The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

“Come on. Just a little closer.”

Mason pressed himself flat against the wall with his bow ready. A group of elite gnolls wandered the corridors in a mostly predictable pattern, but three seemed to range with slight randomness in their patrol. Mason had placed his traps carefully along the walls, starting with about three more steps from this annoyingly cautious, stupid son of a…there!

Wood splintered and sprayed as the first ‘deadly trap’ released a burst of magical kinetic energy. The gnolls staggered in surprise and Mason loosed a Crippling Strike at the nearest, following with a barrage of barbed arrows at full speed. The creatures howled and chased, and Mason turned and ran.

He had chosen this particular hall for a reason. It opened out to a larger room with two levels—the higher balcony, only accessible via a crudely made, narrow ramp. Which was currently trapped.

Mason stopped at the bottom to take two more shots at his pursuers, then ran straight through his last trap because they recognized and didn’t target him. He leaned over the balcony and shot again and again before the creatures reached the structure.

More shrapnel exploded. The creatures staggered and finally Mason drew his blades and stood in the narrow gap, ready to hold his ground. The first gnoll crashed into view with two arrows in its chest, blood dripping from countless small shrapnel wounds. It leaped up the ramp with rage in its eyes, but Mason was ready.

He hacked down with Predator’s Strike, taking the creature’s throat and dropping it.

[Killed Gnoll elite. Experience awarded.]

Gnolls weren’t deep philosophers. They unleashed everything they had, as fast as they could. The next charged in its place, and Mason activated his Shield gem as it arrived. The black claws raked again and again against the translucent barrier, all to no affect. Mason had been watching them and battling them long enough now to know they were explosive for a few moments, but slowed down considerably after that. He turned off his shield, and struck.

Ranger’s Claw sliced off the creature’s hand, then he jammed his knife into its throat before kicking it backwards down the ramp.

[Killed Gnoll elite. Experience awarded.]

The third was less hurt from both traps and arrows. It yanked the corpse of its ally away and attacked with the same fury. Mason held his shield until it failed, then slashed with a re-charged Predator’s Strike before finally backing away. The gnoll dripped blood from its chest, but didn’t fall. It followed Mason up the ramp, and then it was just him and the elite gnoll on a narrow platform, all their powers down. He could have leapt to the ground. But he didn’t.

“Come on then,” he growled. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Both fighters charged. Sword and knife met claw and fang. All found flesh. Blood soon sprayed and dripped as Mason and his opponent growled and roared in defiance. Finally the gnoll fell, sliding down the platform to join the others at the foot of the ramp.

[Killed Gnoll elite. Experience awarded.]

Mason slumped against the wall, and breathed. He let the pain wash over him, inspecting his wounds casually. His shirt was largely in tatters and he stripped it off. His flesh was a ragged pattern of mud and blood and he hoped Regeneration protected him from infection. His stomach grumbled, and he swallowed a dry mouth at nothing, head starting to ache from dehydration. When he considered the possibility of dying from thirst after all he’d faced, he couldn’t help himself, he laughed. It went on too long, and when he heard the sound of his own voice cackling in the gloom, he thought it vaguely mad.

“I might need a shrink when this is all over,” he said to the dead gnolls. “I could drink your blood. How’s your salt content?” he shivered and thought of the pond, deciding he wouldn’t try drinking that until things got very, very desperate. Maybe he could boil it somehow…

He sighed and pat the dead creature’s head. “Well. Thanks for the chat. Keep a look out for me. I need a little rest.” With that he closed his eyes and slept in moments, forgetting to reset his traps.

 

* * *

 

[Killed Gnoll elite. Experience awarded!]

Mason yanked out Claw with a spray of blood, blinking as a few drops hit his face. After he’d woken freshly healed from his three elite kills, he’d pushed further into the dungeon.

“Two more in the corridors,” he whispered. “Three more in the right room.”

Carefully, room by room and hall by hall, he killed his way towards what he hoped was an end to this terrible place.

Two more traps laid. This time a deadly and a snare. He waited for the next patrol and took him down at range without a scratch. He dragged the corpse away and reset his traps, waiting for the next.

It had been awhile since he leveled. Whether that meant he needed much more experience now, or if the ‘minor’ award was vastly different than the moderate, or maybe both, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. He had work to do.

The right room looked tricky. It was the last cluster before a ramp, ostensibly leading higher up the tree. That’s where the leaders would be, Mason was sure. Some law of nature made the top of the food chain prefer the highest peak, or the lowest valley, never just milling about with the nameless, faceless middle. But so be it. Mason would just kill the poor schmucks in the middle, all the way to the top.

Two more traps. Another deadly and a snare. The halls were long and narrow and it was Mason’s arrows that did most of the killing. He loosed as many as he could, then fell back to his traps, Crippled, then fell back again. He had three, long, almost straight hallways as his killing ground, and it was very rare now that a gnoll even touched him.

He stepped to the last room without hesitation. The closest creature’s head turned as he sniffed the air. Mason put a Power Shot into its neck.

[Critical hit! Kill awarded. Experience gained.]

Some kind of pleasant dinging sound followed what apparently was a ‘critical hit’. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done but there was no time to consider. He made two more quick shots before the other gnolls reached the door, then he fell back and followed his plan. With the first creature dead so quickly and unexpectedly, the rest was easy. Mason fell back into a familiar pattern of withdrawal, peppering his two targets with arrows as he let them chase. Two traps and near thirty arrows later, the last gnoll dropped dead to the floor.

