The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 312: The Dracolich

Alex felt the dragon before he saw it.

A hissing sound filled his ears, then a whispering in some language he felt he knew but couldn't remember. The sunlight flickering through the jungle canopy dimmed, then darkened.

I see you, Alexei. The voice grew louder. Clearer. Alex blinked and tried to shut it out, to focus on his powers and his friends, to be ready to help. But he could hardly see anything except...blue figures, emerging from the ground. They sat up like they'd been sleeping, standing to turn and stare with sunken eyes.

Alex shook his head, trying to look away. He recognized them, he realized. Some from pictures. Some from his life.

Oh you humans are truly delicious, said the voice with a laugh. So many dead and rotting memories trapped and locked in your tiny minds. But I will free them.

"Alexei!" yelled a little girl who was supposed to be Alex's sister, her little hand outstretched towards him.

"Quiet," he whispered, trying not to be horrified. He tried not to remember her illness, to remember the family’s poverty, no money for doctors or medicine. Remember watching her waste away.

Look at these! A whole family. The dragon laughed. All lost. All buried with a dead empire. Why forget them, Alexei? Your poor uncle and aunt, your cousins.

Alex saw the huge creature moving. Attacking. It was fighting the others as it clouded his mind. He had to shut it out, had to help them.

He activated Cleanse and slapped his face, then bit his tongue.

"Oh no. Pain won't help you, little Alexei," said his mother in the dragon's voice as she walked towards him, her face rotting and terrible. "Pain and suffering belong to him, too."

A terrible stabbing agony assaulted Alex's skull.

He screamed and tried shielding himself, hoping somehow it blocked whatever magic was assaulting him. The dragon laughed.

You cannot shield the flesh from a weapon made for the soul. And what a meager, pathetic little soul it is. So neglected. So vulnerable. You thought you could bury your sorrow with wine and song, little Alexei? The voice rose. You thought you could hide it from something like me?

A childhood, no, a lifetime of misery and disappointment came flickering to Alexei's mind like the worst home movie in history. He saw a lost, poor country with a failed project that had captured them all. He saw dead relatives, drunken 'friends', failed careers. Where had all the time gone? Had he truly accomplished so little?

Do not wallow in your regret, little Alexei, mocked the dragon. All your kind's accomplishments end in ruin. You are as meaningless as Alexander the Great. As hollow as every tsar and emperor. You are nothing but rotting flesh, a few decades before your time.

Alex saw Mason knocked flying through a tree. He saw Rebecca flickering with arcane power, holding her ground before the terrible creature.

He screamed and focused, using his shields and searching for targets. He had to help them!

Nothing else mattered. It was what had always saved him, no matter the horror or disappointment.

Alexei Ostapovich had never given up like his friends and family because he made life as simple as possible. He took a job, and he did the job. There was nothing else.

There was no other complications or grand ideas or plans for the future, because he didn't trust any such future existed, or could exist.

All he knew, all he believed, was what he could do, right now, right this moment. And right this moment he had a job to do. All the ghosts and horror and magic in the world didn't make any difference at all. Because he was going to do it.

* * *

Phuong called out in warning and covered his face as the nearest corpse glowed, then exploded.

The huge dragon was terrifying enough, but it seemed filled with magic powers that dwarfed its actual physical threat. At least it didn't shoot flaming meteors anymore, so that was something.

Instead it emitted some kind of purple gas that burned like acid; it breathed another purple gas that raised undead as it seeped into the ground. Oh, and it could apparently make corpses explode in a spray of bone shrapnel.

With a wary squint Phuong opened his eyes, fully expecting to be covered in pieces of bone sticking into his skin.

But there wasn't any pain, nor any signs of shrapnel damage. He didn't seem harmed at all. He glanced over to see Alex with one hand on his head, the other pointed towards him. He grinned.

May the Buddha bless that very white, very quiet, very useful man.

Phuong turned and activated Adrenaline, charging back towards the dragon as he weaved a stun/blast.

He had no faith in his sword to actually hurt the thing, though he hadn't yet tried Soulstrike. But he'd already hit it with a stun and noticed the creature turn sluggish for several seconds.

His role, then, seemed obvious enough.

Put down the undead as they rose, and keep a constant stream of stuns on the dragon until it was dead. Or until it killed him.

Sometimes simplicity was best. Phuong finished the pattern, and launched another blast.

