Reborn to Devour: A Demonic LitRPG

“Because we’re the strongest,” the golden-eyed demon answered with confidence. His eyes drifted down to the impressive trinkets that coated his body like a treasure chest vomited on him. “I seriously doubt that every common demon is being treated this way.”

“Nice try, but no dice, Kugsig-Nita. It seems that your mind does not possess the same brilliance as your skin. A handful of you may lay claim to that title, certainly. But, can you honestly say that everyone here is the strongest? Can you not think of someone more deserving that did not make it?”

Everyone’s eyes instinctively went towards the metallic gnome before they all nodded in agreement that this was not the strongest roster. My own mind wandered towards the raging flames of Vendetta.

“Do we all have powerful sponsors?” The rooster suggested. “The Demon in Red is rivaled by few other demons.”

Angry calls went through the walls at the dissatisfaction of being called lesser.

“Not a bad guess, Basil, our cockatrice friend. Many of you do have strong relationships with our upper echelon demons, but there is one of you that is unclaimed. In fact, they have been deemed a nemesis of a well-known demon. Anyone else want to throw their hat in the ring?”

“We all have killed the most,” the horror said with certainty in a wispy gurgling voice. “Discounting someone by appearance is the best way to be killed by them.”

“An important lesson, Kifo, but the wrong answer,” Bob said with some fake sadness. “You all have killed an impressive amount of your fellow demons, but not the most. The one who has killed the most is actually in our back cars.”

With the three most likely answers gone, thoughts turned inward. I tried to focus hard on what Bob had been saying. We were not the strongest, but many of us were. We did not have the best allies, but many of us did. We did not have the most kills, but many of us were in contention. There had to be something else.

“We all are on our first death?” I wondered aloud.

Bob’s head snapped in my direction. One of the spotlights that coated Bob in blinding light shot down onto me like a moonbeam. I closed my eyes in surprise, but saw dots of light inside my eyelids. The sounds of a laugh track filled my ears to taunt me over my discomfort.

“It took you all long enough,” he said with a wooden smile. “That’s right, Ishmael. Out of all of the demons that wished to ride the Hell Express and advance to the third rung, you are the only seven who have not died a single time since the death that brought you down here. Such a feat, whether done through overwhelming strength, smarts, or cowardice, is incredibly rare. And, because you are so rare, our audience is dying to get to know you better.”

“We have fans?” The metallic dwarf, their placard reading: Gizmo, asked with great discomfort.

“Why of course you have fans! There are many forms of entertainment surrounding the demons of the lower rungs,” Bob informed us while addressing whatever invisible cameras that surrounded him. “Demons of higher rungs will have different levels of interactions with them. Some reach out and offer some rewards to perform a task that they cannot do from their higher stations or will send messages or may even watch silently.”

While Gismo looked around, displeased that the eyes watching him may have far outstripped the known interactions, the information did not come as a shock to anyone in this car. Speaking from my own experiences, it was more likely that we wished for them to talk to us a bit less.

“Then are we to fight until there is only one deathless demon left in this car?” The shadow crow, Vespara, asked cautiously. Their daggers were raised preemptively in case we wanted to pick up from where we left off.

My hopes were immediately dashed. Bob shook his head and laughed along with a chorus of mocking laughter from just beyond the car.

“What a riot, these demons are,” Bob continued with his inflammatory tone. “Such rarity as yours would be wasted on each other in a death sport. Didn’t I just say you all got here through different means?”

“Then what is the point?” The spider demoness, simply titled ‘The Mistress’ asked as though she were in the midst of the world’s worst sales pitch.

“It’s stellar that you ask, Silk-weaver of the Burning Trench,” Bob complimented. “These fine demons here are watching to better understand how to take that first death for themselves. In fact, why don’t we start with you?”

“Me?”

With two sharp claps from Bob’s lifeless hands, a large screen appeared behind the main stage. On it, were multiple different angles showcasing The Mistress at different times and places in her previous area. In her hands were two whips made of nearly invisible thread. She snapped them forward and diced her enemies apart without them even understanding what had struck them.

She smirked to herself and the body part charcuterie board she created. With a flourish of her arms, scores of emaciated demons with eyes that glowed a brilliant violet descended upon the feast that was provided.

“Coming from one of the harsher regions on the second rung, our Mistress here was a real Caesar of the Burning Trench. Undying loyalty from her ranks combined with her own natural prowess led to most of the region falling under her silk gloves.”

However, her fighting displays were scarce. She spent much of her time inside of her fortified complex carved into the steep cliff face of the trench she called home. A hammock spun from her own webbing held her lounging body up while a host of demons pressed their mouths to her skin.

One by one, the demons collapsed limply around her hammock, their eyes rolled into the backs of their heads. From her mandibles, a secretion dripped into their eyes, activating only when they had regained their senses.

“Watch out folks, be seduced by her at your own risk. Fall prey to her and be subjected to a very potent curse that will make you even more susceptible to her charms. She has an entire realm full of adoring fans absolutely starving to reunite with her in the realms beyond. Recruit her into your ranks and you may get an entire army in the deal.”

“I have a few pets on the train with me,” The Mistress said dismissively.

The exploits of the demoness disappeared. In its place, a roster of names suddenly began appearing. Off to the side, a pink light and a yellow light blinked on.

“An overwhelming amount of men and a few very envious women have thrown in their interest in personally inflicting your death,” Bob announced to the crowd. “It seems like old habits die hard for a lot of you. Oh well, you all know the old adage: you’re more likely to meet someone who killed a woman than didn’t.”

