Squad Games [Squad Building LitRPG] [Book One Complete]

Bletcher located the necromancer, while Seregin concealed them with his magic.

Lothar watched as Sahale approached the Sargassian sorcerer.

"Amotken!" he growled. "How dare thou order the attack while I was held prisoner!"

"Thy Majesty!" said the sorcerer. He looked dismayed as he got to one knee before the emperor.

This is working, Lothar realised. They had to distract the sorcerer enough to kill him before he could deploy his superior magic. So far, he suspected nothing. Nor did his three bodyguards—The Harvester and Mental stood close by armed with sword and axe. Stricken had a cleaver at his belt.

Lothar couldn't help staring at his former merc. It was Stricken, yet it wasn't. He had been resurrected with magic, and Lothar could see the cost in his pale, drawn face—in his eyes, that had lost any spark of humanity.

"I argued against it, but Eyota insisted," Amotken whined.

"That's not what she said when she rescued me," Sahale said. Well, not really Sahale. It was The Baron, giving the performance of his life. "She told me thou ordered the attack."

"Now," said Seregin.

Amotken shook his head, his eyes wide. "Not true, Thy Majesty. All I have done—all my efforts and sacrifice—were to restore thine empire."

Valnor's arrow struck the sorcerer, sending him to the ground.

It seemed to break Seregin's spell, because The Harvester and Mental could see Lothar's party now. They charged at his position.

Lothar and Oripione, given the thankless task of holding them off, moved to engage them.

Seregin used his Wand of Paralysis to hold Amotken in place; then deployed his magic to negate the necromancer's. Rosalind and Bletcher joined their magic to his.

Finally, The Guvnah ran towards the sorcerer. When Stricken moved to intervene, Blueblade glowed bright, and Stricken backed away from the blade and its wielder.

The Harvester was a merchant of death, and he swung his two-handed sword, Deliverer, intent on cutting Lothar in half. He needed all his skill, and his Shield of Resistance, to stave off the assault. Even then, one mighty blow got through his defence, leaving him on a mere 13 hit points.

Lothar retaliated, getting in a blow of his own. Slayer dealt 20 damage, dropping Vytenis to 25 hit points.

Mental enjoyed similar dominance over Oripione, leaving the tiefling tottering on 3 hit points, while avoiding her limited counterattack.

There was a pulse of magical energy. Rosalind, her magic already depleted, collapsed to the ground. Amotken had broken free of his constraints, and a muttering sound filled the area.

Desperate, The Baron plunged a dagger into his breast.

Amotken stared at the man he thought was his emperor, shock evident on his features.

It allowed The Guvnah to make up the final few feet. His blow with Blueblade was true, delivering 29 points of damage to the necromancer.

A look of bitter hatred appeared on Amotken's face, as he fought for his life. Black arcs of magic sprang from his Staff of Dominion. They lashed at The Guvnah and The Baron, knocking the pair senseless.

Valnor targeted Mental first. His second arrow struck Jenkins for 23 damage, leaving her on 9 hit points. He moved on to The Harvester. The elven marksman had to wait until his sixth action to see an arrow sink home past Vytenis's plate armour. It took 24 hit points, and the Livanian warrior sank to the ground, his life force flowing away.

A cleaver took Mental in the back. She was lucky Stricken's strike wasn't worse. As it was, she lost all but 1 hit point and collapsed to the ground.

Oripione lifted Goldblade in a defensive stance, while Stricken simply grinned at her.

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Lothar, reprieved from another round with The Harvester, approached the thief with raised eyebrows. "What are you up to, Stricken?"

"Saving you, you fool," came the reply. He nodded across to Amotken. "My new master, who made me what I am." He gave Lothar a crooked smile. "He needs to die, Stiff. I don't even care if it's you who does it."

Seregin tried to regain control over Amotken, but the necromancer resisted. The muttering grew louder. Lothar could hear individual voices now. They whispered seductively, threatening to get inside his head.

Amotken was lifted into the air. A white light surrounded him. Seregin lifted the Wand of Paralysis but shouted in pain and dropped it. Bletcher grunted and fell, removed from the contest.

Lothar understood he had moments left. He ran to where The Guvnah had fallen.

Valnor covered him with a hail of arrows. But black arcs flared from the necromancer's staff, and the elf was thrown backwards to the ground, left senseless.

