The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)
Chapter 530: Breaking time

Mason scrambled at frantic speed from bridge to bridge, sending Streak to cover the other side. Each prison was the same—a room full of runes, with ‘zombies’ in the middle.

The second stitched on head was a man Mason hadn’t even remembered before cutting down. As he ran off it came to him—the civilian he’d abandoned in his tutorial, some man who’d asked for help before he died.

Mason hadn’t known then he’d ‘respawn’ and still have a chance, but either way, he hadn’t helped. After a moment of hesitation, he cut the poor bastard down.

The third stopped him in his tracks. It was a young woman—Seamus and John’s player friend who’d died in a Great Tree during some event. Faye? Maye? He honestly couldn’t remember.

And this one pissed him off. As if he was responsible for another player, another soldier, who was in the same situation as him. Who died facing the system bullshit. Blame yourself, he wanted to scream. You’re the one who killed her!

The fourth had over a dozen zombies. It was a collection of the players Mason had killed taking Nassau. They stared with glassy eyes and half open mouths, their tiny, grotesque goblin bodies turning so they could look at him. Mason cut them down one by one.

But his mind went back to the forest—hunting down players, group by group without mercy. How many had he killed? Had it really been so much? He’d almost died in the process. A rogue type had stabbed him in the gut, a mage accidentally setting the trees on fire. His regeneration then had been barely a whisper of what it was now.

He’d stumbled away smearing the trees with blood, throwing himself into a stream, half conscious as he waited to see if he healed or died. How many times had he almost failed? How many times had he prepared himself for the end—telling himself he’d done all he could, that now it was beyond his control.

Yet he survived. The others didn’t. Was he supposed to feel guilty for that?

The son of a bitch demon even showed him orcs—another group he wouldn’t have remembered except the older one. It was the group he’d cut down in the tower protecting his brother. Creatures who’d been trying to betray and kill Blake despite some agreement.

What were they trying to say? Protecting his brother from a bunch of warlike, slaving monsters was evil? Mason cut the ‘greenskin’ zombies down. These weren’t innocent victims—these were warriors who’d lived by the sword, and died the same way.

He tried to keep moving, kept leaping bridges, trying not to pay attention to the others. There was nothing he could do except distract himself—to slow his real job of bringing that shield down. Or he hoped to God that’s what he was doing.

All the while, the demon laughed.

Yeah, Mason thought, laugh it up, Chuckles. Soon I’m gonna wipe that smile off your disgusting lips.

He thought of some rotting demonic monster that had slaughtered children trying to judge him. Maybe the monster was right to laugh: it was a joke. All of it. Like their synthetic overlord ‘judging’ anyone. The hypocrisy and unfairness—the sheer fucking arrogance of it all.

Mason hacked the zombies down with growing rage, moving faster and faster as he scrambled across the room.

“Patron! Quickly!”

Mason heard the growing concern in Phuong ‘s voice, and it tossed a bucket of ice on his anger. But as he came out of the latest ‘cell’ he saw Streak leave the last with a howl. They were finished with the zombies, and hopefully the shield.

The whole room shook. Chains rattled as the bridges started to fall. Mason had to run and jump down to the platform, and he saw the ranged players doing the same. The demon frothed at the mouth, eyes rolling in sickness or maybe pleasure.

“Thank you, my lovelies,” it choked as vomit slopped down its chest.

Red, circular portals flared open at the end of every chain. The metal seemed to suck inside, going even more taut as it pulled at the demon’s body. The red ‘shield’ visibly flickered, and a few of the melee struck. Some of the blows landed, doing obvious damage. Then the demon screamed, and pulled apart.

Disgusting flesh and goo slopped everywhere. Half the players were gagging and falling back as far as possible to the edge of the platform. And from beneath all that mess, a black skeleton emerged, unfolding as if it had been contorted inside, restrained in all that girth.

It rose up to a good twelve feet. The same red eyes gazed around the room, a bony hand holding the ‘snake-whip’. The other had four claws as long as swords.

“So much death,” it rasped, holding the long claws out and pointed straight at Mason. “So much lovely death.”

The chains, at least, were gone—sucked into the portals. The players were free on the large platform, spreading themselves out now as the snake-flail spun and hissed. Mason heard the beating of wings from all around him.

