The God Contest Regina [Progression Fantasy, LitRPG-lite, Apocalypse]

"Originality is nothing but judicious imitation. The most original writers borrowed one from another"

Voltaire, French writer (1694 – 1778)

Bethany gazed into the stairwell that led down to the second level of the dungeon. The darkness was so thick that even her hammer's light couldn't penetrate more than a few feet inside. Beside the stairwell, the iron door promised a return to their apartments and to the safety that lay within.

"I can't see the bottom," Bethany called back to Becka, who sat against the wall of the cavern, munching on a bag of Doritos. Her eyes were still glossy from the joint, but the effect was quickly wearing off.

The last thing I want is to go deeper with only Becka to watch my back. But I need time to learn more about that blade of hers, and we won't get many chances to be alone. I can't shake the feeling she's part of this whole mess with the gods… just on a different side.

The blade… it feels too familiar to be a coincidence. Too much like the Shadowman in Omoikane's maze.

The Authority. The New Order. Eternity. Ugh… the God Contest is hard enough without being sucked into a civil war between the gods.

"I'm heading down to the second floor," Bethany decided, hiking her backpack onto her shoulders. "If we get sent back to the start, it's not like we've got much to lose."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Becka answered, digging for the last chip. "We found that can of beans."

Becka crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the corner of the chamber. "Ugh. I shouldn't have given away my pot to those eggheads," Becka grumbled, heading over to Bethany. "I haven't had a joint since I left my abusive ex-boyfriend. It was my escape, and I had to escape a lot. I only stopped when I got together with Daniel. He didn't like the smell."

"Well, I don't think the God Contest is the best place to pick up the habit again," Bethany observed, stepping into the darkness. "Even if we all could use an escape."

"Yah… maybe not."

Don't be critical, Bethany. Be curious. You want to learn more about her? So learn!

"Did the pot help? I mean… did it work as an escape?"

"Not really," Becka answered, following her into the stairwell. "It dulled the physical pain for a little bit. And the memories. It was enough to keep me hanging on – and that was a problem. I should have left him the first time he struck me."

"It's… an easy thing to say. Harder to do," Bethany sympathized, touching her cheek where her father's final blow had fallen.

Becka noticed. "What about you? What did you use as an escape?"

"Not drugs, if that's what you're asking. I stayed out of a sense of obligation. My grandmother had dementia, and I didn't want to leave her behind. A few days after she died, I left," Bethany answered. A spark of anger flared inside her as she thought of her grandmother. "I should have left after mom died. My grandmother was part of the problem – a delusional mother covering for her precious son."

"You've had it rough, girl," Becka commiserated as they walked down the stairs. "I'm sorry I made it worse."

"It's—" Bethany started instinctively but caught herself.

Don't say 'it's okay.' She doesn't deserve that. And I don't trust her apology.

"— not something we can change," Bethany finished. "Let's talk about something else. That's… a cool blade you carry. Where'd you get it?"

Smooth, Bethany. Real smooth. Sigh…

"My blade? Why do you care?"

"I'm just making conversation," Bethay lied, trying to sound casual. "Emily and Rocky have talents that create weapons from earth and metal, like my hammer, but it doesn't last forever."

"Oh, do they? And I bet your farmer boytoy has one too. Probably big… flaming… spear," Becka laughed making thrusting motions with her hips.

"… it's a sword," Bethany murmured, embarrassed.

"Wait, for real?" Becka laughed harder, almost stumbling on the steps. "Fuck, I was just teasing, girl. But damn, that's hot."

Is she just teasing me? Or is she stalling?

"So, your blade?" Bethany prompted, turning the conversation back to Becka. "I was just curious. It just looks… unusual."

You're not cut out to be a spy, Bethany. Ugh... why'd I have to be so obvious.

"It's from a fuckin' comic book store downtown," Becka answered with a dismissive wave. "Damn nerds had a bunch of real swords hanging on the wall behind the counter. I needed a weapon and I liked the black one, so I took it."

"So it's not a talent? Or… some reward from an Arena?"

"Why do you care so much?" Becka snapped, suddenly defensive. "It's none of your business. It's just a fuckin' sword. I stab it into monsters and they die."

"Okay, calm down," Bethany said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I'm just making conversation."

