The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 336: A bad sign

Blake knew they were getting overwhelmed. His constructs were very good at holding the demons off, but they weren’t particularly good at killing them.

As had happened several times, the type of construct he’d brought wasn’t fit for purpose. His centurions could stab the demons all day with their swords, but the unnaturally tough creatures just wouldn’t die.

The goblin assassin seemed in a similar state of disadvantage. He clearly worked best when he wasn’t getting the creatures full attention, but there weren’t enough allies to hide behind. So he was largely on the defensive.

The Stoneblood prince seemed similarly suited to outlasting his enemies—with obviously incredible toughness, and an impressive ability to smash his enemies all over the place. But they just kept getting back up.

They’d have been dead already without Annie. The five foot two, emotionally damaged, teenage girl, was hacking demons apart in silence like a black and red metronome. She was soaked in blood, goo, and sweat, racing back and forth across the cavern splattering gore all around her.

“I am nearly drained,” Seul-ki said behind Blake, her delicate hand on his shoulder, her green and brown eyes starting to bruise.

They were on the last chain, but it was far worse than the others. Each ‘river’ of energy had also trickled into the others when lit, and now they were working to find a solution with four lines instead of one. They all had to line up, weave through the puzzle, and reach the end without crossing.

“I have the second line connected,” Pliny rasped, his clever eyes roaming the puzzle in concentration. But he could only do so much without seeing the actual symbols, and Blake didn’t have the time to show him more. For him it was like navigating a maze without seeing the walls.

“Thank you, Pliny,” Blake said. “I’ll finish the rest. If there’s anything you can do to help the others, please do so now.”

The goblin nodded and limped out of Blake’s sight, which was entirely focused now on the puzzle in front of him. His hands were scraped bloody from manipulating the tiles, his eyes and head throbbing with dull ache. They were almost there. Just a little more time.

“The demon is channeling, Master,” Navi said in a neutral tone. “Slow. Psionic. Probably a modified Mind Rend.”

Blake winced, knowing he had no choice but to stop whatever it was. Mind Rend was what the demon had used against him when he’d saved Ilya, and what his demonic necklace produced. It had nearly broken his mind, and probably would have if he hadn’t been able to limit the damage with Partition.

If any of his team was affected, he knew they’d be nearly useless. So he looked up from his work with one half of his mind, preparing to throw another deflective burst of his Psionic Shield to counter the spell. But the damn demon just kept channeling.

“Navi?” Blake called, and his floating familiar stared with growing concern at the huge demon.

“Mind Rend confirmed, Master. But he’s channeling far more mana. It will come soon.”

Blake winced, and took the Mana Gem from his pocket. He had no more than 10%, and Seul-ki had less. Deciding how much to use was a bit science, and a bit art. He had to decide how big the blast and commit himself appropriately or either waste mana, or fail to stop it. But he decided this was the last time.

Blake pulled at everything Seul-ki had left, trying not to notice her agony as the girl all but crumpled to her knees beside him. He pulled from the gem, trying not to touch his own mana, to save his mind as much focus as he could. Draining your bar completely tended to knock you on your ass. And Blake couldn’t afford that now.

The demon growled as his channel ended, a visible explosion of power booming from his head. Blake drained his gem dry and threw his Shield, watching the demon’s power strike and spill over it, starting to fill the room before the ‘connection’ between it and the demon seemed to end, and the power popped like a burst balloon.

“I’ll kill you, insect!” the demon roared in fury. “Arrogant fool! I will hunt your kin for a thousand years! I will maim and rend your mind until all that remains…”

Blake blocked out the demon’s voice and focused on the puzzle. There were no more chances now, he knew that. Even if the others could hold off the demonic portals, this powerful demon was going to keep trying to destroy Blake’s mind. And the next time he would succeed.

He flipped the third and fourth line symbols together, one half of his mind focusing on each hand as he tried to move past the tangled block of the other two lines in the center. It was incredibly difficult to hold all the lines and symbols in his mind, and he was tempted to just start turning, testing, hoping for the best with his luck.

Definitely not a good sign…

* * *

Ilya touched Blake’s brother’s hand again and tried not to get turned on. She quietly swore at the timing of her fertility, then chanted the names of her ancestors since the beginning of her clan.

She whispered them, so that no one might overhear the names and use them against her kin in the future. But it was important they were said correctly. Perfectly. Her mother had taught her that.

This time when she had traced the line, finishing finally with the names of her own mother and father, she did not weep. She felt only pride now, having avenged them, wishing they might somehow join the circle of elders and that she might see them again in their afterlife.