The dozen portals hummed, more of the stone-like ‘gargoyle’ demons emerging from all over the room. The black skeleton tittered and charged at Mason.

At least he didn’t have to activate Essence of the Stag.

**

“Everyone but Phuong, focus on the flyers!” Mason shouted. “Protect Alex!”

Streak and Mason closed on the skeleton in unison from opposite directions. His Claws were out, Aspect of the Cheetah engaged. The undead-demon raked straight down with its own claws at terrifying speed, its movement fluid and unnaturally fast.

Mason deflected and rolled, coming up close enough to Exploiting Strike the thing’s hip before getting kneed in the chest. His breath blasted out, body jerked back hard enough he would have fallen if he wasn’t ridiculously Transformed.

He felt the claws coming behind him like a scoop and twisted to hold them off. Streak slammed into the demon’s back, clamping his huge jaws on a femur. Phuong swiped his sword at the thing but looked confused when the blow didn’t come with a giant dose of demon-smashing power.

The ‘demon’ spun with horrifying speed, throwing off the wolf and kicking at Phuong, spinning in a circle with its claws and flail. The snakes dove at random, seemingly without much concern with simple things, like physics.

Mason quickly lost track of things. Flyers were everywhere, dive-bombing players with spears and foot-claws. He saw one go down and break on the floor with a spear lodged in its chest. He saw another get zapped and tossed down into lava. Only then did he remember Seamus and look up, heart dropping when he saw the fire mage getting targeted by several flyers.

“Seamus!” was all he had time to yell before going another round of swipe and spin with the demon. He saw the players trying to get together for protection, but he also realized the platform was moving—like it wasn’t exactly sturdy and kind of shifted or leaned in the lava.

Between the movement, the demonic goo and slop, and the now breaking pieces of rubble from the flyers, it was a fucking tripping hazard.

“Use everything!” he yelled, feeling the fight quickly running out of control.

Multi-colored light flared as the players started blowing cooldowns. Spear walls sprouted up across half the platform. Carl appeared twice. Phuong turned and ran off from the demon at warp speed. Demi started pumping out enough nature mana Mason could smell it over everything.

Oh. And Annie transformed into a fiery creature with a flaming sword-axe. Or something. Growing at least double her size.

Mason stared long enough he nearly got skewered, then fell back and deflected another claw attack before the skeleton turned and stared, too.

“Arminius?” it said, then laughed. But the sound was forced. “The master has been looking for you. Oh yes. Looking and looking and looking.”

‘Annie’ grew some more. Then sprouted fucking fire wings. Her voice sounded like it had a dozen voices, some combination of male and female.

“Here we stand.”

She crossed the platform and smashed a ‘gargoyle’ with an effortless swat, weapon crashing down into the skeleton’s claw-arm with a spray of sparks and an audible crash.

Mason’s concern vanished, the cold thing in his mind taking over. Annie had bought him time. What to do with it? What was the most effective thing he could do?

He planted his feet, and summoned his bow. Then he turned and hunted the flyers after Seamus, swapping to fire arrows and letting his eyes unfocus as he led his targets by feel and instinct.

He clicked his Power Shot, then sprayed a shot-gun like Crippling Strike, loosing at his impossibly fast rate at everything in the air.

The fire mage was wreathed in flames but dripping blood. He cried out and spun in the air as he blasted away, seeing Mason’s arrows and renewing his efforts.

Alex had also walked out to the middle of the platform and held out his arms, presenting himself as a target. Demons dove and slashed at him, the other players panicking and trying to keep him protected until he waved them away.

The air was starting to fill with green and brown motes of Demi’s magic now, and Mason couldn’t help but grin.

Good enough, he thought, banishing his bow. He finally lit the demon with a Hunter’s Mark, not surprised when it showed a lack of obvious weakness. But he could see it was hurt.

Carl times two was making bone dust with his shard(s). Annie was making visible cracks. And there were Streak-shaped tooth marks all over the thing’s legs.

Mason grit his teeth and charged for another round, not even summoning his Claws. His people had kept their heads, kept alive, and cracked demonic bone. Now it was time to break it.