Lothar reached Alfie and took Blueblade from his grip. He marched for the sorcerer.

Amotken raised his staff.

But Stricken grabbed it, pulling.

"Let go, Stricken!" Amotken demanded. The white light surrounding him intensified, and the disembodied voices joined in, telling Jurgen to release the staff.

Stricken refused, his face a mask of hatred just like his master's.

Black arcs of magic lanced into Stricken, but he seemed unaffected.

It allowed Lothar to reach the struggling pair. He sank Blueblade into Amotken's chest.

The sorcerer shrieked, and the voices shrieked as well. The white light exploded, broken into shafts that flew and spun around them.

Amotken's shriek became a rasp. His face relaxed and he gave up on life, looking more peaceful in death than he had in life.

The shafts of light continued to circle him, then flew away, as if looking for new homes. Lothar watched as they shot towards Seregin. Bletcher. Rosalind.

"No!" he shouted.

But there was nothing he could do.

The shafts of light entered the three wizards and disappeared.

Seregin sighed, sank to his knees, then toppled over.

Oripione, swaying on her feet, sat on the ground, her energy giving out.

Lothar faced Stricken. The thief looked from Blueblade to Lothar, a glint in his eye.

"You gonna kill me, Stiff?"

***

They tried to take down the princess but it was an impossible task.

She winced as Smoke cut her leg muscles, only to dance aside and back in, spitting him with Greenblade. She tossed him aside, leaving him with 11 hit points. He went for more, but Murder put a restraining arm on the thief.

Eyota sneered.

Vixen's sling bullet smacked her shoulder.

Eyota turned in her direction. "We have unfinished business, Chinara." She advanced.

Rake backed away, then stopped next to Wynter.

This was it.

Then something strange happened.

The Silent Warriors stopped fighting. Then they stopped their silence. They moaned and wailed, looking around with frightened, lost expressions. The defenders of Avolo left them be, saved at the last moment.

Did this mean Amotken was dead? Had Stiff's team really done it?

Eyota looked at the warriors who had until moments before been her loyal soldiers. She had lost her army. She was alone. She locked eyes with Chinara. "If I am finished, I'll take you with me."

Vixen believed her.

But a commotion caused them both to turn towards the battlements, where two figures rushed towards the princess.

The Hoffmeister and Hubert barged through city defenders and ex-Silent Warriors. Snarling with frustration, Eyota engaged them, parrying aside Georg's lunge with the Spear of Riposte. She hacked down, dealing The Hoffmeister 22 points of damage, and leaving him a crumpled heap.

Hubert roared, releasing a mighty sweep with his paw. He connected with Eyota, and she went flying—hitting the battlements, before tumbling over the side.

Vixen's insides lurched. She ran for the battlements.

By the time she reached them, Eyota was gone.

***

Ashlyn was outside the walls of Avolo. Her head was banging so hard it felt like it was going to explode, and she needed to vomit.

"How did I get here?" she muttered. Her throat was so parched she could barely get the words out, and her mouth felt strange, like she hadn't used her voice in a long time.

There were other people milling about. She recognised them as Sargassian warriors, and yet they looked as confused as she felt.

She caught sight of Clamor, the ex-Golden Blade who had joined the Apples. He had his back to the city wall, as if unable to stand unaided.

The wall. Did I try to climb it? She asked herself, looking at the ladders propped up against it. Why?

Fragments of memory came and went, refusing to stay long enough for her to grasp. She had been fighting at the Harris's farm. Then what?

Clamor returned her gaze, a haunted look that chilled her to the bone.

MISSION COMPLETE

SUCCESS: Amotken the sorcerer was killed

Some of your mercs improved their stats:

Stiff:

Grit +1

Hit Points +1

Action Points +1

Seregin:

Sanctity: Blessed

Hit Points +1

Valnor:

Agility +1

Rosalind:

Sanctity: Touched

Hit Points +1

Action Points +1

Bletcher:

Sanctity: Exalted

Hit Points +1

Oripione:

Agility +1

The Baron:

Grit +1

Hit Points +1

Some mercs levelled up:

Seregin is now Level 12

Rosalind is now Level 7

Bletcher is now Level 5

Fallen Apples:

Henning 'Tree' Teller