Warbreaker's Rage: A LitRPG Apocalypse Adventure (The Connected System Book 3), page 36
It was not stupid. The Wendigo still had an awareness of things beyond the Hunger. It knew it was not alone in the woods. There were other creatures. Not just those it fed on or corrupted. There were things like it used to be.
Lesser beings that didn’t know the Hunger. They would soon.
The music got louder. It could hear voices. Nothing it recognized, not even sure if it would recognize the language it used to know anymore. It just spoke through hunger. The Wendigo didn’t need to understand the language.
It paused, reaching a point where it could look out onto a clearing. It was well-lit, with a small cabin and pond. Smoke rose from the middle where a withered old Crone worked in a cauldron. The music came from the Crone. She was not singing, but still was the source of the music. The Wendigo knew all those words, it remembered what they meant. It thought it strange to find the Crone and the cabin. It didn’t remember seeing either. Had it not been through this area before? It couldn’t remember.
Like the words and images of its old life, the Wendigo found memory to be hard. It knew things, it just didn’t remember all things. Why did it need to? The Hunger was all that it needed. But it would have remembered the Crone?
Wouldn’t it?
If the Crone had been there before, if it had really passed through this area, wouldn’t it have eaten the Crone?
The Wendigo shifted, settling down on its long legs, long arms across its knees, and tilted its bony head as it watched the Crone. The voices had stopped but started up again, allowing the Wendigo to find the source.
Two people crouched in the shadows twenty feet to the side. They were watching the Crone, not caring about making a noise. And it appeared the Crone did not hear them. The Wendigo wondered why. It could feel something different about the clearing. It was not like any other clearing the Wendigo had seen.
Or, more importantly, felt.
There was more Spirit in the air. The Wendigo could feel the energy moving around it, seeming to be concentrated in the middle of the clearing at the Crone. The Hunger knew what it was. It recognized the strangeness.
The Wendigo knew it could not walk forward.
So did the two people.
Who were not people.
The Wendigo remembered what it had been and the two were similar but not the same. The Wendigo was curious and the Hunger was hungry. It moved back into the forest, barely making a sound or moving a branch.
It walked through the trees, moving effortlessly. The voices came from in front of it, no longer from the side. The two were now standing, one pointing at the crone, who still didn’t react. The Wendigo still didn’t know what they were saying, but it was close enough to make out details.
Tall, with long hair. They wore animal hides that had been altered, carrying sharp sticks made of metal. The Wendigo knew there were other words to describe those, but it couldn’t remember. The two had long ears that ended in a point.
They were not human, which the Wendigo knew it had been. If they weren’t human, what were they? Where had they come from? The Hunger sent emotions to the Wendigo, but it didn’t understand most of what the Hunger tried to tell it. The Wendigo just understood one thing.
It was hungry.
Long arms shot out, grasping the two people by the heads. The Wendigo yanked back, the people yelling in surprise that turned to cries of pain. Holding one hard against the ground, feeling the person struggling to try to escape the Wendigo’s surprisingly strong grasp, it held the other one up by the head, lifting it so it could look into the person’s face.
The eyes were wide with fright. It kicked and screamed, hands reaching up to try and pry the Wendigo’s fingers away. It couldn’t. The Wendigo was strong.
It tilted its head to get a better look, leaning in closer. The antlers on top of its head brushed through the leaves, sending some falling to the ground, some settling on its shoulders. It crouched down, keeping the person off the ground. The one it held to the ground stopped moving.
The one it held in the air just sagged, all energy gone. It was resigned to its fate.
The Wendigo complied. It sent its own energy out from its Core, down its arm, and into the body. The person spasmed, screaming as the Wendigo drew its own energy back. But it wasn’t just its own energy it took; it took the person’s energy.
Quickly, all the energy was sucked out of the person. The body shrank in on itself, skin tightening against bones, muscle, and mass was removed. Eyes rolled up into the back of its head, hair shriveling. Arms and legs snapped out, bones not breaking but turning to powder.
