Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

The abomination gave a final, shuddering roar that shook the ground around it before falling. Its bloated, misshapen body convulsed, its twisted limbs flailed as its grotesque form began to collapse in upon itself under its own weight.

The rain continued to pour down in sheets, drumming against the corrupted hide as the last of its life drained away. With a sickening crack, its spine gave out, and the creature folded in on itself. Bone jutted through its flesh, oozing dark ichor that mixed with the blood before fading away.

With a deep, rattling wheeze, it breathed its final breath and was silenced. In moments, it had disappeared into a haze of Aether that swirled into the air.

Mathew stood amongst the carnage, blood running down his arms and mixing with the rain as it soaked his clothes. Most of it was his own, but some belonged to the warriors around him and the young woman who had died hours before.

All around him, the battlefield was littered with bodies. Some were groaning in agony, but many more were entirely still. The rain was slowly washing away the filth from his skin, but it couldn't cleanse the weight pressing down on his chest.

He let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He wouldn't let his exhaustion or grief show, not while there were others nearby. Mathew wouldn't allow anyone, mortal or god, to think that he was weak.

"Mathew!"

Greg's voice broke through the patter of the rain. Mathew turned just as Greg and Alivia came rushing toward him, their faces pale and their clothes just as drenched in blood and rain.

Alivia reached him first, her eyes quickly scanning him from head to toe.

"You're alive." She breathed out, almost in disbelief.

Greg grabbed his shoulder, gripping it hard.

"You look like shit." Greg observed, his voice filled with relief.

"Where's Rehn?" Alivia asked, her head turning left and right as she searched for the Psion. The pair had grown close over the past few weeks, and Mathew winced slightly in response.

"She…didn't make it."

The rain had softened to a cold drizzle by the time Mathew, Greg and Alivia reached the place where Rehn had fallen. The battlefield was behind them, but the weight of death was just as strong here as it was anywhere on this Floor.

The mud beneath their feet was churned and stained dark with blood, but there wasn't a body.

Just like all the others who died in the Tower of Avarice. Eventually, their bodies would fade from sight, turning into motes of light that were carried away on the wind, taken to wherever the Tower brought the deceased.

It could take a few minutes or a few hours, depending on the Floor. Even the bodies of the fallen who had died fighting the large Abominations were already disappearing just as the group began to walk away.

Mathew slowed to a stop, his gaze fixed on the empty ground where Rehn had breathed her last breath. The only thing left of her was the impression she had left on the ground when she had fallen, a bit of disturbed earth and a small smear of blood that was already half-washed away by the rain.

Greg swore under his breath as he raked a hand through his damp hair.

"Gods damn it."

Alivia hugged herself. Her soaked clothing clinging to her frame made her look smaller and more vulnerable.

"I hate this. People die, and then…nothing. They're just gone, like they were never here." She whispered sadly.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Mathew crouched, heedless of his knee digging into the mud. He ran his fingers through the damp earth, and he thought he could still feel the warmth from where Rehn had lain. He didn't say anything in response; he just let the silence stretch between them.

Greg shifted, uncomfortable, before speaking again.

"Do you think…do you think that when people fall here in the Tower, they're really dead? Maybe they…forget it." Greg stammered, his eyes turning to look into the distance, where they could faintly see motes of light rising from the battlefield.

Mathew didn't look up.

"Say it." Mathew said, his tone emotionless. Greg sighed before continuing.

"I mean, maybe they are still alive. Somewhere. Not really dead, just taken outside of the Tower."

Alivia shivered beside him, whether from the cold or the thought, Mathew couldn't tell.

"It's a comforting thought." Alivia replied after a moment.

Mathew clenched his jaw and pressed his fingers into the mud before standing.

"It doesn't matter. Dead or taken. Either way, they're gone." Mathew said coldly. The rain picked up again, heavier than it had been before. Mathew went to pull his jacket tighter around his shoulders when he remembered that he had left it with Rehn.

With a final look at the empty space where Rehn's body had been, Mathew turned away.

"Let's go."

Page Break

Floor 73: The Hollow Procession

The Empire of Vaerthorne, where the dead do not rest. Instead, they rise from their graves and march in an eternal procession around the land, endlessly walking without apparent purpose. The living have built their cities around the march, careful never to disrupt the procession.

But recently, the dead have begun speaking in whispers in an attempt to draw the living to their ranks. The god of Transcendental Attachment has sent multiple groups of the faithful to put an end to 'The Hollow Procession,' but all attempts have failed.

Objective: Find the cause and stop it.

The first whisper came at dusk.

At first, it was nothing more than a murmur on the wind, a sound just below the threshold of hearing. It was like the rustling of dry leaves or the faint crash of distant waves. But as the sky darkened and the stars were revealed, the whispers deepened.

Standing on the city's western wall, the citizens gathered to watch as the Hollow Procession emerged from the mist. They came as they always did, in numbers that stretched beyond sight. It was a river of grey, rotting figures that moved in slow, shuffling unison.

There were hundreds of thousands of them draped in tattered burial shrouds or the remains of what they had worn in life. Their sunken eyes were empty, and their mouths were slightly parted as they walked without urgency or hesitation.

The citizens hadn't feared the procession; most had seen it pass by dozens of times in the years since it had first begun. The dead didn't attack them, didn't hunt or lunge at the living. They simply moved, following a path that no one understood.

It was odd, and no one could find the meaning in it, but it wasn't harmful.

Until the whispers started.

Now, the living that stood on the walls of their city and watched felt something tug at their souls. The dead were calling to them, pulling at the edge of their thoughts. While many could resist the temptation, hundreds hurled themselves from the walls, picking up their battered and bruised body as they joined the procession.

It was at this time that the darkness near the walking dead was split apart, and an object emerged, a strange, metal structure that rose from the ground and whose front opened, spilling white light.

Mathew, Alivia and Greg stepped onto this new Floor after a long trip through the elevator. The sky above them was dark, and only a few stars emerged from the gaps in the clouds. The wind carried the smell of death and decay.

They stood on the edge of a medieval city with tall stone walls that held thousands of people who watched them with a mix of curiosity and dread.

The trio only had a moment to acclimate to this new environment when they heard the whispering of the dead and the sound of their slow, shuffling pace.

Mathew stood motionless for a moment with his eyes fixed on the procession. The whispers were impossible to ignore; it was a low, wordless hum that seemed to rise from the earth itself.

"What the hell do you think they're doing?" Greg mused as the dead slowly approached. Apart from the whispering, they didn't appear to be much of a threat. Even the Buzz was silent, its warning muted for the moment.

"Should we move? We're standing in their way." Alivia asked as she pointed at the walking dead that were directly in front of them. They would collide in a few minutes, and the Drafter thought it might be better to go to the city and find more information before doing anything about it.

But Mathew didn't move, his eyes were still locked on the figures marching toward them. There was a strange resonance in the air, a feeling that he couldn't quite understand. It wasn't mana, nor was it Aether. If he had to describe it, Mathew felt that it was closer to the Words of Power than any other magic.

"No, we need to find out what's driving them." Mathew finally said, his voice low and steady. The whispers seemed to suddenly surge in response to his words, the faint hum growing until they felt the air shiver with it.

Alvia and Greg looked at Mathew, who had already started walking toward the procession, but his expression was unreadable.

"Where are you going?" Greg called out to him. Mathew didn't pause or even look back.

"To the source."

Greg cursed under his breath and shouldered his rifle as he followed after Mathew with Alivia close behind.