Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse
Chapter 304: Father and Son

Six days before the end of the grace period,

Harambe was out to fight. His knuckles landed heavily on the ground, crunching bloodied autumn leaves as he calmly strolled past.

He and his brorillas could not level up as humans did, but they could sharpen their muscles and Big Thoughts. They hadn’t been sitting idle this past year. Already, the battered corpses of hyenas covered the ground around Harambe, their E-Grade bodies unable to withstand the power of his fists. Only the leader of this place could be a worthy opponent. His sights were set on the distant mountain—the core of this E-Grade dungeon.

The more he approached, however, the lower his brows fell.

“Uu-uu-ah!” Loha, one of his brorillas, exclaimed.

Harambe nodded heavily. Something was wrong. There were more corpses in their way—corpses that had been there for hours. Someone had been through here. Someone was in the dungeon that he, Harambe, had claimed.

And that someone had killed an entire hyena pack by skewering them with ice spikes.

The Ice Peak.

Harambe paused. The three brorillas behind him awaited his command—would they leave, or would they stay?

They pressed on. This was Harambe’s dungeon. What kind of weak Big Brorilla would cower at the presence of enemies?

His stroll turned into a tumbling run. His knuckles thundered on the ground as he dashed through the thick forest foliage, orange by autumn, terrifying any remaining animal out of his way. His eyes spat fire. He jumped at a thick branch, grabbing it tightly to launch himself upward, to the the top of the tree. He drummed his fists on his chest and roared.

The birds went silent. The forest animals stilled. This was a big brorilla with two Big Thoughts and the will to fight; who would dare stand against him?

Two creatures, however, did not stop. Harambe was closer to the mountain now; he could see its peak. And, up there, he saw a small figure clash against a scarred, brown-skinned lion. Ice was everywhere, reflecting the sunlight. The figure danced around on wings of ice, dodging the lion’s swipes and slashing at it with twin ice swords.

But that was Harambe’s prey. And the ice man, whoever he was, had just ignored Harambe’s roar of dominance.

He shot forward even faster. His knuckles now cratered the ground, while his three brorillas struggled to keep up. Harambe was furious. Someone was challenging him. He couldn’t let that pass.

The forest floor flew under him, turning into stone that angled upward. The mountain was a small one—it took Harambe less than a minute to climb it, but by then, it was too late. The brown lion lay dead, its body torn apart by ice shards. The man who’d killed it stood proud over the body, gazing at Harambe. Harambe came to a pause and glared back.

He knew this man. It was the one who had defeated the wizard bro, the leader of the enemy.

Alexander Petrovic.

The ice man, still wearing wings of ice and wielding twin swords, flashed him a bright grin. “Would you look at that,” he said. “The brotherhood’s pet gorilla. How lucky is this?”

Harambe snorted. His nostrils widened, his eyes reddened. He slowly walked within ten feet of the ice man, then rose to his full height and beat his chest with all his power, roaring out in dominance. Spit flew out. The air itself boomed in resonance. His shout was enough to shake the ice and cover the sky. Any beast, any brorilla, almost any human he knew would have cowered.

But not this ice man. Not Alexander Petrovic. He was strong and surprisingly brave, facing a ten-foot-tall brorilla’s battle roar from almost point-blank without flinching. He only stared back unblinkingly, and there was hardness behind those eyes; there was blood.

Harambe realized he was in the presence of a worthy challenger. He slowly fell back onto his knuckles, sizing the ice man up and down. His instinct warned Harambe that this man was stronger than him. But it didn’t matter. Harambe was the leader of his pack, and he had just been challenged. He would die before retreating.

Their glares crossed and stayed there.

“How has your alliance survived with such idiots at the helm?” the ice man said with confidence, not taking his eyes off Harambe’s. “First Edgar, now you. You should possess the intelligence to realize I’m stronger and defy your natural instincts to escape. Why do you stay? Why did you come to the mountaintop knowing that I was here? You could have run away. You had the time. Instead, you just rushed to your death. There is nothing admirable about idiocy.”

Harambe growled. He heard his three brorillas catching up, heard their short breaths as they realized their big bro was locked into a duel for dominance. He heard their cheers but did not see them, for he refused to look away from his opponent’s unblinking eyes. His own eyes were hurting by now, but he would be damned if he blinked first.

“Don’t worry,” the ice man said. “I do not obey stupid rules. Your subordinates will die before you, and I will make you watch.”

Harambe growled again, pulling back his lips to reveal wickedly sharp teeth. Once, they had been used to bite bananarms. Now, they would tear into this man’s throat. He approached slowly, digging his knuckles deep into the ground until he was almost face-to-face with the ice man, barely a foot between them. The man raised his chin. His eyes had not faltered yet, and Harambe’s were beginning to seriously burn. Gradually, the man’s gaze hardened further, carrying tangible threat.

“You should have stayed in your forest, gorilla, where that robot would never let me touch you,” he said. “You fucked up.”

Harambe growled, intensifying his glare at the expense of his eyes burning even harder, but it was useless. The man was relentless. The intensity of his stare ramped up, reaching into Harambe’s chest and freezing his soul. It encased his burning courage in ice. It slipped fear into his heart, an undeniable awareness that he, Harambe, was the weaker party.