A comic book store? I don't think so, Becka. Which god gave that to you?

As Bethany stepped foot onto the second floor of the Dungeon, the darkness vanished and the world was lit up in flickering candlelight.

So much for the dreary first-floor caverns. Wait… this looks familiar…

"Well, now isn't this fancy," Becka remarked excitedly, shoving past Bethany. "Finally something with a little class!"

Grand hallways of heavy, dark oak stretched on as far as they could see, with countless rooms and branched passageways. Bookshelves lined the halls, and flickering candlelight from the chandeliers above illuminated their passage. A faint mustiness hung in the air – the smell of old books – that reminded Bethany of the forgotten corner of their little town library where she'd spent so many hours after school.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Becka twirled in the hallway with an excited – almost manic – laugh. "It's like an English manor! One some rich royalty fucker would live in. Thank god, I thought this whole dungeon was going to be nothing but caves."

Becka cracked open the first door and stepped inside without waiting for Bethany.

Bethany didn't follow. She stared down the hallway and swallowed hard.

This isn't just any manor…

This is GodHome!

* * *

"Argh! It's empty… again! How many of these fucking doors do I have to open to finally find something good," Becka grumbled, marching down the hallway in irritation. "And these books—"

She picked a random volume off the nearest shelf and read the title.

"—Harry Potter: The Lord of the Ring, Part Two, Electric Boogaloo. Listen to this—"

Becka cracked open the novel to the first page. "Harry was a lonely boy who was picked on until he found the One Ring which turned him invisible. But it also made him be seen by a bad guy with a big eye. So he was sent to a magic school where he learned about the power of friendship and breakdancing. With his friends, he beat the bad guy and they had ice cream to celebrate."

"Oh, I hope we find some ice cream," Bethany laughed. "I'd read that book, if only for the trainwreck of a plot."

"You don't have to read it," Becka said, hurling the book to the floor. "That was literally the whole story. The other pages are blank. It's all AI-generated slop! Fuckin' useless dungeon!"

Becka stomped away in an angry huff, and Bethany picked up the book and placed it in her backpack.

Rocky will get a kick out of this.

Bethany breathed in the scent of the manor, running her finger along the bookshelf.

It smells like God Home. It looks like God Home. But it's just a cheap imitation. The books are empty. The oak walls aren't oak – it's wallpaper. The candles in the chandeliers are the cheap ones you find at a dollar store, and they keep dripping wax into my hair. Even the musty scent isn't natural. It's pumped in through hidden vents in the ceiling.

A sudden crash drew Bethany's attention, and she looked up to see Becka holding an entire door by the knob. She'd accidently ripped it off the wall – its hinges attached by two lonely screws and a strip of duct tape.

"You can't be serious!" she howled, hurling the door against the opposite well with her enhanced strength. Its cheap particle board frame shattered, raining fragments across the hallway. "Who the hell build this place?

The Servants did the best they could with what they had… but the illusion of grandeur falls apart the closer you look. Literally.

"At least nothing has tried to kill us yet," Bethany countered, opening the door across the hall.

"I'd prefer if something did," Becka grumbled, unconsciously stroking the hilt of her blade. "At least we'd have something to do."

Becka opened the next door…

And a foul stench wafted out of the room, driving them back with hands clenched to their noses.

"Ugh… what the hell is that?" Becka gagged, spitting out the taste.

Bethany held her breath and peaked inside, and her heart dropped.

At the center of the empty room lay a dog-like creature with six legs and mangy brown fur, surrounded by mounds of its own feces. It had a long, unicorn-like horn protruding from its skull, and twin fangs that stretched down to its knees. Its tail flickered with a tiny flame so weak that the dollar store chandelier candles burned brighter.

The beast glanced at the two woman and tried to growl, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. It slumped its head against the floor, resigned to its fate.

"That's horrid," Becka blanched. "Just close the door and leave it to rot."

"It's in pain. We… we should put it out of its misery."

"Umm… not a chance. I'm not stepping foot in that room. These are the only shoes I brought to this damned Trial, and I'm not going into a fucking race in shit-covered sneakers!"

"Then… I'll do it," Bethany said. "Just… go search some more rooms, Becka. I'll catch up when I'm done."

"Oh, goodie. More empty rooms," Becka growled sarcastically, wandering down the hall. "I swear, if I don't find some treasure soon, I'm gonna strangle someone."

