Rewind: A Grimdark LitRPG Series (Pyresouls Apocalypse, Book 1) James Callum (best large ereader .TXT) 📖

single point of damage each time. He must have been at it ever since Mack left him here,” Al said. There was a hint of respect in his voice. “I got you a seat, Dan.”

“That’s some dedication,” Dan said, sitting on the other stool.

They both touched their breast with a hand, revealing the symbol of the Vile Kingdom - the same as the Vile Covenant’s - as a form of greeting. “Hail, Vilis,” they said in unison.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, falling to a sitting position facing them. “And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if not for you meddling kids.”

Neither of them seemed to recognize the ancient joke and Jacob just shrugged it away. He shifted about, bringing his cuffed hands beneath him and then out in front to rest with some level of comfort.

He had to think of another way out now.

Or so he thought.

“All done with the theatrics?” Dan asked, casually aiming the crossbow his way.

You have got to be kidding me.

Before Jacob could answer, the crossbow fired. It was a tiny dart coated with a very potent - and expensive - sleeping poison. Where the hell do they get so many Souls from?

Darkness closed in and Jacob knew no more.

He had no idea how often he was struck with the sleeping toxin. Without the need to eat, sleep, or otherwise keep track of time, the hours bled away like the hopes of Earth.

The few times he found himself awake and cognizant he tried, in vain, to explain what he was doing. The future he was trying to prevent. They looked at him like he was crazy and stuck him with another dart.

Jacob slowly came to consciousness, still groggy he saw the Cleric nudge his friend in the side. “He’s up again.”

“Yep-yep,” Dan said, standing and fitting another bolt to the crossbow. “I’m on it. Hey, Al, what’re you going to do with your share-”

Jacob squinted at the sight before him. He couldn’t make out the shape behind the crossbowman as two black-gloved hands reached up to either side of the man’s face.

He froze there for all but a heartbeat before roaring flames sucked the air and heat from the room as they cooked his skull to a blackened crisp.

The Cleric turned toward his friend, more annoyed than concerned. That moment cost him dearly. The black-garbed form stepped across dozen or so feet in a single motion and was upon the chubby man in an instant.

A familiar jagged cleaver flashed through the air. Blood sprayed and the man’s shrill cries brought Jacob to full consciousness as he struggled to get his uncooperative legs beneath him.

“Camilla?” he dared to ask.

Once the man was dead, she stowed the cleaver and turned to him. It was Camilla. She wore a set of tight-fitting black lacey robes with a large conical hat that had an egregiously wide, floppy brim.

Those ruby eyes were unmistakable. She pulled out a key and undid the lock.

Camilla fell to her knees beside him. His legs were still numb and try as he might, he couldn’t get them to support him. So he sat and looked at her. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

“I could leave, you know,” she said, staring at his helm. She reached forward and lifted it off his head, setting it aside. “I really thought I would have run into you several days ago. Now I guess I understand why I didn’t. Hold still, this is going to hurt.”

Jacob’s groggy mind was still trying to process that she was there, let alone what she just said.

Searing, scalding pain that felt like somebody had wrapped a hot curling iron around his neck pushed all thought from his mind. He screamed in pain, letting it wash over him.

Somehow, he managed not to blackout.

When it was over, the collar was off and his manacles were broken. Both were half-melted heaps of slag on the floor. The pain was so intense on his neck that he didn’t even recall his wrists hurting.

Jacob wasted no time using his last [Cinder Ampoule] to recover from the severe burns.

Without thinking, Jacob surged to his feet, wrapped his arms around Camilla, and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you, Camilla.”

Taking a step back, he summoned shield and sword into his hands again, feeling a measure of calm settle over him until his sluggish mind finally caught up to what she had said. Panic surged in his chest.

When he bent down to retrieve his helm, he nearly fell over.

“Wait, what did you mean by ‘several days’?”

“I mean that it’s been many days since I’ve seen you back at the entrance to the catacombs,” she said, folding her arms and looking at him with a mixture of concern and another emotion he couldn’t place.

Jacob nearly choked. He hadn’t seen Camilla in days, he couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he saw her last. Just how long was he held prisoner? He tried to get a grip on his spiraling thoughts.

Jacob took a look at the only time-keeping allowed in Pyresouls, a simple clock that gave the date and time in the real world. It was already September 9th, a few hours before midnight.

September 9th, 2035 – 4 days remain before the Collapse.

All of that time spent getting ahead, using shortcuts, and getting here days ahead of Alec were for nothing.

While there were already players in Hollow Dreams, there was no way they had already been to the depths of the Desecrated Catacombs. Even if they had, they would need to contend with the Crossing there, as well as the Gnawing Hunger once they reached the bottom levels.

And even after that, they would need to find the one ring among many that would allow them to navigate through the Smog Rifts.

But now much of that advantage was gone.

“Jacob, are you all right?” she asked. “You’re free, you realize that, yes?”

He staggered toward the stairs in a stupor. How was he supposed to get ahead now? Once they were out in