The Demonic Games (Disgardium Book #7): LitRPG Series Dan Sugralinov (top 100 books to read .txt) 📖

“Why is it?” the gamesmaster asked reflexively.

“Because I realized a long time ago that I’m nothing without friends. I ended up at the Games without any. And I really wanted to make some new ones. I hope I succeeded. I realize I’m already out of the Games, but there’s more to life…”

“But Alex, you do understand that you broke the rules, whichever way you look at it?”

“I know. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t show my conversation with the demon from floor 666, or my battle with him, or the part where I fought three gankers in the woods. They’re here in the hall. Smoothie, Phobos and Riker. I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell you all about how they decided to attack me three-on-one…”

“What?” Octius seemed surprised. “Wait! You mean to tell me you fought the final boss?”

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean anything now, right, Mr. Octius?”

I shook his hand goodbye. The gamesmaster was struck dumb, standing open-mouthed. What, hadn’t he seen? Or was it all so fast in Clarity that he simply missed the battle?

As I descended from the stage, Loran stood up and shouted:

“Sheppard, what’s your deal with Meister? Did you sell out to him, Joseph?”

“Rosenthals do not sell out!” Joseph shouted, standing up. “What did the Children of Kratos promise you, hypocrite?”

“Look who’s talkin’, you old fart!”

The friends of the arguers joined the fray, there was an uproar, but Octius made a signal and music thundered, drowning out the cries. When it faded, the gamesmaster raised his hand and declared loudly:

“Don’t be so quick to say goodbye to Alex!”

The hall gasped, broke out in whispers. Some even rose up in their chairs to better see what was happening on the stage. But there was nothing unusual there: Octius paced from edge to edge, his hands crossed behind his back, then suddenly stopped:

“Right…” he breathed, listening to someone in his ear piece for a moment, but then shrugged and said quickly: “After hearing what Alex told us, I have changed my opinion. As the master of ceremonies of the Demonic Games, I hereby cancel the decision of the ethics committee and put the matter to a court of contestants! As you know, the court of contestants is applied very rarely. In my memory, only twice in the whole history of the Games have I put the weight of a decision on the shoulders of the participants.”

A chorus of surprised gasps fluttered across the hall. I heard whispering from behind me. A court of contestants? Is he out of his mind? Sheppard broke the rules! He has no place in the Games!

“Your attention! The court of contestants must decide: should Alex Sheppard, aka Scyth the Herald, be disqualified from the Games? Please check your contestant comms. Answer ‘yes’ if you are in favor of disqualification, and ‘no’ if you are against. Alex, you are not allowed to vote. The voting begins in three… two… one… Please begin! You have one minute.”

My eyes were glued to the holocube. Right now it showed two columns: red for votes in favor of disqualification, green against. The timer counted down the seconds: 00:57… 00:56…

The red column grew rapidly — forty, forty-nine… no, sixty-four votes against me. Come on, Meister! I thought. This comes under our contract!

Boom! Ten votes ‘against’ at once gave shape to the little green column. Shame I didn’t know who was supporting me; the votes were anonymous.

As each vote was counted, there was a sound like a splash, as if the contestants were pouring water onto scales. Splash! Another fourteen votes for disqualification. Seventy-eight!

Splash! Exchanging glances, the Travelers, Modus and Anna all voted ‘against’ at once. I had expected that and been watching them. Sixty-eight against twenty-two. I wondered, who were the first ten? Surely not Quetzal’s group?

“Thirty seconds!” Octius declared.

What was the hold-up with Meister? I found him with my eyes and saw that he and the others were in furious debate. Could the old man be upset at the accusation that he sold out?

In the meantime, the red column rose to almost a hundred votes. There were just over two hundred participants left. The picture looked bleak.

“Fifteen seconds!”

I watched as Bloomer rose, started gesturing fluidly as he spoke. What was he doing, reciting poetry? The others listened closely.

A few more votes dripped into the disqualify column — already a hundred and eleven in favor! Come on, Meister!

“Five seconds!” Guy Barron said urgently.

Joseph Rosenthal glanced back and nodded to me.

Splash-splash-splash! A waterfall of votes fell into the green column all at once, and it shot up by a hundred and twelve!

A siren rang out. Shouts of disappointment carried through the hall…

“The court of contestants has spoken!” Octius announced. “A hundred and thirty-four votes ‘against,’ a hundred and eleven ‘for.’ My congratulations, Alex! You are still in the running!”

Chapter 16. An Oversight of the Directors

THE FLOOD OF EMOTIONS that had begun during my battle with Abaddon and ended only now had nearly burned all the way down the fuse on the bomb that was my sanity, so I stayed at the table to calm down. I knew I’d be under an avalanche of questions in the media center. I had to figure out what kind of thing they’d ask and how to answer. As I considered that, I studied the faces of the contestants.

Octius had already departed the stage, the lights had come on, and Meister’s people were still arguing about something. Accusations and insults flew back and forth — not everyone liked that I’d been saved, and in particular, that they were the ones who’d saved me. Joseph was silent, and Bloomer took on the weight of leadership. He read no poems and made no gestures,