The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 290: Serious trouble

Phuong had heard the sound of his patron's lightning echoing down the stairs and some kind of hole in the roof. He turned and ran at full speed to go back, forced to cut down a few guards and cultists that stood in his path.

Once back on the floor above, he wasn't sure where to turn until he heard Mason shouting. He gave up stealth entirely now, running at full Athleticism speed to reach the young man and fight by his side. Together they could find the others.

Then he found burnt corpses and grinned. Seamus would be close.

He ran past them, following a trail of roasted dead until he found a giant, blue wall and a huge pack of his enemy milling outside. He stopped and stared as they knocked their weapons against it, or pushed on it, seemingly oblivious of how it got there.

"There! Behind us!"

One of the robed creatures pointed right at Phuong, and a few dozen eyes turned and stared.

Phuong ran.

He didn't expect they could catch him with his natural speed, but he also didn't know where he was running. The one place he needed to be was directly behind, and he expected he would have as much luck with that wall as the enemy.

But there had to be a way around...

Phuong raced down the halls trying to keep a map of the place in his mind. He believed it was a kind of pyramid, with a more or less consistent layout with floors shrinking as they went up. They'd built it in overlapping squares, with only the very edges designed with an obvious slant. The hallways and rooms weren't consistent, however, and Phuong couldn't predict if the next would lead him on or if he'd have to...

He slid and shuffled to a stop as red eyes met him in the gloom.

A huge, partially mummified-looking...giant was lumbering down the hall. It was hunched and coming forward like an ape on all fours, skeletal, mammalian head turned to fit beneath the roof. It screeched and opened its toothless jaws, hands gripping the walls as it tried to pull itself forward.

Phuong weaved a stun pattern. After countless hours of practice he needed very little time or thought, mind and arm falling into a hurried, familiar routine. He launched the energy but started moving back, no faith it would actually stop the thing.

It did not. Though for a moment the creature at least slowed and seemed a bit confused, followed quickly by enraged. It shrieked again and maybe even increased its speed, and Phuong turned and fled.

He realized he was going to have to stop running and start fighting soon. There were guards and robed enemies everywhere, and with that damn wall up it was clear the maze of this place was increasingly trapping him in.

Should he start shouting for help like Mason? He wasn't so sure.

Unlike his young patron he could only take a little punishment before his wounds would overcome him. He was built for speed and damage, for a duel against a single or at least limited targets. He would only last so long in a prolonged, narrow battle against a horde.

But his situation wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Phuong had fought and fallen back against a superior foe before. And he had done a great deal of damage.

He chose the longest corridors, picking ground he knew rather than risk new rooms and new enemies. Then he ran back towards the mob.

They were still chasing, still running ahead as they realized he was running towards them. The guards at the front called a warning, trying to slow and get their spears coordinated before Phuong weaved another stun, following with the more complicated blast.

It was a difficult feat, but Phuong’s practice made difficult routine, and both discharged in rapid succession.

The first knocked their formation apart. The second blasted a guard from his feet with a spray of blood.

In the confusion Phuong raced forward, slashed aside a spear, and took his first head.

He slashed twice more before leaping back as the spear-tips followed. Then he activated Soul-Slice and cut three spear shafts in a single blow, following with two more cuts before leaping back.

The huge beast was coming, so he had a little time. He made a riskier series of cuts, taking a hand and a thigh before dodging another spear thrust at his throat.

He could have activated Adrenaline, but the cooldown was significant and he wanted to save it. And it was time to go.

The huge creature loomed behind him, so he turned and fled down the side hallway. Next he needed to wound it badly enough to stop or slow it, then use it to block the hall. At least for a little while.

But he needed to know how it fought. He rushed forward for a testing stab, expecting the thing to draw back or at least acknowledge the danger in some way. Instead it just reached for him and ignored his sword.

Phuong barely had time to pull away as the giant hand reached for his upper body. He dropped and rolled, coming up with a slash that clanged off the creature's limb.

Tattered rags and bits of stone fell to the ground, but the creature didn't seem to notice or care in the slightest. It just kept coming forward, hunched and eager, reaching as Phuong desperately scrambled away.

He attacked again with Soul-Slice, cutting with his innate blade at the creature's arm again before scrambling down his last known hall. A piece of something like stone chipped and broke off his foe, but it was no more than a finger. It continued on without the slightest interest.

Phuong knew then he was in serious trouble.

Whether the undead creature was somehow resistant to his Soul Slice, or simply so powerful he could barely cut it, he wasn’t sure. But he had to run, and hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going.