The Mistress’ visage darkened at Bob’s jests. The tips of her mandibles clacked together in annoyance and her tongue passed threateningly over her pointed teeth.

“That was true of many of my followers as well. I suppose they hadn’t met the right person yet.”

“Right you are,” Bob agreed. “Well, the numbers are in, one hundred and twenty seven demons want you dead. Combined with the two lights, an XP bounty of two-point-five million has been set. Kill her and you win the pot, if she survives until the next Hell Express, she gets the bounty. Remember, only the names that made it on the list are eligible for the reward. Any opportunists that get the kill themselves will void the bounty and nobody receives anything.”

We all perked up at the same time at the ridiculous number listed before us. The equivalent of a fortune from the previous area was just offered as a prize. The only thing we had to do to get it was live.

But if we killed our hunters as well…

“What do those lights mean?” Basil asked as he scratched the side of his face with a claw.

“Those tell us the interest of our five very special guests,” Bob explained to a great deal of mixed reactions from the audience. “It’s not often that you meet them in the lower rungs, but, the higher you get, the more likely you are to cross paths with them.”

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How adorable. They cower when they see our presence. We haven't talked to most of them in decades and they still look over their shoulder in worry that we're waiting there for them.

“Why don’t you go next, Basil?” Bob asked rhetorically.

Now, Basil occupied the main screen. Unlike The Mistress, Basil’s video feed was exclusively donated to fights against powerful monsters. His burly form stood toe to toe with the beasts he challenged. The few demons that he did face seemed to die from a glance.

“Our voracious friend here has the highest stats of any of our contestants. In a realm that was sparsely populated and overrun with untamed Dungeons, Basil’s primary prey was Boss monsters. No wonder this rooster boasts the largest roster of abilities and grabbed the interest of the Demon in Red. However, he has no real experience against the wiles of an intelligent demon. Unstoppable tank or hapless prey? You decide.”

Four of the five lights turned on for Basil. Red, pink, yellow, and black all lit up, leaving the light purple light as the only one not to activate. However, only a handful of names appeared. The read-out for the reward didn’t even reach a quarter of The Mistress’.

“A lot of interest from our guests, but, it appears that none of you are too keen on taking on the Demon in Red directly. Rest assured, Basil. You may yet live, but that survival will not earn you anything.

“I’m not interested in anyone weaker than my sponsor,” Basil replied with a shrug, somehow getting a new meal delivered to him mid-broadcast.

Gizmo went next. Their videos consisted of expert hiding skills as well as sabotage. Spells would mystically backfire and weapons wouldn’t activate when they were about to catch them. A massive roster came to kill them, assuredly because they believed them to be the most achievable kill of the lot. But, only the black light lit up, offering no bonus to the bounty.

Kifo’s highlights followed. Their style of overwhelming attack matched my own. The only difference was that they relied far more on their potent fear aura to perform dive-bomb to turn whatever they hit into paste.

Three lights turned on with a similar roster of hunters as The Mistress, bringing him to the new bounty leader of the group so far.

Vespara was an assassin in every sense. She could hide within the shadows of her targets and stabbing them in their vitals with a pair of poisoned daggers. However, it seemed that she was already deep within the ranks of a powerful organization, earning her only a handful of opportunistic hunters.

Kugsig-Nita earned a great deal of ire from the viewers. Blessed with an ability that increases XP gains and incredible luck. The golden-eyed demon seemed to waltz from place to place, earning the perfect item at each turn. The car vibrated with indignant fury upon watching him waltz effortlessly through every obstacle that this realm seemed through throw at them.

As if to make him more unpopular, the screen showed several audio clips of him complaining about how unfair this world was. He often was seen waxing poetic to the foes he had defeated before finishing them off.

In an instant, he had racked up the largest bounty.

Finally, it was my turn. Like the others, my highlights showed up on the screen. My handiwork in the Bowels, my close encounter with the Corpse-Watcher, and my duel with Sir Leal appeared first.

After that, it was a close shot of me on a boat atop a tumultuous sea. Passion was nowhere to be seen though they had been standing directly next to me. All on my own, I threw the hook into the sea and ripped down the Dungeon. The room was strangely silent upon witnessing such an act. Even Bob did not immediately comment on my performance like he had the others.

“Well, wasn’t that something, folks?” Bob coughed out the words. “Let’s see who wants to try their hand at taking our friend Ishmael on.”

The screen turned red and an icon of a bucking stallion appeared. Only one name appeared on the list.

The Army of Wrath.

“An entire organization? And all five lights?” Bob said with a wave of confusion before fixing his expression. “How fun! The entirety of wrath and all five guests will be watching this closely. The bounty is set and a hair over ten million.”

Quest!

Swallowed Anger

The entirety of Wrath has decided that you must die at their hands to assuage the injustice the felt at you betrayal. But, war goes both ways. Just as they can kill you, you can kill them. Don't let it end at the deaths of a few minions. Don't let it end at the bounty. Take the grievance all the way to the top. Kill Wrath personally.

Reward: Something fun.

A laugh that sounded almost joyous involuntarily escaped from my mouth. Bob quickly turned the focus of the show towards me. I could feel all the eyes stare deep into my soul. I could feel the rage of the followers of Wrath that wanted to be the one to earn the favor of their leader by decapitating me personally.

“I don’t plan on hiding, either. So come get me, fuckers.”