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

Nokar De’lkinaton Val Soren clutched his spear in one hand with his shield strapped to his other arm as he marched in formation. The smell of corruption danced in his nostrils, mingling with the scent of the woman in front of him. He nearly sneered at her odor. She was from one of the lower districts, and by all rights, she never should have been allowed to march next to someone like him.

Even if she wasn’t so obviously corrupted, with black streaks decorating her face and surrounding pure white eyes, there was no way she could truly keep pace with her betters. Nokar had never even bothered to learn her name. Most of the regiment hadn’t, despite her repeated attempts at…friendliness.

When she’d approached him, a smile on that grotesque face, it had been all he could do not to backhand her. He would have spat on her, but that would have been a waste of saliva.

Of course, in the back of his mind, he was aware of just how much more powerful she was than him. She’d recently progressed to demi-god status, which was why her emerald armor sported a crest of captaincy. By all rights, she was his superior. The very thought of someone – no, something – like that considering herself anyone’s superior nearly made him retch.

But rules were rules. The Emerald Guard was nothing without them. And even if he disagreed with certain aspects of their hierarchy, he knew that he would never be allowed to progress if he found himself labeled as a troublemaker. Those sorts usually ended up on guard duty down in the lower levels. Or worse, enforcing discipline upon those fools who worked the fields.

Farmers.

As if growing a few vegetables was an onerous task. The plants did most of the work themselves, while those lazy dullards merely watched. That they were somehow deemed important enough to support was a mystery to Nokar, whose family had remained ensconced in the Gilded Reach for hundreds of years. The only time any of them descended from their perch was when duty demanded it.

His mother was an acquaintance of Vhalor himself, and Nokar had once had the pleasure of seeing the leader of the Synod without his armor. Golden skinned, perfect features – he was the very ideal to which everyone else in Ithalon strived. That he hid it all behind his own emerald armor was a travesty, as far as Nokar was concerned.

If it was him, Nokar would have walked around half naked to display his perfection for all to see.

But he was not Vhalor.

Not yet.

One day, he would reach those heights. Perhaps, he would even succeed the leader of Ithalon once Vhalor reached deification.

Those pleasant thoughts overwhelmed his disgust for the woman in front of him as they continued along the well-carved path. To each side were discs set there by the Emerald Guard’s scouts, and they were meant to protect the marching army from the abyssal corruption as well as wayward monsters.

In their first purpose, they were a passable deterrent, though each member of the army still needed to wear one of the purification amulets. However, in the second, they were far less effective. Barely a day went by that they weren’t forced to fight one abomination or another.

For his part, Nokar considered it good training. After only a couple of months, he’d already gained an entire level. If he kept up that pace, he would reach demigodhood in a few years. And from there, it was only a matter of time before he took his rightful place in a position of leadership among the Emerald Guard.

He would sacrifice the mutant the day he was in charge. Or better yet, he would exile her. With her deformities, she was practically a monster already. The wild abominations would likely welcome her as one of their own.

Beneath his helmet, he smiled as he imagined her stripped naked and marched out of Ithalon. Then, they would all see what he already knew. She was not a person. She was just another monster.

The same was true of all the other monsters among the Emerald Guard. None were quite as overtly deformed as her, but Nokar would find the ones who concealed their mutations beneath illusions or cosmetics. They couldn’t hide from him.

“Halt!” shouted Commander Tilari. He was a proper Ithalonian. Unblemished and strong, he was a low-level demi-god who’d shown his valor often enough that no one questioned his position. Not even Nokar.

The commander played his role. When Nokar rose to power, Tilari would maintain his position. He’d earned that right through long years of service.

At his command, the entire formation ground to a halt. They moved in perfect unison – the result of their impeccable training. Even the mutant remained visually indistinguishable from all the rest.

Though her smell lingered, like rot concealed beneath cheap perfume.

Tilari didn’t immediately give them a command. Instead, he looked from one guard to the next, his discerning eye searching for anything out of place. His inspection lasted for nearly five minutes as his eyes danced across the entire formation.

There were over a thousand guards present. An army unto itself, but only a fraction of Ithalon’s mustering capability. That was all that was necessary, though. It was just an escort force, after all.

Or that was the intention.

“We set out to find the monster that killed our beloved Hollow Voice,” Tilari said. “We have tracked the despicable thing for months, and it has led us to an unsanctioned settlement.”

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Nokar’s heart beat a little faster. Not in fear, but rather, in excitement. Every member of the Emerald Guard dreamed of finding a settlement full of traitors to punish, though few ever got the chance. There were just too few, and most were too far away from Ithalon for anyone to find.

But it seemed they’d gotten lucky.

“You all know what to do,” Tilari announced. “The monster’s trail leads there, but our scouts say that the settlement is untouched. Our worst fears have come to pass – the enemies of Ithalon have found a way to ally themselves with the abominations. They have fallen to corruption, and they clearly intend to take their vengeance on their betters. We will not allow it. We will not!”

To punctuate his shouted declaration, he slammed his gauntleted fist into his hand. Nokar and a few others let out wordless yells of agreement, but the rest of the army remained silent.

Commander Tilari paced back and forth as he gave his instructions. As expected, they would employ no fancy maneuvers. Such were unnecessary against a bunch of traitorous weaklings. Instead, they would attack head-on, relying on purity – both of purpose and body – to see them through.