[Killed Gnoll elite. Experience awarded. Level nine reached!]

Mason smiled at the floating, ghostly text, then pulled up his interface. He had several options, as usual, with anything he hadn’t taken still available, with only a couple being new.

 

[Rupture. Cause a wound that just won’t close.]

[Venomous Spit. Spit. But with venom.]

[Ranger’s Mark. Change your enemies into prey.]

 

As usual, the powers were almost empty of real detail. Spitting venom didn’t sound terribly appealing, but both Rupture and Ranger’s Mark sounded like excellent choices. Mason stared at both, but he just couldn’t ignore Aspect of the Wolf anymore. Increased speed and stamina—especially now that he had basically unlimited arrows—was just too damn good and possibly life saving. He forced himself to take it.

The power entered his list and mind and he practically felt it entering his lungs. As it did he realized it wasn’t just an active increase that could temporarily boost his speed, but a passive boost to his stamina and muscles. Well that was a fantastic surprise—the faster and longer he could cover ground, the sooner he could find Blake.

But he had to focus. First things were first.

He set two more traps leading to the ramp up, then walked up with sword and dagger in hand, ready to face whatever was next. Ghostly words appeared, and some invisible force stopped him cold.

[Entering Four-Claw Gnoll lair, final level. You will be unable to exit once inside. Would you still like to proceed?]

Great. Just great. Well, the truth was, Mason knew he wasn’t turning back no matter what lay ahead. He took the final step up the ramp, and as he did a kind of hatch slammed shut behind him. For a moment he panicked, thinking his traps had been set below and maybe now he couldn’t use them. He focused on a nearby wall and tried to create one, and he sighed in relief when his vision lit up with possibility as normal. It seemed he could override old traps with new ones, unless crossing the barrier had somehow disappeared his old traps.

A single door lay ahead and at the end of a small corridor. Every instinct told Mason this wouldn’t be some drawn out, extended series of tunnels like the first level. He expected whatever final threat existed in this place, it would be waiting just inside that door. No room to slow and run his foe this time, he realized. And no way to leave. He tried not to regret choosing Aspect of the Wolf.

With little option left, Mason lay two traps at the door, dropped his staff and most of his vine, leaving a few loops tied around his waist like a belt. “Here we go, brother,” he whispered. “One more room, then we’ll have a chance.” He pushed open the simple bar, and stepped through with bow in hand.

He cracked it open as quietly as he could. When nothing roared or exploded, he pushed a little more and enough to slip inside. Still nothing seemed to notice him. But he froze as he looked out into the massive room, or maybe hall, far too large to exist in a damn tree.

On the far end three gnoll giants sat on a raised dais. Pale torchlight flickered from behind them, revealing the same massive frame as the one he’d fought, but strange, mutated body parts. They looked like they’d been burned with acid, or twisted with birth defects. They were bound to a kind of throne behind them, huge iron shackles attached to their legs.

On both sides of the dais, ramps led up to raised platforms at least twenty feet high. On the left, bathed in dull light, was a modern looking, double-cammed, compound bow. On the right, next to several barrels of maybe provisions, a long haired blonde sat prone in what looked like a metal bikini. She looked up at him with big, blue eyes, struggling to her knees as she realized he wasn’t a gnoll.

“Please, help me!” she called with maybe a French accent, her voice smoky and strong.

“Where are your allies?” hissed a voice, and Mason twisted looking for the source, drawing his string and forming an arrow as he searched.

“Up here, manling,” mocked the voice.

Mason twisted and loosed. His arrow struck some invisible barrier, bouncing away from a staff wielding gnoll much like the first. This one, though, was floating on some kind of wooden disc. Mason shot two more arrows for good measure, both of which bounced away harmlessly. The gnoll sneered.

“We cannot yet harm each other, fool. Now where are your allies?” It searched the room with its gaze just as Mason did, fear or maybe just impatience in its eyes. “The Creator demands I wait for all to begin.”

“Begin what?” Mason kept one foot on the doorway, continuing to scan the room for threats, or useful terrain.

[Tutorial query: this is a unique dungeon encounter. Challenge level for one individual at the tutorial level: insanity.]

The creature snorted, as if it hadn’t heard the system message, nor had any interest in answering.

“Tell me where your allies are, or I will begin without them.”

Mason rolled his shoulders and at last stepped forward, loosening his draw. “It’s just me,” he answered, following his path with his eyes. “Let’s get on with it.”

The girl seemed to deflate on the platform, sagging back into her chains.

“Impossible,” the gnoll snarled. “You couldn’t have made it this far alone.” Then it smiled, broken fangs bobbing as it laughed. “Ahh. I see. They died, and now you’re all alone. Poor, hairless ape. The Creator does not care for fairness. Or for misfortune. Choose your reward, and face your destiny. Though what you choose makes little difference. My champions will tear you apart.”

With that the gnoll rose higher on his floating platform. The three giant gnolls seemed to come alive together, roaring and pulling at their chains as the girl wept in despair. Mason would have apologized if he thought it did any good. And he’d save her, of course, if it was possible. No doubt the choice was supposed to be difficult.

The girl was young and fit yet curvy in all the right places, with thick lips and a beautiful face. But Mason had made his choice in less than a second, because dead men couldn’t help anyone, and in a world like this, only the best killer got the girl.

“Alright, you big dumb bastards,” Mason whispered as he stared at his bow, thinking of his newfound speed. “Let’s see how many hyenas it takes to kill a wolf.”

He turned on the active effect of his Aspect of the Wolf, and sprinted straight at the ramp.