The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Read online

  In short, two identities fought constantly within Malik. One, born in his childhood, was full of envy and believed that his friends didn’t value him, that they were tricking him, and their good words were merely a cover for laughter behind his back. The other, which emerged recently and was the more mature, loved his friends and was ready to give up anything for them. There was a third, too, the one in love with Tissa. It seemed that this was the one, combined with the first, that now guided Malik’s steps…

  Infect checked the clan tab to see who was where. Scyth’s nick was gray, although he was still online. Apparently the Ordeal didn’t count as taking place in the world of Dis. The same had happened when Scyth was stuck in the Nether. Crawler and Irita had gone to Kinema, and Bomber was moving toward the Kharinza coast. Perfect.

  Infect activated Depths Teleportation to the Mountain Dams, where Bomber had caught his goldfish. The place wasn’t popular and was often deserted.

  Tissa was waiting for him. As soon as he appeared, she invited him to her group, cast a regeneration spell on him and only then threw herself into his arms.

  “I missed you so much!” she said.

  “Likewise,” Malik answered, glancing impatiently at his teleport cooldown timer. “Let’s jump to the Blencatra Foothills, the mobs there start at level forty-five. Does that work? Nether, the junior debuff is killing me!”

  “How long on the cooldown?”

  “A minute…” Malik stepped back unwillingly. “We have time to talk. How are you?”

  “Just great,” she answered, her tone making it clear to Malik that things weren’t going so well. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m flying out to see my dad. Shame you and the boys aren’t in the district, or we could have met up.”

  “Actually… You must know already — Scyth and I are heading to the Demonic Games.”

  “I heard about that. I’ve decided to enter too.”

  “What?” Infect smiled in surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “Why not? I have the right. Elizabeth liked the idea and came to an agreement with school. It’s all arranged, so we’ll see each other there.”

  “Are you doing this for Scyth?”

  “What? No! I have a chance, so why not use it?” Suddenly, her face lit up with an idea. “Hey, we could fly there together! Me, you, Scyth…”

  “I’m not sure he…” Infect stumbled. “I mean, we’ll be flying separately.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “He always has a million things to do. He’s going straight to the Games, but I’m going to stop off at home first. Need to pay my folks a visit.”

  “That’s great!” the girl said. “When are you flying? Today? Does that mean we can get a drink somewhere?”

  Infect wanted to answer that he was planning to set off tomorrow, but then thought: What the hell? The thought of seeing Tissa in real life excited him even more than the coming Demonic Games.

  His vision turned red. The cooldown on Depths Teleportation was down to 2… 1…

  Infect activated the ability, and a few seconds later they stood in a small grove in the Blencatra Foothills. Snow hid the base of the trees and a cold wind sighed through the air. Tissa shivered in her cloth equipment.

  A branch snapped under the foot of a level 48 Hill Yeti. The humans caught the mob’s eye, but it was too wary of the bard’s superior level to come closer.

  “See you tonight,” Infect said quickly, before the Exhaustion debuff killed Tissa. “For a… for a date, right?”

  “Oh yeah, babe, we’ll have lots of fun!” she growled menacingly and laughed.

  Then she died, the smile still on her lips. Infect crouched by her corpse, stroked her cheek, leaned down and kissed her. The body disappeared. He pulled out his guitar and ran a finger down the strings. The attacking riff boomed out through the area, blowing the yeti’s head into little pieces.

  Returning to Mengoza, he messaged his friends to say that he’d decided to go see his parents earlier than planned. He invented a cousin’s birthday as an excuse.

  While he packed his things, Willy got the flyer ready. He should have told Alex about his altered plans, but that was impossible, so Hairo made the decision himself.

  Ed and Hung went to say good-bye to their friend.

  “You have to win,” Ed said. “I’m sure Alex will survive the Ordeal, but I doubt he’ll make it to the Games in time. Sometimes the Ordeal takes two or three days. And latecomers aren’t allowed to enter the Games…”

  “I know,” Malik answered, deciding in the end not to tell them that Tissa would also be entering. If he told them, he’d have to explain how he found out… “I know. But I hope Alex does make it.”

  “Shame there’re no depths in real life,” Hung said. “Zip! And you’d be where you need…”

  The comm vibrated and emitted Willy’s voice:

  “We’re ready for you, Malik, head upstairs! Don’t forget your camo cap.”

  All three boys went up to the roof together. They hugged as they parted.

  As he took off, Malik looked down. Hung and Ed were walking toward the door and discussing something — they’d probably forgotten him and were talking about their very important business in Dis.

  The flight gave him time both to daydream and to think about the building diagram for the Sanctuary of the Departed. The discovery was awesome, but he hadn’t yet found the last part. Plus, there was no direct benefit from it for Malik. Even Gyula would level up his construction skills by building the sanctuary.