* * *

Carl was too old for this shit. But he certainly couldn't admit that with Phuong around, who was his senior by a good ten and maybe fifteen years.

The son of a bitch spry Asian bastard.

He probably hadn't spent a couple decades eating cheeseburgers and pounding back high-fructose corn syrup.

Another spear of some kind of mind-magic lanced out straight at Carl, and Carl once again warped away before it arrived.

This dracolich was so awesome. Fighting one in his long-running D&D campaign had been the greatest tabletop experience of Carl's life, and he just couldn't help but have fond memories.

But yes, OK, it was slightly inappropriate. The actual thing was right here trying to murder him. And all his friends. And probably that city full of people. And yes this was maybe some kind of genocidal mass grave they were fighting in, which was pretty creepy and super dark. And yes there was...well, that was pretty much all of it. But that was pretty bad.

Carl tried another Reflect/Shadowleap to get himself hidden behind a tree before he came out again. It maybe seemed to work.

The dragon was busily swiping its tail and wings at Mason, Streak, and Rebecca, its awful jaws mostly trying to chew the cowgirl. Carl was impressed as always, and just really didn't want to be there the day that girl's defences truly failed.

So he figured he'd better hurry.

And his mana was mostly full, so a totally powered, balls out Simulacrum was definitely in order. He wasn't sure exactly where to strike, but he figured he'd send his double up right onto the thing's back while he tried to cut a good hole into its side. Hell, maybe he could even crawl right in there and...

No. Bad idea.

Carl was not Mason and wouldn't regenerate from some kind of foolishness. He'd take the damn dragon apart a piece at a time, slicing away structural bones until the big bugger collapsed. Then they could go for the throat, so to speak. Since the dracolich didn't have a throat.

He clenched the handle of his Mirror Shard and started summoning his clone, stepping out from his cover in the trees. He was still trying to come up with a good name for his dagger and really couldn't decide.

Killer Glass? Jagged Shard? No, still not right. But he grinned. Because today, at least, he had a good potential.

Bonesaw.

* * *

Becky's feet slid back as the 'dracolich' swept another wing at her face. It was trying to bite Mason, and maybe would have, but Becky tossed him a shield with a bit of mana.

The huge snake-like creature turned and looked at her like it realized. Like it knew. Then its jaws swooped down and opened horrifically wide, filling Becky's whole world with darkness and fangs.

She held up her Familial Shield but prayed she didn't really need it. Her personal shield flashed as the teeth closed all around her, sparking off the blue aura and draining a chunk of her energy faster than anything she'd ever seen.

She thought it was about to pull back, but it didn't. It breathed.

Everything turned to purple mist. It made a sound like a hiss mixed with a roar, and some kind of buzzing sound deep in its throat. Becky had no idea what to do except hold her ground.

The mist seemed to wrap around her shield without breaking through, and she tried not to be terrified. But she also couldn't see anything. The dragon finally pulled back and then turned away, vanishing beyond Becky's new and reduced vision. She tried to move forward, to follow, except she couldn't seem to move her feet.

She looked down to find several hands breaking out of the dirt and grabbing her legs. She screamed, and slammed the bottom edge of her shield down against the closest wrist. It snapped like a twig, and she kept screaming in horror and slamming down her shield.

"Oh, darlin," said a voice. "Ain't nothin' to be scared of. Your family's here. We're all waitin' on you, girl. Just lay down and join us."

Becky looked up to see her mother. Her eye was dangling from its socket. Her scalp was torn and flapping with a patch of hair. Becky shook her head and fought the tears.

"It ain't you," she said, not believing. "You ain't dead. It's a lie!"

A deep, cruel laugh sounded from everywhere above the mist.

I am many things, pitiful creature. A liar is not one.

Becky's mother nodded like this was true, and her flap of scalp bounced with the motion.

Becky screamed. Her voice was raw as she swung her shield. She ripped off the hands and charged towards the dragon, but still couldn't seem to escape the mist. More hands broke out of the dirt and grabbed at her. Her mother followed, telling her to lie down and die.

It was the first time in her whole life Becky didn't do what her mother told her.

Instead she pulled her feet out and pumped her legs like she was escaping mud, and with a final scream of horror and protest—and maybe blind, mind-wrenching fury, she slammed her mother straight in the face with her Familial Shield.