His 'escape' route might take him into more rooms filled with creatures, or an aptly named dead end. But he had little choice. This creature was beyond him in a straight fight, and his only choice was to be careful and get creative.

If he'd had more time he might have cursed his lack of prestige class, his slow leveling and his safer choices. But chastizing himself wouldn't help him survive. He ran down the hall, turned for the closest branch, and sped away as fast as possible.

With the sound of bone scraping against stone, and the occasional unnatural roar, the creature chased.

* * *

Alexander Ostapovich sat against the cold stone wall, waiting to be killed. It was pretty much the way his father had gone out.

Though he supposed this time it would be a mutant priest with a knife, rather than a communist soldier with a gun. History didn't repeat, he supposed, but it did rhyme. The thought struck him as rather funny.

"What's so funny, slave? Eh? Why the hell is it smiling?" The increasingly unstable, robed creature looked at Alex and then his colleagues with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "And what is all that racket? Where are the guards you sent to investigate? What is happening?"

Alex sighed, and managed to scratch an itch on his bloody nose with his tied up hands. He'd have given his left testicle for a vodka and a cigarette. Considering he’d be dead soon, he’d have given both testicles.

"Do you have smoke?" he asked, thinking well why not. He did his best to ape the gesture of a cigar. "Or maybe drink? For last request, eh? Dying man should get something."

"Shut up! Shut up!" The priest's already crazed eyes bulged. He flailed his knife somewhat wildly, pacing before the altar supposedly waiting for Alex's neck. "I won't wait any longer. If we're under attack, then we should ask Daganost for his help. Yes. Yes!"

A hideous smile split the creature's huge mouth, and he stared at Alex with considerable pleasure.

"Are you ready for your miserable life to finally have some meaning? You will gain the attention of a god."

Alex sighed and settled back against the wall, pretty sure he wasn’t getting that smoke.

The priest growled and grabbed him, then gestured for the guards to help when Alex let his weight hang uselessly. He'd regained a little mana and could still shield and heal himself. But he decided to save that for the actual sacrifice attempt.

He couldn't wait to see the look in the creature's eyes when its first stab failed. It would have to suffice for his final pleasure.

"Get him up! Quickly! Oh you stupid, useless slave. I don't have the time to make you pay for your insolence. Your death will have to be enough."

The guards, unfortunately, were quite strong. They had Alex up and on his feet in seconds, then marched him to the altar and ripped open his shirt. Apparently it would be his chest, not his throat.

A small stab of fear finally struck home, and Alex clutched his Gaia gifted necklace in one of his tied up hands.

The thing never did seem to actually do anything. But for some reason it brought him comfort, like a good luck charm or even a cross. He wasn't a man to question pleasurable or otherwise good things, so he just held the pretty necklace and took calming breaths.

Despite a lifetime of disappointment and cynicism, Alex glanced one final time at the entrance to the room, hoping for one of his friends. He was not surprised when he saw nothing.

He heard the racket the same as the others, and expected his allies were not far off, even now slaughtering the creatures. But he couldn't get to them.

He'd appeared by himself, directly next to several guards and priests who had immediately attacked him and drained most of his mana before capturing him.

There wasn't a thing he could do. Now he would die with as little glory and for as little purpose as he had lived. It was a sobering thought, but Alexander Ostapovich had never really imagined it would be otherwise.

Still, he smiled. He had survived the apocalypse, survived the tutorial, and escaped the tyrannical stupidity of his first 'chief' in Nassau.

He had met a woman and enjoyed her quiet company immensely. He had made friends, even some good ones, who might one day have been like family. It wasn't so bad, all things considered, for a second and maybe third life. And Alexander had never been very afraid of death.

"I'll see you soon, Papa," he whispered in Yiddish as the creatures splayed him across the altar. The thought brought him comfort, too, and he imagined all the lost relatives he might see again.

Was there an afterlife? His family were Jews, though he had never been a believer, and not even his closest friends in his country knew. It was better to keep such things to yourself in this world.

"Yes," hissed the priest with a triumphant smile. "Pray to your useless god. Soon, you will see the power of mine."

"Nope," said an almost cheery voice, somewhere behind the priest. "You're both wrong."

A familiar, almost translucent blade went straight through the priest's back with a spray of blood. The creature looked down with horror, reaching for the blade before its eyes rolled back and it dropped where it stood.

Carl appeared from nowhere, next to the door with his knife raised as he charged the guards. They roared and went to meet him. And another Carl started murdering them from behind.

Alex let out a long, held breath. He prepared to shield the man with what little mana he had left, but didn't expect to need to. Then he glanced at the ceiling, and with a bit of surprise, felt the urge to thank at least two gods.

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