They marched forward, crossing the first of the expected purification rings. They were a hallmark of every settlement, the invention of the original Emerald Tyrant. Contrary to popular belief, he had been an artisan and Runecrafter first, and a combatant second. And more than anyone else in history, he was responsible for their species’ continued survival.

It was a shame that his miraculous invention had been coopted by such vile creatures.

Soon enough, fields of crops came into view, though the Farmers had already deserted their posts. Cowards, all. Anything to get out of work. It seemed that those workers – if they could even call themselves that – were just as lazy as their counterparts back in Ithalon.

The settlement was larger than Norak expected, though after spending his entire life in Ithalon, he had difficulty estimating the population. It didn’t matter. They were all weak. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have fled Ithalon.

He followed his column, his fingers whitening as he gripped his spear.

Just as they approached within a few hundred yards, something stirred along the low wall separating the settlement from the farms. A single man wearing the oddest clothing Norak had ever seen stood atop the edifice.

Ethera swirled around him as a dagger manifested in his hand. Wind whipped his cloak to the side as he stabbed his forearm. He swept his hand out, spraying his surroundings with blood.

But it never hit the ground.

Instead, it coalesced into a complex circle of runes. It flashed, bright and menacing, before reality itself ripped in two, revealing a circular splash of nothing. From that circle shot dense flames, followed by a tiny creature – no larger than a toddler – that hit the ground a second later.

Norak narrowed his eyes as he studied the small thing.

It was fat and ungainly, with a vaguely humanoid face. Its features were exaggerated, its skin bright red. And tiny – even in comparison to the rest of its body – wings sprouted from its back.

It let out a thrilled cackle.

Then, it bounded forward. It moved with alacrity, though its awkward gait made it look more like it was bouncing.

Fire bloomed in its gleefully outstretched hands.

But it never got the chance to do anything else, because someone hit it with a thrown spear. The creature was obliterated by superior firepower.

Norak let out a subtle sigh of relief. He wasn’t afraid. He just found it disconcerting. Or so he kept telling himself – a refrain he repeated when another creature emerged from the portal. Then another after that. Soon, they were coming in a steady and unbroken stream.

Captain Tilari shouted for an attack, and Norak – along with all the others in the company – cocked their arms back and threw their spears. The projectiles flew true, and Norak felt a tiny trickle of experience flow into him as his own weapon destroyed one of the little monsters. A second later, his spear reappeared in his hand.

But to his horror, the volley did nothing to stem the tide.

In fact, the man had opened two more portals from which even more monsters spilled.

“Attack!” shouted Tilari.

The company did. But the monsters did the same. As they drew closer, each one summoned a tiny ball of dense flame, which they threw in the army’s direction. The first volley fell harmlessly short. The next hit upraised shields, doing no damage.

Then, the creatures were among them.

Each one cackled as they waddled between their ranks. A few ended up getting kicked and sailing back the way they’d come, but the army was so ill-equipped to deal with such small monsters that they didn’t adjust to the new threat in time.

A series of explosions combusted the air, sending the first ranks flying backward into their comrades. That created a domino effect where their close ranks worked against them. For his part, Norak ended up with the mutant woman sprawled across his body.

He stabbed her.

Inadvertently. That was what he would tell his superiors. But he knew the truth.

She gasped in surprise, then yanked herself free.

Norak climbed to his feet to see that chaos had overtaken the once meticulous formation. Those in the back struggled to bring their weapons to bear, while those near the front failed to adequately deal with the explosions. No one had died. The eruptions weren’t that damaging, but they did sow chaos.

The steady stream of monsters continued forth.

Commander Tilari – who’d managed to maintain his footing – began to shout an order, but before the words could exit his mouth, someone appeared behind. Dressed all in black, with their face entirely covered, the newcomer buried a dagger in the base of Tilari’s skull. The precision necessary to make such a strike was incredible, and Norak couldn’t help but gape in awe.

Until more black-clad fighters emerged from stealth to attack his comrades.

He took his chance and stabbed his comrade again. She never saw the spear strike coming before the blade entered the base of her skull. Norak never would have thought of exploiting that gap in their armor if it wasn’t for the black-clad fighter.

She fell, one less monster in the world.

Norak steadied himself, ready to show his true might.

He never got the chance, though.

A tiny figure leaped at him, then exploded only a few inches from his face. He went reeling backward – and right into a waiting dagger. It stabbed in and out of his back. The armor stopped the first few thrusts, but it couldn’t hold up to the barrage. And soon enough, he felt the sting of venom coursing through him.

He wheeled around, ready to fight.

But by that point, the attacker was gone. Meanwhile, he saw a scene of chaos and confusion. Someone had used the summoner’s distraction to attack from the rear.

More than a hundred were already dead. Good soldiers, all. Men and women from good, respectable families. Gone, now. Dying in pools of their own blood.

Norak took a step, but he stumbled and fell to his knees. He tried to rise, but his muscles refused to cooperate. It was like he’d never even ascended, he was so weak.

He fell forward, barely catching himself before faceplanting.

And then, someone grabbed his helmet and ripped it free. He tried to stop them. He wanted nothing more than to conceal his own shame. His mother called it a birthmark, but he knew better. It was a mark of corruption. Tiny. Barely bigger than a fingernail, and easily concealed behind his beard.

But he knew it was there.

He scrambled for his helmet, but he couldn’t move.

That was when he felt something wet dripping down his chest. His fingers crept up to feel blood gushing from a gaping wound in his throat. He’d never even felt the blade.

That was his last thought before he fell face first into the ground.

He would never rise again.