And, while his insides were shivering, his eyes were burning. Every second of holding them open took more effort than the last. Harambe’s Big Thoughts flared, enhancing him, but so did the ice man’s.

Every second was now a year.

Harambe blinked. The moment he did, he knew he had already lost. The ice man grinned wickedly and attacked.

***

Five days before the end of the grace period,

Brock, Nauja, and Gan Salin appeared in the middle of an empty country road.

“Here should be fine,” said the feshkur immortal accompanying them. “We are across the planet from the overseer. She shouldn’t be able to detect us.” She then turned to the three and smiled. “Welcome to Earth.”

“So this is what it looks like,” Nauja said, looking around. “I expected it a bit more…advanced.”

“We’re in the countryside now,” Salin explained. “Wait until you see the cities. You’re going to love it. They have these things called computers, where you can play all sorts of games.”

“Like a ball court?”

“Not exactly. You’ll see.”

Brock, meanwhile, was speechless. His eyes scanned the horizon, his ears were perked up for any hint of sound. He recognized nothing. Yet, he knew beyond any doubt that this Earth, his home planet, where he was born and met Big Bro. Where everything began.

And not just that; his pack was here, too. Father, mother, his brorilla bros… He hadn’t seen them in such a long time. In fact, he barely remembered them, as he had only been a baby when he and Big Bro went to the tournament.

The rush of emotions was unexpected. Brock felt his Big Thoughts vibrate in resonance, revealing this place as the origin of his brohood.

Suddenly, Brock really looked forward to reuniting with everyone—and fighting on their side. It was going to be the greatest thing ever.

“Brock. Brock,” Salin said, snapping his fingers in front of Brock’s nose. “Are you okay?”

Brock blinked. “Yes,” he replied.

“Good. You kinda spaced out a bit there. Are you so nostalgic?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “That’s my big bro!”

Nauja saw Brock’s longing eyes and felt sadness. Her own home was lost now; she would probably never see it again in her lifetime, never meet her father, relatives, and tribe members again.

It stung so bad.

However, barbarians did not show weakness. They were strong. Nauja bottled up those emotions and turned to the feshkur—Angr. “Where do we go now?” she asked.

“I am instructed to bring Brock where Jack Rust trains,” she replied. “As for the two of you… Would you like to visit the headquarters of your forces?”

“Can’t we come along with Brock?”

“It is…unadvised. Hiding until the final moment is vital, and the more people we have, the greater the chances of being discovered.”

Nauja frowned, but Salin stepped in. “It’s no biggie, Nauja,” he said. “A few more days is nothing. Let’s just wait with Edgar and them. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see me.”

“I don’t know those people. Are they your friends?”

“You can call them that. I mean, they don’t know it yet, but— Hey, Brock, buddy. You’re spacing out again. What’s wrong?”

This time, Brock did not reply immediately. He’d felt something. A sudden, piercing pain in his heart as if he was losing something precious. It was a calling that couldn’t be put into words, but one he could certainly follow. And it felt urgent.

“There,” he said, pointing in the distance. He looked at the feshkur immortal with full seriousness. “Must go there.”

She looked surprised. “But flying is—”

“Must. Please. Now.”

Faced with the intensity of his gaze, she must have realized something was wrong because she nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.” With a wave of her hand, a gale appeared to pick them all up before shooting in the distance. They were flying near the ground, not breaking the sound barrier but close. Salin’s cheeks were blown back by the wind and he made “aaaaa” sounds, but Brock’s eyes remained fully focused.

Something was wrong. What could make him feel like this?

One hour later, flickering blue walls appeared in their vision, cutting off the landscape. “A dungeon,” Angr said, frowning. “Do you want to go in there?”

“Yes,” Brock replied. The feeling was even stronger now. Even more urgent.

Under the feshkur’s lead, they flew through the blue wall to come across a terrain of destruction. A forest of orange leaves stretched under them, littered with patches of blood. The corpses of what looked like hyenas were scattered on the ground. From this vantage point, they could see that in one direction, the corpses were frozen. In another, they were smashed to death. Both paths led from the edge of the dungeon to a small mountain in the center.

“This dungeon is E-Grade,” the feshkur said, frowning. “Was there a battle? I can sense that the boss of this place is dead, but the dungeon itself is unclaimed.”

Brock did not say anything. He pointed at the mountaintop. As they flew over, his urgency and anxiousness grew so great that he transitioned into full clarity. Suddenly, he was in battle mode. His burning heart was controlled by a calm mind.

The first thing he saw was a large brown lion skewered by two large ice shards.

The second were the bodies of four brorillas, one larger than the rest. Brock’s heart clenched. He felt short of breath. He jumped out of the air, landing hard on the ground before the others. He immediately rushed to the side of the largest brorilla, sneaking glances at the other three as he passed. He recognized them all. Herom, Loha, Ehamba. All dead.

And how could he not recognize his own father?

He rushed to that body, and to his insane relief, discovered that Harambe was still alive. He lay there, eyes open, chest rising and falling to the beat of his heart. He sported great injuries that prevented him from moving but was clearly not dead.