  Malik set aside two hours for meeting relatives. He was welcomed like a hero, with even grandpa emerging from his own reality and sitting his ‘beloved grandson’ down on his right side. What Malik had dreamed of since childhood had come to pass; his many cousins, who had mocked him only a few months ago, now watched him raptly, hanging on his every word.

  On any other day, he would have stayed there longer to enjoy his triumph, but he had bigger things to think about that day; his second dream was knocking at the door, one that turned out to be far more significant to him.

  So Malik waited out the two hours, listened to his relatives shower him with praise as if they’d been saving it up for sixteen years to throw it all at him now. Then he claimed he was pressed for time, hugged everyone who wanted it, shook the hands of even those he only vaguely remembered, then set off to see Tissa, sweating in anticipation.

  He was five minutes late. The girl was waiting for him on a lively street, leaning with her back to the wall and foot up against it.

  Tissa’s disguise was traditional: sunglasses, a baseball cap, a baggy hoodie and wide-leg trousers. It was hard to make out her face with the hood up. Malik had activated a camouflage hologram, so the girl didn’t spot him until he spoke to her. She flinched at first, turned her head, then lit up and threw her arms around him, hitting him with the scent of unfamiliar flowers.

  “Malik, I’ve missed you all so much! Eeee!”

  He froze like a statue, not knowing where to put his hands. He tentatively patted her on the back. He got angry at himself again; instead of showing the initiative, he was behaving like a jackass again.

  “Where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.

  “There’s a cheap restaurant in the next district where we can get a booth and keep a low profile,” the girl whispered, her breath tickling his ear. “We don’t want anyone to recognize us.”

  They took a community flyer. Willy, assigned to the boy, kept an eye on them unnoticed to Tissa. Say nothing, the security officer whispered as he walked by them into the lounge. Malik nodded and forgot him immediately.

  The young duo sat down in a reversed booth and ordered a real-meat steak each (Make it bloody! Tissa said as she made her choice on the robot waiter’s menu panel) and some beer. Then Malik finally removed his disguise.

  Both were awkward at first — their lives had gone in very different directions, and so had their interests. On top of that, Malik was bound by a mental contract, and what d
id they have to talk about but clan affairs?

  All the same, he unwittingly forgot everything else and got carried away in the conversation. Tissa told him colorful stories of her life and shared her plans for the future. She planned to break up with Liam, or he with her — Malik didn’t care which. Only the present moment had meaning.

  “I had a lot of doubts before I accepted the offer from the White Amazons,” Tissa admitted. “I knew why they wanted me. All those tales about how I was a perfect fit for them, how my appearance fit in perfectly with the clan image, how my success story would be an example to millions of girls… I saw Hinterleaf on the island. I don’t know what’s between him and Elizabeth, but they’re clearly friends.” Tissa rubbed her forefingers together. “You get what I’m saying. They needed me because of Scyth. To be honest, I wasn’t sure they’d keep me for long. So I insisted on a clause in the contract which would force the White Amazons to pay for all my university tuition in advance. Then they could throw me out, it didn’t matter.”

  “What are you going to study?”

  “Nothing has changed, Malik. I love to paint. My dad didn’t even want to hear about it,” Tissa sighed, her voice changing to imitate Mr. Schafer: “Every girl and her cat is an artist now! And only one in a million can afford it!”

  “What does he want?”

  “Did want,” the girl corrected him. “Now he supports all my ideas. Of course — what does he have to worry about now? His bank balance is green, he has premium medical insurance, a new flyer as a gift from Elizabeth. Now he’s neck-deep in work, trying to raise his category. But he used to want me to go into world testing. A year of study and a year of unpaid internship and that’s it, you’re a qualified beta tester with guaranteed work. And guaranteed category-G citizenship, the limit of dad’s dreams.”

  “So I’m eating with a future famous artist?” Malik chuckled. “Well, then we’re almost colleagues!”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “I’m going to be a rock star.”

  “Rock?” Tissa laughed. “Who listens to that now? Old farts? If you like music, get into crayjungle!”

  “Nah…” Malik frowned. “That stuff makes my ears bleed. But rock… It’s real music, you know? The guitar and the strings are alive… I’m a bard after all, remember?”

  “Haha! So what? I’m a healer in Dis, does that mean I should be a doctor? Come on…”

  “I can do it,” he said seriously. “I’ve tried. An uncle gave me an old guitar. I had to change the strings, but apart from that, it works fine. And you know what?” He looked around conspiratorially, lowered his voice to a whisper. “I can play all the songs I wrote in Dis in real life! Really!”