But she again recognized the powerful crones. Ancient oracles cackled or cursed as they emerged from the fog of the dead. Wrinkled hands grabbed at Ilya’s hair, her staff, her clothes. But compared to the last time she had engaged the spirits, this time was almost…easy.

“Oh, leave her,” hissed a familiar voice. “She is too powerful now for your greedy fingers. Leave her I said!” The voice trembled with power. “I wish to hear. I wish to see my upstart kin. This would-be tower lord. Hold up my eye.”

Dead hands clutched a white eye in the mist, and turned it towards Ilya.

“So beautiful,” cooed the toothless, eyeless crone. “So regal. Yet afraid. What do you want of the dead now, child? Haven’t you enough already?”

“Forgive me, honored ancestor.” Ilya bowed her head, but held a steady grip on her staff, and on the names of her kin, which she still chanted in her mind. “I ask you to open that which is shut. A portal to the demon realms. It sits before me.”

The cackling and cursing began again, but quieted soon.

“We see the portal. But this we cannot do, Ilya of the Vori.”

Ilya slumped, not sure what else she could do, or if there was something else the elders might do to assist her. The idea of Blake and all the others failing and dying in that terrible place was an overwhelming thought. But it was possible, maybe even likely, and that fact was beginning to descend around her like some heavy weight.

“Oh be at peace, girl,” hissed the crone. “They will succeed. I have seen it in the mists. So you have wasted precious time on nothing. Go, Lady Ambereye. You owe us nothing, for you have pleased us with your tower, as you will please us soon with your womb. Go.”

The crones laughed, and the mist began to recede.

“Wait!” Ilya tried to hold onto her ancestors, but their power was too great for her to grasp. “What do you mean? Please, explain.”

She was not surprised when they did not. The warmer reality of the Grey Tower returned, and Ilya was kneeling on the stone. She took a few steadying breaths, noticing more and more Stoneblood warriors seeming to plug every doorway and corridor.

The human warrior at her side seemed to notice them also.

“Lord Stoneblood,” Ilya said carefully, her mouth dry, “are you expecting trouble? Even if our allies fail, the demons cannot leave their portals yet. Surely, you don’t need so many warriors.”

The old orc lord frowned at Ilya, and maybe even looked a bit embarrassed. That was not a good sign.

“Your clan served the Stoneblood honorably, so I will speak plain. This opportunity cannot be wasted. We would never harm you, Lady. We honor you for finding the ancient stone, and making the white tower. For this your name will live forever in the stories of our people.”

“But…” Ilya added, readying her spells, looking at the human’s stony expression with no idea what he’d do.

“But,” said Lord Stoneblood slowly, “your marriage to my clan must be secured. With you…here. Alone. I will wait for my son. Then we will take you as a bride-prisoner. After you are married, you may return to your tower, with your new husband, as honored kin and ally.”

Mason seemed to have stopped listening. He was smashing his hand into the demon’s portal again, muttering something about…fatherless dogs?

“I see,” Ilya said, her heart racing. “And if your son instead dies inside that portal?”

The old orc met her eyes.

“I have other sons.”

Ilya knew it was a terrible risk coming to another lord’s tower. She had feared assassination, in fact. But it seemed her actions and perhaps her title as the first female tower lord gave her a kind of…revered status amongst the orcs.

The capturing of a bride was an ancient custom, mostly ceremonial now more than anything. But that did not mean it was gone. And Lord Stoneblood was perfectly correct in his assessment. If Ilya could not defend herself, and had no protectors, she could be taken by a proper noble suitor.

She turned to the terrifying human champion staring into the swirling darkness. He looked like a caged animal, ready to tear apart anything that entered his prison. But she had looked in his eyes when he heard the lord’s plan, and saw something almost like…relief.

She knew then he did not want her with his brother. And so he would not protect her. The realization struck like cold water to her face, and she closed her eyes and tried to find calm, to chant away her fear.

Blake had to win. It was her only chance. Then he had to come through that portal and convince his companions to protect her, despite likely being out of strength, maybe wounded, maybe even with losses. But her lover was incredibly powerful and cunning. He’d find a way, she was sure of it.

As she sat there, though, a terrible thought slowly came to her: to get rid of her, and get his brother back, Mason might actually help the Stonebloods.

She looked at the terrifying man, muscled frame coiled like a spring, his own magic powerful enough to slaughter dozen of orcs…and she knew if he did, there wasn’t a single thing she could do…