Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

A lucky swing caves in the side of the undead ogre's head, the force hard enough to snap its neck. Not enough brain is crushed to kill it again, but it develops a nasty twitch. It drops its club and begins to stagger about in a circle.

The big, dumb Fey makes a fatal mistake, stopping and laughing at the damaged creature. The taunting ogre takes an iron capped club directly to the face for his inattention. Teeth, bone, and blood spray through the air, mixing with the downpour. Its body lands with a thud and a splash. Before it stops bouncing, its light leaves it as well, shooting to the enemy's orb.

The last healthy ogre makes a powerful overhead shot and crushes the undead's cranium down into its shoulders. It drops to the ground, face down, and dead for the second time. A backhand swing takes out the final one, cleaving its head clear from its body. The last ogre raises both fists to the sky and roars defiantly into the storm. An uneasy silence fills the air for the next few tense moments, only to be broken by the elf that started this massacre.

“The opening moves of Mortis Causa Ludicio Exercitus have been completed,” the voice of the Arbitrator resonates out over the storm. “The Seconds may return to their Masters' sides. The Fiefdom of Terram Caeruleum has the next move.”

I rock my spear back and forth to loosen it from the ogre corpse and glance over to the grandstand. The giant crystal behind Dullahan is glowing brighter.

From where we are, it is impossible to hear what the Nobles are saying or what they're planning. We can only stand idly by, helpless as we watch squares filled with our allies light up and attack their opposite numbers from the opposing side. After a few minutes, bodies begin to stack up on both sides as we remain there, powerless to do anything about it.

Thorn

Dullahan laughs and calls for more wine. He stares at the carved wooden board in front of him, noting the different sigils and empty spaces. Of the thirty-six squares originally occupied by his forces, thirty-two remain filled. His opponent has thirty-three still occupied.

“I am winning, and it is still early! The imbecile Half-Ogre has no concept of strategy!” The Highborn elf sloshes wine from his ornate goblet. “We will continue to drive through the middle and divide his forces.”

“Milord, as you say, it is still early. Overconfidence can be deadly, and so can poor math skills… we are one square down,” replies Osmanthus.

“Silence, Jester, write an ode to my impending victory or something useful. I've taken a squad of his knights; he has taken nothing but pawns. Skemend, in what area did we locate those troublesome humans?”

“Second row, just left of the center, Milord. The place in front of them is open and they are free to move,” replies the troll mage.

“Excellent! The barrack cells will be more compliant without them.” He reaches forward to highlight the square. A small box projects above it, showing a small picture of Thorn’s friends and a few details about each one. Levels and Hit Points remaining are the easiest to read.

“Excellency, a moment, please," Thorn pleads, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. "They are a strong force; perhaps, it may be best to save them for later in the conflict!”

Dullahan freezes in place. “Your position here is honorary only, peasant! If you speak to me directly again, you will join your fellows on the field,” he replies in an icy tone. Deliberately and contemptuously, he presses the square and then another on the opposing side.

Skemend and Osmanthus share a long stare behind Dullahan's back. Thorn turns her head so she cannot watch the events about to unfold.

Game time again. Our square lights up around us, and we can clearly see our objective. Six armed and armored, drugged-out humans pull their weapons in anticipation. Haynes takes charge. “Like we practiced, gentlemen. Form up in a Roman Fighting Square, lock shields, and advance on my word.”

We swiftly get into our places. Haynes in the center with Jesse to his left, and Des to his right. I take the center of the second line with Nian to my left and Thirax on my right. I attempt to slow my breathing from the rapid panic that tries to overwhelm me.

“Move out!” Hayes barks, and we move forward, slow and steady, just as we practiced. We cross the open field and through the now open square the magic hammer had crushed. Our boots trample mud and crushed body parts.

As we approach in formation, our opponents attack with wild abandon. They begin screaming and running at us with no discipline whatsoever.

To my surprise, we cut them down with ease. The first three crash into our shield wall, stopping cold in their tracks. Those of us in the second line thrust our spears past our companions' shields. All three spear points sink deep and true. I hit my threat in the unarmored space between his chest plate and his chin. White light mingles briefly with the spray of arterial blood, and I know he's dead before he even falls. The final three go down with ease by our front line, their blades flashing and hacking.

In the end, we have taken the square and suffered no injuries at all. We’re left standing in the rain, amid six dead bodies, surrounded by the enemy. Insane and angry stares come at us from three sides. I shake my head, kind of overwhelmed and a little sickened by what I just did. But I don't have time to dwell on it right now. Stay focused, dammit!

“Swords out! Two on each side! Form up again when we know where our next attack is coming from!” Haynes shouts over the rain.

Jesse and Nian move to face the left side, Des and Haynes take the front, Thirax and