Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as the storm rolled in and swallowed the last hints of daylight. Dark, churning clouds loomed over the land, and the wind howled through the trees with enough strength to bend their branches.

A poorly dressed and haggard young man pulled his tattered cloak tighter around his shoulders, his bare feet sinking into the thick mud with every step he took. The path in front of him was little more than a river of filth now that sucked greedily at his heels as he slowly trudged forward.

A sudden streak of light split the sky, a bolt of jagged, blinding lightning that tore through the heavens and turned the dim landscape into the brightness of day for a brief moment. The young man's breath caught in his throat, and he coughed violently.

As the young man collapsed onto one knee, heedless of the mud, the sound of thunder reached him. It was a monstrous roar the shook the bones of the earth. It rolled across the distant hills with a deep and vengeful below, as if the gods themselves were at war above.

The young man flinched at the sound. He had seen a lot of storms in his life, but this one acted as if it were alive, and its rage was unmatched and unrelenting.

His coughing fit done; the young man wiped the blood and spit from his mouth and slowly stood up once again. The rain fell in thick sheets now, drumming against the thatched roofs of distant cottages and beating against the fields around him that had taken so long to till.

The young man could hear the distant cries of livestock, the frightened bleating of sheep whose calls were carried away by the wind. Any normal person would seek shelter against a storm of this magnitude, but the young man couldn't rest here.

For now, all he could do was press on, one foot at a time, through the mud. He was a lone figure that was soon swallowed by the storm's embrace. All the while, the lingering taint of corruption ravaged his body, a punishment from a deity whose offer he had rejected.

Page Break

"No." Mathew said simply, his tone final. Images of Samuel and all the others who had been taken in by Mischievous Depravity's offer flashed through his mind.

He had spent his entire time in the Tower bowing to the will of the gods, following their every command even when he disagreed with them. He had sacrificed his desires, silenced his doubts and endured trials that pushed him to his limits.

They demanded without giving, punished without reason and spoke in riddles that led only to suffering. He had seen people of the Floors whose prayers were met with silence while the gods took everything from them.

He would no longer be a pawn in their celestial games.

Mathew clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his own freedom. He would remain unshackled from their whims, and no offer, no matter how tempting, could make him put a collar around his neck once again.

"Foolish. You will fail without me." Fail. Fail. Fail.

"She will die." Die. Die. Die.

"I won't let that happen." Mathew gritted his teeth and spat out those words. Mischievous Depravity was silent, its many eyes watching him from the sky above. The cloaked figure didn't move for a long time.

"So be it."

The world around Mathew blinked out of existence, and there was a sudden sense of weightlessness before gravity snatched at him once again. He fell, but time lost all meaning to him as agony erupted throughout his body.

Mathew writhed from the pain; his body convulsed as the corrupted blood of Mischievous Depravity coursed through his veins like molten fire. His skin darkened with sickly veins of black and crimson that pulsed and twisted beneath the surface of his flesh as if the corruption sought to consume him from within.

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His breath came in ragged gasps; each inhalation was laced with pain so profound that it felt as though his lungs were filling with shards of glass. His fingers clawed at his chest in desperation in an attempt to tear out the burning sickness, but the torment continued until he thought it was burning out his soul.

Mathew's vision blurred between reality and nightmarish hallucinations from his past. He saw Samuel laughing at his suffering, whispering madness into his ears. One after another, people walked out of the shadows, revealing themselves to him, and said terrible, horrible things.

Finally, when it was Emily's turn to stand before him and tell him to stop, that she never loved him and he was a failure, Mathew nearly succumbed. A plea for help to the deity that was causing his suffering was on his lips, and the hallucination of the woman he loved encouraged him to give in.

A flood of shame crashed over Mathew as the thought of surrendering slithered through his mind. Was he truly so weak, so pathetic, that he would let pain consume him? After everything he had endured, would he now fall to this corruption and become a pawn, a slave to Mischievous Depravity?

The thought sickened him. It burned worse than the tainted blood running through his veins. His shame twisted into a molten rage that quickly seared away the whispers of despair. Mathew's teeth clenched, and his trembling fingers curled into fists.

No, he wouldn't submit. He wouldn't become an Apostle to another god, especially not one as bad as Mischievous Depravity. He had survived the worst the Tower had thrown at him and come out alive each time.

This would be no different.

With a defiant roar, Mathew unleashed his own mana against the invading corruption. The forces clashed inside him, raw power against the seething blood of depravity. It tore through his flesh like warring storms. His veins crackled with energy, and his muscles spasmed as if they would tear themselves apart.

The corrupted blood shrieked in defiance as it writhed through his body and sought to drown him in its venom. But Mathew didn't stop; he pushed harder. His own magic ripped through his insides, searing his organs and fracturing his bones.

His body was breaking, but his will refused to shatter. If he had to burn, then he would burn fighting!

For an eternity, the battle continued inside him until the corrupted blood was tamed. It was impossible to remove; the effects would stay with him. But he was alive, and he was free.

Mathew slowly opened his eyes and saw the elevator to the next Floor waiting for him. With agonizing slowness, he crawled his way inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed.

Page Break

Lightning split the sky as Mathew drove the Godslaying Blade of Wrath deep into the ogre's skill. The force of his strike cracked bone and sent shockwaves through the towering beast's massive frame.

The ogre's glowing eyes widened in stunned distress before life left them and darkness replaced the light. Its final breath escaped its lungs as a harsh growl. Thunder roared overhead, a deafening symphony that drowned out the noise of the battle that had just occurred.

The rain lashed against Mathew's battered form. His tattered rags clung to his bloodstained skin, barely recognizable as clothing after the fighting and suffering he had endured.

As the ogre's corpse crashed to the ground, Mathew staggered backwards. His chest heaved as he was overcome by exhaustion. A violent cough tore through him, and blood splattered against the wet earth beneath his feet.

Mathew's vision blurred for a moment, and he dropped to one knee. The Godslaying Blade plunged into the ground to keep him upright, his hands trembling as he clutched the hilt.

He still retained all of his abilities and gains from the previous Floors; Mischievous Depravity hadn't stripped them from him. But using them came with a cost. His body was fighting the corruption, and the war had lingering effects on his health.

Mathew could use his powers to enhance his strength, dominate the weak to his will or enhance his aura, but only for a short time. The deprivation of the mana his abilities used meant the Corruption gained an edge and took a toll on his body.

Despite the thunder, he heard a faint 'ding' as he accomplished his task. This Floor required him to kill a tribe of Ogres that had been looting a temple dedicated to a minor deity. With the death of this final monster, he could finally leave.

The light from the elevator pierced the gloom caused by the storm above, but Mathew ignored it. Instead, he sat down in the mud and closed his eyes.

A thought had occurred to him while he was lying in pain, and the corrupted blood was ravaging his body.

Why did he need to rely on the gods to grant him his abilities? Why did he need a Discipline to enhance his body, sharpen his mind or reforge his spirit? He had Aether.

He could see it, even now. It was a faint blue mist that covered the ground. The bodies of the Ogre exuded a steady supply, all of which would eventually be taken by the Tower.

Why should he allow that to happen?

Instead, he would use it.

Taking a deep breath, Mathew drew in the surrounding Aether and funnelled it through his body in an endless cycle. He lost track of time, and unknowingly, the storm overhead passed. The sun fell, and the moon rose.

After this repeated several times, Mathew finally opened his eyes. His lips drew upward in a small smile. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a small fire on the ground in front of him.