Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

The elevator slowly came to a halt with a slight shudder that was barely noticeable. The doors opened with a faint hiss, and Emily stepped onto the 90th Floor of the Tower of Avarice with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

She was close to her goal now, but the higher Floors of the Tower of Avarice would come with increased challenge. The Tower closely guarded the final prize at the top, and Emily was worried that she wouldn't be able to overcome it.

Unlike the previous Floor, which had been cloaked in silence, the 90th greeted her with a thunderous roar of artillery fire and the thunderous crack of magical lightning splitting the sky in front of her. Smoke rolled across the shattered landscape of a ruined city, where the remaining buildings bristled with railguns and turrets.

Technology was clashing with magic from a floating citadel of twisting spires wreathed in arcane wards and magical shields.

In the brief exchange, she saw pillars of fire shoot upwards from explosions that were blocked by the flying fortresses' protective energies while the returning spells of lightning burned lines into metal-reinforced bunkers that failed to penetrate and left glowing lines behind on their surface.

Emily took a cautious step forward as she protected herself from mana, blurring her image in order to better hide from onlookers.

The ground was littered with the remains of metallic drone husks and spell-scorched corpses that were only identifiable by the sigils and runes on their flesh or serial numbers burned into their armour.

As she was making her way through the destruction, a mage soared overhead. They were cloaked in flames, and their robes were covered in runes that exuded an overwhelming amount of mana. Emily couldn't make out if they were male or female as they hurled a lance of white-hot magic that tore through a building.

It only took a few seconds for a retaliatory missile to scream across the sky and explode in midair, sending shrapnel and fire in every direction, tearing the unfortunate mage to pieces.

Emily barely flinched at the sight. She had seen far worse on other Floors, although this one seemed to have a special kind of madness to it.

A tremor passed through the street as another detonation rang out, this one close enough to rattle her teeth. Emily was knocked off balance and was forced to grab onto a block of shattered concrete to remain upright.

She was just recovering when her silver wristband glowed slightly and began to speak to her.

"Welcome to the 90th Floor, titled 'The Fractured Concord.'" It said in its familiar, monotone voice. It was low and soft enough that Emily didn't worry about anyone hearing it, but she still took a moment to wrap herself with another layer of protective spells to blur her figure and muffle the sound.

"This Floor is a sundered realm that was once a unified civilization where magic and technology coexisted in harmony. One would assist the other until both were nearly indistinguishable from the other."

"Now, that balance had collapsed into a full-scale civil war. Towering Mechatropolises clash with floating arcane strongholds while the city streets are a battleground. The skies rain death down on civilians, and every place on the planet is a contested frontline."

"What is fueling this conflict is their divided belief in the gods. The Mechanists believe in the god of Ferris Innovation, their view warped by logical devotion to their deity. While the Arcanists follow the god of Obscured Comprehension, and their magic is powered by faith and emotion."

"Neither side can win, but neither side will yield. The war had become a ritual to the gods, fed by pride and blood. But it is the Aether of the realm that is suffering the most, and the Tower demands peace, and the gods have acquiesced."

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"A concord will be forged out of relics held sacred by both sides. One is kept in the Arcanist Astral Spire, while the other is in the Mechanist's Citadel Core. Retrieve both and end the conflict."

The voice from the silver wristband faded, and Emily shook her head in despair at the difficulty of the quest the Tower had given her. The 90th Floor was filled with threats that were nearly beyond her ability to overcome."

Resigned but resolved, Emily retrieved her magical staff from her inventory and set out to find the required relics.

Page Break

The city had once been beautiful, carved from pale stone and crowned with banners that fluttered from the high and strong walls that surrounded it. For centuries, those walls protected the people within from their enemies, and they were considered by many to be impenetrable.

Now, those same banners hung from the wall in tatters, the edges scorched and covered in ash. Half of the wall had collapsed inward, spilling stones and bodies onto the ground around it. Fires burned unchecked throughout the city, and the air was filled with smoke that choked out the sun until the sky looked bloody.

Mathew stepped over a shattered archway that once marked the entrance to a bustling market square. Now, the cobblestones beneath his feet were littered with the wreckage of overturned carts and the remains of people who had once run them or had come to shop.

The remains of monsters lay slumped next to the armoured figures of knights, warriors and mages. But Mathew ignored them all as he moved toward his destination. He didn't hear any voices calling out or screams from the injured. Even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb the tomb that the city had become.

Mathew eventually made his way to the center of the square, but not before his boots were crusted in soot and blood. He slowed his footsteps as he saw what had been erected here.

Where this had once been a place to hold festivals and fairs, there was now a massive mountain of corpses. They were all twisted, monstrous things with too many teeth and too few eyes; their limbs all tangled together until he had trouble differentiating one from another.

But it wasn't the pile of mountains that had brought Mathew here, but the young woman who sat on the heap.

Mercy looked both absurd and out of place but also entirely at home as she sat perched on the skull of a horned leviathan like it was a throne. Her black leather jacket was scuffed and streaked with filth and blood, while her ridiculous magenta hair was spiked.

The young woman was swinging her boots lazily while she waited for him.

"Well, took you long enough, Matty." She grinned at him as she waved her hand and gestured to the pile beneath her.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" She asked in amusement. It had been her idea to entice the monsters of the world to band together to attack the city, although she had originally wanted to do it just to have some fun.

It had been Mathew who suggested a better use for the monsters. They would force the people of this city to pray to the god of Mischievous Depravity for salvation, earning the deity a foothold in this world.

'The slaughter was going to happen regardless; it was better for it to serve a purpose.' Mathew thought to himself as he shook his head. He was exhausted, and his nerves were frayed. He had served as an Apostle for so long that he had lost count of the years. Centuries at least, possibly even longer.

At this point, he didn't care. He ran his fingers through his hair before responding.

"You did well." Mathew said with a sigh before he climbed the mound of corpses toward her and took a seat next to her. Mercy tilted her head, and the corner of her lip twitched like she wasn't sure to smirk at him or scowl.

"Coming from you, that's practically a love letter." She replied. They had been partner Apostles for a long time, and Mathew rarely praised her.

Mathew didn't answer right away; he just stared out over the ruined square where blood pooled in the cracks between stone. This place would have been too proud, too adherent to their own deities, to accept a new god.

But the monsters had done their part by rampaging here, and now there was nothing left but the clean up. Mischievous Depravity had his place in the world, and Mathew was sure he would be rewarded for his efforts.

Mercy stretched luxuriously, her bones cracking as she did so.

"You always get like this after a win. You're all moody and broody. It's kinda hot, in a way." She said, her voice soft and silky. She looked at him like a predator that had spotted its prey.

"It's not over yet. The other gods aren't going to accept this. They'll send their followers and their own Apostles." Mathew gave her a look that wiped the hungry look off her face before replying. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

He could feel the weight of those countless years on his shoulders, and he wondered why they would crush him.

"Well, I guess it's a party then! Let the other Apostles come; I've been dying to meet them!" Mercy crowed, her voice filled with excitement at the prospect of more violence.

Mathew didn't bother to reply; he just looked at the horizon where the smoke was beginning to thin and waited for them to arrive.