The Wendigo dropped the dried-up and dead body. There was nothing left to eat.
For a brief couple minutes, the Hunger would be sated.
It picked up the second body, holding it over its shoulder—a meal for later.
The Wendigo looked at the still oblivious Crone. It didn’t know what the clearing was but it knew that other people, both humans and whatever the two it had were, they would come to this clearing. Not often, but they would still come.
It was an ideal place to feed.
The Wendigo stood up to its full height, head breaking into the thick canopy of leaves. It turned, body bending and hunching, leaning forward as it walked back to its followers.
They would stay here for a while.
Let the meals come to them.
Theodore wanted to scream. The thing before him was hideous, a creature straight out of nightmares. The kind he had before the Connection, not the new ones that the Voice in his head gave him. Those were welcome, in a way. They were still scary, but he knew there was a purpose to them. The Voice told him there was a purpose and he had no reason to not believe.
But the thing before him? The monster was from the depths of hell, literally.
It stood twelve feet tall, at least. Not that it really stood. The body was a tube, starting at the ground and rising up, six feet around, the top rounded. At least a dozen tentacles sprouted from the bottom of the thing, waving and slapping against the ground, not with a thud but a sickening squelching. More tentacles sprouted from the middle of the body. The whole thing was a puke green, mixed with browns, covered in a slime-like substance. It dripped the slime, the sticky stuff pooling on the ground and leaking back into the pond the monster had emerged from.
It hadn’t touched Theodore yet, but they’d learned the hard way that not only was the slime corrosive, but it was poisonous. Roger had been covered in the stuff since the fight had started. Their healer, one of the few in the Clan and barely past Level Five, was having a hard time keeping Roger healed and cleansed of the poison. Malcolm Leonard, that was the healer’s name. He was adequate, but it wasn’t like they’d had much choice.
The body of the monster, a Lesser Fungalia Demon, was hideous enough, but what pushed it into nightmare territory were the eyes. All twelve of them scattered randomly around the body. Large and yellow, with red irises, the lids opening and closing randomly.
What gave birth to such a thing? The Connected System was strange, but to come up with something like the demon? The Voice in Theodore’s head went on about how demons were from outside the Connection. Theodore tried to pay attention; everything the Voice said was important, but he was in the middle of a fight to the death.
They’d managed to convince the only other full party in Clan Brady to switch spots in the dungeon rotation with them. Convince was too strong. Roger had done the talking, he was the public face of the group even though Theodore was really in charge. Roger was not a good negotiator, preferring to browbeat everyone to his side. But with what Theodore had told him, had coached him to say, Roger still hadn’t managed to get the switch made. It was Mike Turner who had done it.
Theodore was glad he had recruited Mike. The teen was annoying, arrogant, and everything Theodore used to hate, but Mike was also easily manipulated. The Voice, and Theodore, had wanted to recruit the boy’s father, but Ed Turner was a Magistrate, and that Class had excellent protections against mental manipulation. The Voice had ended up deciding that Ed Turner was off-limits.
But Mike Turner was not.
Having the boy as one of his thralls would still accomplish what the Voice wanted. Theodore liked that word.
Thralls.
It was a good word.
No one knew they were Theodore’s Thralls. They didn’t even know it. But they were. It was like in the old spy movies. They were Theodore’s sleeper cells. Normal citizens one moment and when he gave the command, they revealed themselves as working for him.
For the Voice. The Hive.
But it wouldn’t be working, it would be under the control of.
Even now, anything Theodore said was taken as a command and done. Any suggestion was a great one. It had taken Roger weeks to get to that point. Mike was only days.
For all his faults, Mike Turner was a lot like his father. He was a natural politician. The other party agreed to switch with Theodore’s group.
Theodore now realized the other party hadn’t really taken much convincing. They didn’t want to go through the dungeon near the school after the first party’s description of the monsters.