Bethany waited until Becka's grumbling was a distant sound before she pulled Pane from her backpack. She unwrapped the cloth and held the fragment of mirror up to the creature.

"Oof, that thing's in rough shape," Pane said with a surprising note of sympathy. "Its Servant caretaker must have abandoned it. Can't blame them. I've was assigned Monster Care last Contest – it's almost as bad as being stuck in a mirror. Almost…"

"Keep your voice down," Bethany whispered. "I'm not alone down here."

"I know…," Pane answered, his voice lowered. "Why were you asking about her blade?"

He can still hear me in the backpack? I need to be careful what I say around him. Especially about the gods. But he might know…

"Is it possible her blade is like my ring – enchanted equipment? She had it before we got here, but you said equipment wasn't available until the first Trial."

"What does it look like?"

"Pitch black. Curved blade the length of my forearm."

"Hmmm… no, it's not enchanted equipment," Pane quickly concluded. "There are only a dozen pieces of equipment in existence – sword, shield, boots, armor, hat, wand, bow, amulet, and four rings. And The Sword of Authority, is a golden broadsword, not a black blade."

"Maybe it's something new," Bethany offered.

Pane chuckled. "Impossible. The only god who can create equipment is The Authority. Those twelve items form Authority's Attire, and the Contest is the only time when The Authority isn't wearing the equipment himself. He hasn't made any new equipment since… well, since ever."

The Authority hasn't made any new equipment… or he can't. Five bucks says the equipment is another thing he stole from Eternity – just like the Servants. Damn, this god has surrounded himself with smoke and mirrors to appear omnipotent.

"The only way it could be enchanted equipment is if another god learned to create it," Pane joked. "And that's a terrifying thought."

Bethany's heart lurched.

And what if another god has figured it out? Becka's Blade… and the Shadowman's armor…

"Wh-why would that be terrifying?"

Pane stopped laughing and glanced around the room suspiciously. His eye fell on the beast. "Kill that beast first, and I'll tell you. This isn't a conversation for prying eyes."

"What is it?" Bethany asked, watching the suffering animal struggle to breathe.

"A defect," Pane answered. "Monsters aren't like gods or servants. They are created by magic for the Contest. Only, sometimes, the magic fractures. What's left behind is an Abomination. Some are like this poor soul – trapped on the brink of death until someone puts it out of its misery. But most are overly aggressive or insane, and impossible to control, so the gods don't want them for their Arenas. In either case, they're sent down to the Servants. Leftover scraps for the dungeon."

The gods… the more I learn, the crueler they seem.

"So why is it here, in this room?"

"It's a test. Like the vases on the first floor. I wasn't part of the design team for the second floor, so I don't know what the test is. But… I'm guessing it's either a test of mercy… or it'll explode into a poison gas cloud or swarm of spiders or something."

Bethany stared into the mirror, aghast. "You can't be serious! Aren't there… instructions or something?"

"Should be… but it looks like the Servants didn't put much effort into this one," Pane said dismissively. "Probably ran out of time. But don't worry. If it's something bad, you'll just get sent back to the entrance of the dungeon. All you have to lose is junk food. It's worth the risk."

Bethany sighed and materialized her hammer in sledge-form. She swung for the creature's head.

"Wait…"

Bethany's hammer crushed the creature's skull. A piece of mangy fur landed on her shoe, and she flicked her foot to hurl it away, trying not to throw up.

"So… a piece of advice?" Pane said, disappointed. "You could have done that from a distance. Remember how strong you are now? You could have… I don't know… hurled a bookshelf from the safety of the doorway and squished it?"

"Well… I… didn't think of that," Bethany said, kicking herself.

I'm too busy worrying about Becka and the gods that I forget I'm also trying to survive this damn Contest. Get your head in the game, Bethany!

Across the room, the wall flashed, revealing a hidden alcove. Bethany wandered over and grabbed a single Emporium coin from the shelf and read the accompanying Post-it note.

'Thanks for being a good person.' Seriously, that's it? Well, at least I got an Emporium coin out of it.

"Now tell me," Bethany insisted, holding up the mirror. "Why would another god creating equipment be terrifying?"

"Because a god who could create his own equipment… could rival The Authority himself!"