  “Bullshit,” Tissa frowned, sat back in her seat, not moving her eyes from him. Then she leaned back towards him, her eyes wide. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

  “No jokes,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Shame I don’t have a guitar here or I’d show you…”

  He shared with her his plans to become world-famous, told her how he would win glory by first performing in small taverns in Dis, then getting a band together and playing at the arenas. And the more he spoke, the more he believed his own words, although at first he was just trying to impress her.

  “Do you remember when the Dragons of Infinity played at the final of the Junior Arena?” Malik asked. “Well, they started in a sandbox tavern too! One day I’ll perform at the Arena final as well. And in real life! Maybe at Wembley Stadium — the whole place will be full, and billions will watch the stream!”

  “I want to join your band!” Tissa said. “Let me be a backing singer!”

  “Hmm, but I need someone who can sing for that,” Malik teased.

  “Huh?! I can’t sing?” Tissa said, playing offended. “I’ll make you sing in a minute, you dumbass!”

  She started punching him playfully and he fought back. A minute of playful struggle later and Tissa was sitting on top of him, his legs pinned beneath her, but Malik’s brain had switched off completely — all the blood had gone elsewhere. The girl checked herself and sat back down again, tousled and blushing. The moment to grab her and kiss her was gone.

  “What do the boys think, anyway? About your plans, I mean,” Tissa asked. Malik didn’t hear her right away, but when he did, he sighed in annoyance. “What are Alex’s plans? I mean, apart from all the ‘citizenship’ stuff he has going on…”

  Tissa had used their old code word for Threat status. Alex’s name rang out unwelcome in the semi-darkness of the cozy booth, destroying the intimacy of the moment and opening up old half-healed wounds. Jealousy reared its ugly head.

  “The hell with Alex and his secrets,” he said. “Let’s discuss our strategy for the Games!”

  Tissa’s expression turned serious. She straightened her back and coughed. She leaned closer and whispered:

  “If Alex isn’t there, then let’s just stick together. Like in the good old days.”

  “And if he shows up?”

  “Then…” The girl’s hot breath played across Malik’s ear again. Goosebumps spread over his skin. “Listen carefully, this is very important…”

  Chapter 1. Registration

  HAIRO FLEW our unprepossessing flyer to the European district where Snowstorm was hosting the nineteenth Demonic Games. The last few days had left me completely exhausted, and the Ordeal had been emotionally devastating. So I sat down in the passenger seat and spent most of the journey asleep, opening my eyes only when we passed through the border checks at citizen zones.

  They started checking us particularly often after we crossed the Atlantic and entered European airspace, most of which belonged to high-category citizenship districts.

  “You are approaching Snowstorm Lakes, a category-A citizen district. Your vehicle will be forcibly stopped at the zone border inspection station.”

  The flyer slowed and began to follow a guiding beam of light. Hairo, whose status for serving in the peacekeepers was higher even than my parents’, turned to me:

  “We might have some trouble now. I don’t have access to category-A zones. You did make a request to come in your own flyer, right?”

  “Well… I just signed it, Maria took the biometrics. You’re down as the pilot, Hairo.”

  “The confirmation hasn’t arrived,” the security officer shook his head.

  The scanning rings lit up green and emitted a beep of approval as we flew through. We successfully passed the automated check for banned items and substances. Now we had to go get through identification. In the meantime, Hairo contacted Maria in the hope that the confirmation had gone to her, and I checked my own comm. Nothing.

  “If they pull me out of the flyer, you go on alone,” the security officer said. “You can fly manual if you have to, right?”

  “Pfft… Easy.”

  Something else bothered me. There was less than an hour left. Any unforeseen delay and we might as well go home — latecomers were disqualified.

  A flyer approached us, still recognizable as a Lamborghini Freccia beneath the black and gold police paint job. In districts like this, even the police zipped around in premium superflyers.

  “Good evening, gentlemen!” a pleasant female voice greeted us. “What is the purpose of your visit to Snowstorm Lakes?”

  “I’m entering the Demonic Games,” I answered.

  “Wow! Another one! And you, pilot?”

  “I’m a pilot of the Awoken company,” Hairo answered honestly. That was one of the security officer’s official roles. “I’m dropping the kid off and then heading back.”

  “Please display your left wrists and look this way…” Without a doubt, the police already knew who we were, but protocol was protocol. “Thank you! Alex Kieran Sheppard, dependent category-F citizen, you are on the list. Welcome to Snowstorm Lakes!” A short pause and then the policewoman’s voice again: “Hmm… Mr. Morales, we have some questions for you. Please leave the pilot seat and approach the exit.”

  The guiding
beam landed our flyer on the checkpoint platform. It had checking services, additional inspection zones and even paid parking — far from all flyer models met the high standards of the upper-class district. The passengers and pilots of those were forced to leave their vehicles and continue on a community flyer.