The Culling of Man: A litrpg adventure (Peril's Prodigy Book 1) Craig Kobayashi (sad books to read .txt) 📖

Strength in his tiny body. As he passed by his intended landing pad - the Legionnaire’s neck and shoulder area - Garath was reminded of his first attempted jump in feline form in the bedroom of his apartment earlier that same day. Once again, he had underestimated the leaping power of Felis Domesticus.

The little white cat cleared his target entirely and, as he reached the peak of his wild leap, time seemed to slow. Garath saw the gaze of the Legionnaire follow him as he passed over its head. Skeletal Archers in every direction lifted their bows with the strings taut. Skeletal Magi released orbs of various magical attacks that sped in his direction. Below, the Legionnaire and several Fetid Ghouls took aim with their lochaber axe and scimitars respectively - waiting for him to land like a morbid and violent nest of baby birds eagerly awaiting their next meal. Beyond his own perilous skirmish, Garath caught a glimpse of the rest of the Raid and their fight outside the building. He was relieved to see that the line was holding.

A well-aimed arrow whistled by his face and the adrenalyn-induced time slowing effect ended abruptly. An orb of flame connected with his side. The searing pain and loss of 131 HP turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Though it hurt, and his white fur caught flame, the impact of the fireball pushed Garath a few inches off his original trajectory. A trajectory that would have ended with Garath looking like a feline voodoo doll, had he continued along it. Several more arrows zipped by as he fell to the ground.

Cats always land on their feet, except when struck mid-air by a fiery magic orb. Instead of landing on all fours, the Necrologist hit the ground hard and rolled. The fur that had caught fire was put out on the asphalt, leaving a fire-blackened circle on his left side. He scrambled to his feet and began funneling Health and Mana into the two-second cast time of Sanguine Ward. The feeling of the Blood Magic spell siphoning his Health was inherently different from spells that only called on his Mana - it was like nothing he had ever felt before, and the only word that even came close to describing the sucking sensation pulling his blood from his beneath his skin was pain. When he finished casting the spell, a new buff icon appeared below his Health and Mana bars - had he not been surrounded by an undead army all posed to end his life, he may have taken the time to will more information from the icon. As it was, he figured his memory of the Skill description would have to suffice. He remembered that it would absorb all physical damage received for a few seconds.

It was a good thing he cast his spell shield when he did because, just as the sanguine barrier popped into place around him, the Legionnaire's lochaber axe came down hard. The heavy axe slammed into the spell shield and bounced off harmlessly, followed by an arrow from Garath's right, and then another from behind him. An orb of white magic didn't have nearly as hard of a time finding purchase against his tiny body and connected with his face. The pain threatened to overtake his judgement as Garath lost another 231 HP from the critical hit - bringing him down to nearly half of his maximum Health.

Garath did make good use of the time he was invulnerable to physical attacks, though. Just after the lochaber bounced off of his spell shield, Garath returned the sentiment with a Death Bolt to the Legionnaire's chest, landing a clean hit and parting the undead commander from 21 of its remaining HP. After that, the fluffy Necrologist closed the distance between himself and the Legionnaire and released his second Blight just before the white orb connected.

The second Garath saw the dark purple energy take hold on the Undead Legionnaire, he knew the fight was won and that it was time to make his escape. He turned and bolted back toward his Raid, weaving again through the towering undead horde until he laid eyes on the welcome sight of Warrion's morbid game of whack-a-mole. A quick look at his combat log made him smile inside.

Begin combat log:

[You have been awarded 2,365 Experience for slaying Level 14 Undead Legionnaire]

End combat log.

Once back in position next to Athios between the melee line and healers at the doors, Garath did a quick survey of the battle. As far as he could tell the fight was continuing to go their way. Though the Legionnaires had called more undead to action than they had fought in any of the previous waves, the melee line held strong with Gary, Fergus, Warrion, and the others pushing them back with heaps of support from the ranged fighters behind them.

SHONEN and the hawkies had apparently taken the initiative and moved as a group to combat one of the Legionnaires. Frankly, they made quick work of the undead commander before moving on to the next one. A subtle(ish) reminder to Garath that he did not have to do everything himself. Still in his tainted, slightly power hungry, but fully adorable House Cat form - he couldn't let the hawkies hog the massive Experience gains from the Legionnaires.

With a little help from Athios in the form of a well placed relocation each time he was able to finish off one of the Legionnaires, Garath continued hunting the undead commanders. The group of five pimple-covered young boys kept up with the Necrologist in terms of dispatching the Legionnaires. And, due to the longer respawn time of the new additions to the undead army, they only had to take down a new crop of Legionnaires five times over nearly three hours.

As he sat breathing heavily once again atop the not-quite-immaculate bathroom counter inside the stronghold with the late afternoon sun fighting its way through the frosted ‘privacy-windows’ above,