“Father!” Brock exclaimed in joy before even getting there.

Harambe turned his neck with great effort. When he saw Brock, his eyes were colored by intense surprise. A hint of joy threatened to appear in them, but it was immediately crushed by embarrassment and humiliation so intense they could have filled the world. Harambe looked away.

Brock froze in his steps. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Now that he was closer, he could see more things. Harambe lay on his back, arms and legs outstretched. Each was nailed to the ground by an ice spike, rendering him unable to move. Blood covered the ground around him, and dried tears had drenched the fur below his bloodshot eyes. His lips were torn from biting them. His breaths came short, as if his throat was so parched from shouting that every exhale rubbed painfully against it.

When they crossed gazes just now, before Harambe looked away, Brock had seen an ocean of pain behind those eyes. There was no edge in them anymore. They were broken, overwhelmed by loss and exhaustion. These were the eyes of a man who’d lost his will to live.

Brock was stunned. Was that really his father? The proud, unyielding big brorilla?

What could possibly have happened?

The other three had also landed by now, shocked at the scene before them. Salin tried to say something, but Nauja grabbed his arm and squeezed it to shut him up. Angr watched with deep sadness.

“Father…” Brock muttered, taking a couple steps in Harambe’s direction. Before he could approach, however, Harambe made a snorting sound as if sending him away. Brock froze.

Overcome with grief, his mind worked hard. He looked around, taking in the scene again: Harambe, nailed to the ground, and the three dead brorillas strewn around him. His mind completed the puzzle. He realized what had happened. He realized why his father didn’t want to see him.

Someone had defeated Harambe, nailed him to the ground, and forced him to watch as they slaughtered his little brothers. They had then left him lying there, slowly bleeding out over the course of several days, with nothing to do but grieve and lament.

How could he not be broken?

Brock’s heart clenched again, becoming small and hard like a fist. His deep sadness turned into burning anger, filling him from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. His entire soul turned red. His four Big Thoughts and one Very Big Thought revved in concert, all demanding vengeance.

Brock had never been more enraged than he was right now.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice laden with barely contained anger.

Harambe made another snorting sound. This one was less clear, somehow; wetter. He was still looking away, enduring the pain to keep his neck turned.

Brock’s lip trembled. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. A part of his brain realized that his question must have caused Harambe even more shame, as he could not speak.

Harambe’s body shivered slightly. The sound of droplets hitting the ground was discreet, contained, but enough for Brock to hear it. Mastering his anger, he closed his eyes and turned away, understanding that every extra second he spent looking at his father just pained them both even more.

Just how much shame would a man feel, being in such a state before his own son?

Brock’s eyes carried iron. He crossed gazes with his bros, seeing that they shared his fire.

“It must have been Alexander Petrovic,” Gan Salin said, lacking his usual playfulness. “Of all ice cultivators on Earth, only he possesses such power.”

Brock nodded. He remembered that man. Now, Alexander Petrovic was a name and face forever engraved into his mind.

He would absolutely destroy him.

“Where is he?” Brock asked calmly.

“I have some knowledge of this planet’s politics,” Angr said. “Alexander Petrovic, the leader of the Ice Peak, should be waiting in his faction’s headquarters. However, attacking him there is useless. It will only warn the Animal Kingdom of our presence and ruin everything. We are not in position yet.”

Brock met her gaze. He was conflicted.

“However,” she continued, “in five days, Petrovic will be at the Grace Concert. It is where your forces will assault theirs. If you can wait until then, you can fight him without endangering the entire war effort.”

Brock stared deep into her eyes. He weighed the situation—the well-being of everyone against his burning rage. However, he was a big bro. He knew the right choice. He could wait.

Slowly, he nodded.

“Thank you,” Angr said earnestly. “I have contacted Jack Rust, who contacted your faction. They are already on their way. We can stay, if you want, or move to the hiding place. The choice is yours.”

Brock raised his head to the sky, fighting to rein in his own tears. Tightening his lower lip, he nodded. “We go,” he said, straining to keep his voice level. “Dog bro, girl bro. Take care of Father.”

Salin and Nauja both nodded. “Brock…” Nauja said, looking at him tenderly, but he shook his head.

“I am fine,” he replied. “We go. See you soon.”

They nodded again. “Good luck,” Nauja said.

“What happened is terrible,” Salin said seriously. “We believe in you, Brock. We’ll take care of your father and everything else. Do what you have to do.”

Brock locked eyes with him and nodded. “Thanks, bro,” he replied. He then turned to the feshkur immortal. She raised her hand, summoning a breeze, and they both flew away together, leaving the scene of carnage behind.

Brock did not turn to look, nor did he want to stay. He understood. Right now, the closer he was to his father, the more pain and shame he would cause him.

However, his soul remained heavy with grief. It was burning with righteous rage. This was all he could think of. The beast inside him had awoken, and it would soon spread brutal carnage with all the power he’d painstakingly cultivated over the last year. He was a bro bomb about to explode.

Waiting was torture, but he would train hard. And, in five days, he would absolutely fucking destroy Alexander Petrovic.