecking Nancies, I swear to Christ.” The Irishman held up his staff, and a fiery comet streaked from the tip, obliterating a whole cluster of demons. “Where are the others, anyway? It can’t be this bad in the east. We got hardly any of the best people. Besides me, course.”

Carl certainly hoped it wasn’t as bad. But there’d been a champion, and Mason wasn’t back. There’d been no word or messages at all. He didn’t know what that meant, but there was no time or energy for speculating. He had to have faith in his friends. Because if they failed, it was all over anyway.

With a last look from the top of the wall, and the strange sight of orcs, goblins and elves all fighting desperately to protect mankind’s last hope, he prepared himself to do another insane thing.

Then he activated Stealth and vanished before slinking down from the wall, looking for a path through, hoping his people didn’t accidentally hit him.

**

Nighteyes blinked away his Farsight, and turned to the waiting chiefs of the Greensea tribes. They stood at the edge of their territory amongst the corpses of thousands of demons and braves.

The battle had been won, the enemy scattered and shot down by the combined armies of the clans and tribes. As predicted, it had been glorious.

But now the human settlement was being assaulted by a force even larger than he’d dreamed. The odds seemed impossible. The fight hopeless.

He could do nothing and let them fall. He could turn the tribes back into the grasslands, and end their part in this story. But he did not believe that would save them. For whatever reason, if the humans fell, so fell the world. The gods had decreed.

“It is now or never, chiefs,” he said into the wind.

“What do you see, shaman?”

They all stared, their eyes and legs tired. He had already asked much. These last months had been hard. Hard for the tribes to be so close together—for the freedom loving, nomadic warriors of the green sea to be bound and stationary. Hard to feed themselves with their numbers so condensed.

Some had starved. Some had died in petty blood feuds. All ending in a great battle against demons where yet more warriors had fallen.

“I see the great spirit hunter fighting alone,” he said, looking to Palacus, his main ally, then the others.

None would quite meet his solid black eyes directly. Many had doubted him as the months wore on. But when the demon army had finally come, his word had become law. The hard truths of a proven prophet.

“Tell us what must be done,” Palacus said, looking at him no longer as a friend, but as a worshiper like all the others. It was hard, and lonely, but he knew such things must be.

“We hunt the dark spirits beyond the green sea.” He pointed to the dark smoke rising to the north, the orange light piercing the unnatural gloom above them all. “We hunt and kill them until the world’s ending. As our ancestors once did.”

The chiefs stared like there might be more. But he had no more words. He walked towards the burning forest alone, intending to use what strength he had regardless of the tribes.

His magic had grown stronger than even he had believed resting on the ancient mountain, elevated by his people. The gods had rewarded him for rallying the tribes, and holding back the attack.

As he walked he thought on his father going uselessly to his death in the ancient crypt of the Maker’s Hall. Dying out of ignorance and ambition.

That is not how Nighteyes would die.

Before the end, he would teach these planar invaders the dangers of the prime. He carried the dark secret of his forebears in his veins—their abyssal blood and power flowing through him and giving him the dark sight. He more than any knew how to kill them.

But he wasn’t surprised when the grasslands thundered behind him. He had seen this moment in his dreams. Though the sound was sweeter in reality. He heard the chiefs calling to their braves. Heard the great horde of the centaur tribes riding out behind him in their tens of thousands, not cheering, but silent in their quiet purpose.

We are coming, my strange human friend, he thought to the mighty warrior who had saved his life. I told you we would hunt together. It will be in this life, after all.

**

Mason and Blake materialized in the teleporter in Nassau together. Mason shivered involuntarily, very happy when he stepped outside.

“God it’s great that bothers you.” Blake was giving him a shit-eating grin. “You’ve been swallowed by giant worms and demons. Had your arm blown off. Walked the planes. And a little arcane spell gets you queasy. It’s amazing.”

Haley and a small cluster of other civilians saw him and came running in a mob. Mason did his best to cut it all off, giving Haley a quick hug. She was breathless as she talked at top speed.

“The elves showed up. And they have the seed. And I guess there’s lords everywhere and if you look you can just see for yourself. I don’t even know where to…”

“The life seed? As in they can make it work? Where?”

She nodded.

“On the wall. These portals take you right down. They’re fighting now, I don’t know if you can…”

He turned and jumped without another word, leaping straight off the platform and spreading his wings to look for the elves. He blinked in surprise when he realized Blake had followed him on his disc.

“Where you go, I go, brother! It’s past time the dynamic duo fought side by side, don’t you think?”

Mason didn’t respond. But if he was honest, he was glad Blake was with him, here at the end. He stared out beyond the settlement, seeing a blanket of undead and demonic enemies covering the ground as far as he could see. Finally he looked at the champion looming above the forest, coming towards them slowly, inexorable as death.

“That’s Yalor’s champion?” Apparently Blake had seen it, too. “What the hell do they feed that thing? Seems a little over the top.”

Mason forced his eyes away, seeing some primal lords dotting that endless army. He slowed and hovered, deciding the elves and the seed could wait a minute. Despite being hard pressed, it looked like they were holding the walls down there for the moment.

Demi and all the others would be coming through that teleporter soon, and the defences would get maybe hundreds of new player guards. That would change the dynamic.

What they needed was dead lords, as quickly as possible. If Mason and Blake could get those down, the lower defences might even hold. And then what was left of humanity could focus all their attention on that champion. He looked at his brother.

“You able to make more constructs?”

“I’ve been making them since the moment we got here. I sent Navi down to the wall. They’re spawning already.” He grinned as Mason raised an eyebrow. “Talking to you takes like 10% of my brainpower. Max. I could probably play checkers, too.”

For just a moment, it felt like old times. Sure, they were floating in the air on wings and a metallic disc. But somewhere under all that post-apocalyptic insanity was Mason’s little brother.

And maybe somewhere under all his power and superhuman strength, he was still the same kid, too. He had no idea how to say any of that, and decided not to try.

“Ready to kick the shit out of a bunch of primal lords? Just us, in all that insanity?”

Blake smiled widely enough it even touched his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

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