Lochlan Brady’s party had detailed notes on the dungeon, including maps, but had said that because of the Clanlord’s high Level, things would be different, and the Bosses would most likely change. The first group through had detailed what had changed, they’d explained in gory detailed how close to death they had come.
Theodore couldn’t blame the other party for not wanting to be next. They would have done it; the dungeon slots were few and far between and highly coveted, but switching with Theodore’s team, who had been third in line, was only costing the other team three days, and in return, they’d get much better details on what to expect.
Dungeons were dangerous and could lead to death.
Everything in the newly Connected world could lead to death.
Theodore didn’t know why the Voice had wanted them to go next, but it had, so he did what he needed to make it happen.
He didn’t regret it, even when facing off against the monstrosity.
Up until the final Boss battle, the dungeon had been as Lochlan Brady had described. The Level of the monsters was different, and the mini-bosses were not as tough, but the layout, quests, and monster types were the same. Theodore’s group hadn’t breezed through it; the dungeon had still been tough, but having foreknowledge took it from heavy life-threatening to only moderately life-threatening.
A big difference.
It didn’t help that this was the first time fighting with two of the party members. Roger and Theodore had fought together a lot on the way from Epsom to Northwood. Mike Turner had been with them for a week or so. The three had fought together in the woods around the school. But Malcolm Leonard and Eric Hanlon were new to each other and Theodore’s small group. He wished that Randy had agreed to join them, but the man had refused.
He’d never fully trusted Theodore, hadn’t seemed to be on the way to thralldom, and the longer he was away from Theodore, the less that weak hold was maintained. Randy was no longer in Theodore’s plans. The other traveling companion, Jim Caldwell, was not a fighter. He was still under Theodore’s influence but was a crafter and Clanmember. He was still useful.
Eric, a Level Five Common Class Archer, and Malcolm were not under Theodore’s influence at all. He hadn’t even been able to start the process. Even during the rest periods, there just wasn’t enough time. Their guard was up from being in the dungeon. It wasn’t the right environment for the Voice to begin its convincing.
Maybe after they were done with the fight, Theodore would get a chance. Malcolm would be a huge get for Theodore’s growing Hive. The man was just a Common Class Healer, but he was still a healer. Even a Common Class Healer was valuable.
There were too many Common and Uncommon Classes in Theodore’s group. No Rare except for his Level Seven Mentalist Class. He had no hopes of getting a Unique or Legendary Class, but a Rare or two would be good. The Voice wanted Rare. It kept referring to the Common Classes as fodder.
Roger was an Uncommon Class, a tank type called Shieldbearer. Mike Turner and Theodore found it funny that as arrogant as the kid was, he’d only gotten an Uncommon Class called Striker. There were at least four Strikers in the Clan already. Mike Turner was nothing special, no matter how much he wanted to be.
It was a good mix of Classes. The first couple of fights had been rough since they had been new to each other. But the more they fought, the better they got.
Because of the many eyes, the demon could not be surprised. With its eyes and tentacles, it could attack from all sides. There was no flanking or sneak attacking the demon. They still spread out around it, with Roger concentrating on what they thought of as the front, the side of the tube with the most eyes. Mike moved behind it, stabbing at tentacles and trying for eyes. Malcolm was a dozen feet behind Roger, off to the side so he could see the others, mostly Mike who did need some heals thrown his way. Eric and Theodore stood to the sides of the demon, having clear fields of fire.
That was a term that Roger used. Theodore hadn’t understood it at first.
He did now.
Theodore Activated Pain Spike, his most damaging offensive Ability. It was a simple Ability, sending a sharp jab of pain through the opponent’s brain. It was painful, doing a lot of damage, and had a small chance of stunning. It worked best against higher-thinking beings. The Troglodytes had still been damaged, but they weren’t as smart as the demon. The Pain Spike was extra damaging to it. Theodore pushed past the fear the creature produced. It was as much a Skill of the demon’s as it was the monster’s appearance.
The others seemed to be able to overcome the fear, so Theodore forced himself to. He wanted to run and cower but couldn’t. The Voice wouldn’t let him. And he was a Mentalist. He had a Rare Class. It was all about mental strength. If anyone there should be able to resist the demon’s fear, it would be him.
And he was.
Barely.
He shot out another Pain Spike, the demon falling back a couple of steps, tentacles thrashing. Theodore was surprised the Ability worked. The demon was just a tube; where was its head? He supposed it had to have a brain somewhere in that weirdness.
Roger slashed with his sword, cutting another large gash in the rubbery body. Mike was able to dart in, sword flashing forward, piercing deep. One of the arrows pierced one of the eyes, yellow ichor splashing out and into the pool, corrupting it more.
Theodore didn’t care about the quest beyond the rewards, but due to the slime dripping off the demon, he could see how the Troglodytes’ water source had become tainted and corrupted, leading the creatures in the Painted Caves Dungeon to become corrupted. He wasn’t sure why the Troglodytes had summoned the demon in the first place. The dungeon’s story was lacking. He didn’t know why the dungeon even needed a story, but it had one.
The demon cried. With no mouth, it still somehow managed to make noise.
Roger slashed it again, his sword glowing with one of his Abilities. Mike’s blade also glowed, a bright red, the energy crackling along the blade like fire. It speared into the body, the flames spreading across the slime. Another arrow struck another eye.
Both Roger and Mike glowed as Malcolm’s healing energy swept over them.
The demon shook, tentacles splashing into the murky water of the pond. Roger stepped to the side, avoiding one. Mike wasn’t so lucky, the appendage slamming him to the ground. He scrambled out of the way before another one could smash down on him.
It was dying.
Theodore Activated his second Ability, Paralyze. It used a lot of his Spirit reserves for not much in results. The Ability did exactly what it was named. It froze the target, focusing on the brain and preventing it from sending out commands. The Ability, currently, only lasted seconds and could be resisted.
But with the Lesser Fungalia Demon already dying, this was the perfect time to use the Ability.
The thrashing tentacles stopped moving, frozen where they were. Some on the ground, some hanging in the air. The eyes still blinked, the creature doing its equivalent of breathing. It tried to make a sound that became a droning growl, the noise drawn out and not able to make the next syllable.
The three damage dealers took advantage of the situation. They unleashed their strongest attacks, going all out while the demon couldn’t fight back. It couldn’t even try to avoid the attacks. All three struck at the same time.
Theodore turned away from the bright flash of light as three Abilities all hit. He felt the resistance to his Paralyze fade, the demon no longer able to try and fight his mental intrusion.
It had died.
The body just collapsed, the tentacles flopping to the ground. Multi-colored sparks of Spirit swirled up from the rapidly fading body, dancing through the sky in a thick cloud as smaller streaks shot off to each of the party members.
Theodore felt the rush of Spirit enter his body, the euphoric feeling of gaining in experience.
“What is that?” Mike Turner exclaimed, voice filled with disgust.
Where the demon had been was a gland; that was the only thing Theodore could think it was. Some body part left behind. A Resource that a crafter could somehow use. For what, Theodore didn’t want to know. It was six inches or more in size, as rubbery-looking as the demon’s skin had been. Almost heart-shaped.
“Its loot,” Roger said. “There should be more around here. Spread out and find it.”
Theodore let Roger act like he was in charge, even though he really wasn’t. It was best to rule from the shadows.
That was what the Voice told him.
And the Voice was always right.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Harper held herself as still as possible.
Shadowskip was on cooldown. Because of how quickly she used it during combat, the cooldown was never triggered. But with the length of time she was now spending in the Shadow Realm, this was the second time she’d had to wait for the cooldown.
More of the annoying game logic in the real world.
