Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

The elevator doors slid open with a whisper to reveal nothing at all. Emily stepped forward and was instantly swallowed by pure blackness. It wasn't the darkness of night or the lack of light; it was a complete, suffocating absence.

There were no stars in the sky, no ground visible beneath her feet or walls blocking her path. It was just a void that pressed down on her from every angle. It was thick and heavy, like she was deep beneath the surface of the ocean. It threatened to buckle her knees from the weight, and she stumbled.

Her boots met something solid, but it groaned beneath her feet and even the sound of it was muffled as though it were heard through water. She couldn't see her hands, nor could she hear her own breath.

A pale light flickered before lighting up on her wrist. Even the silver bangle was struggling against the darkness. The magical item from the Tower buzzed and shuddered before it slowly stabilized and cast a faint glow over her face.

The message from the wristband was faint, just on the edge of her ability to hear it.

"Welcome to the 92nd Floor, known as the Hollow Deep. This world is collapsed, all light and motion are forbidden here. You must locate the Crystallized Aether at the core of this world and retrieve it for the Tower. The ambient pressure you feel will increase with each step you take. The Aether is located 100 steps in front of you."

The words faded, and the band went dark again.

Emily summoned a sphere of mana-light above her palm and let it drift to settle above her shoulder. Its radius didn't extend very far, and it seemed as if she were stepping on darkness. The light flickered, and she felt the pressure of the darkness magnify slightly in response to its intrusion.

The air around her shifted, and the pressure surged as it pushed down harder on her body, as if gravity had doubled in an instant. The ground beneath her feet let out a sound of cracking, and she imagined that, if the light extended far enough, she would see brittle fractures spidering out from her boots.

Emily inhaled sharply and took a single step forward. The light brightened slightly as her foot touched the ground, but so did the crushing weight. The next step felt like she was walking through thick tar, and her legs shook with effort.

She used her mana to push back against weight against her while brightening the light that hovered above her shoulder. Emily felt the weight ease, but the mana inside her was drained at an alarming rate.

While she walked, she thought she could see a faint flicker of something catching the light in the distance. It was like a small glimmer, like a candle in a tomb. Emily had to push even more mana into her barrier, the light and even her limbs to keep going.

Every step she took was a battle against the darkness of this world, but she pressed on.

Page Break

The sky above blazed red as Mercy crashed into the ruined plaza. Her boots skidded across the fractured stone as she tried to stop her momentum. Her breathing was ragged and wild, and she grinned at her opponents with bloody teeth.

The group sent by the Tower of Avarice was closing in around her, and she couldn't prevent being pushed back in her assault. There were a half-dozen of them, all battle-hardened and armed with glowing magical relics and the experience of surviving for so many Floors.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Mercy was fighting them alone, and she was losing. Her black leather jacket was torn, her face and hands were covered in dirt, and her dyed hair, pink this time, was matted with dried blood from a cut on her head.

"I'm going to make this hurt!" She growled angrily, and the world exploded around her with bright, crimson flames that shot skyward with supernatural heat. The muscles in her arms and legs bulged while veins darkened beneath her pale skin.

Her face twisted, quickly becoming demonic as black horns grew from her forehead and her nails length into claws. Mercy launched herself forward like a cannonball as she trailed fire behind her. She was enhancing her physical abilities using the demon blood within her veins, drawing on the power given to her by Mischievous Depravity.

She tore through the first defender; her flames seared through the thick shield of mana they surrounded themselves with in a blast of pressure. But a blade scraped across Mercy's ribs as she spun and backhanded another attacker into a broken wall.

The others came too fast for her to recover quickly; her body was a blur of motion as she traded blows in a brutal ballet of fire and steel. Every strike Mercy landed screamed in fury and pain as every counter she took carved pieces of her body away from her.

She burned her fire brighter and fueled her demonic transformation deeper, but her enemies were relentless and coordinated. Mercy couldn't shake them no matter what she tried.

A blow caught her like a hammer in the gut, driving the wind from her lungs. Spell-fire pierced her shoulder, puncturing the layer of demonic armour that had formed over her. It detonated with crackling frost and threw her off balance.

Mercy howled and fought back, but the flames around her were weaker than before. The demon blood in her veins screamed for more, but her body was failing her. Her muscles were torn and frayed, her skin burned and barely holding together.

A final strike sent her to the ground, and her transformation was undone in an instant. Resuming her normal appearance, Mercy collapsed onto one knee while blood poured from her nose and mouth. One of her eyes was swollen shut.

The summoned flames sputtered and died around her, leaving scorch marks on the ground. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing red across her cheek as she scowled angrily at the approaching Champions from the Tower.

"Tch. Do you think this is enough to kill me? You should have brought more!" Mercy bluffed, and one of them stepped forward and laughed.

The one who laughed came fully into view. Her silver armour gleamed in the sunlight, unmarred by the battle or mercy's flames. It was elegant and polished, etched with runes that shimmered with mana. Her blond hair was pulled back into a braid, with loose strands hanging around her temples.

The young woman planted the butt of the weapon against the scorched ground and leaned slightly on it casually.

"Acting tough while coughing up blood. Classic." She said, her tone was light and filled with mockery. Her voice had a cutting sharpness to it, and she tilted her head slightly as she scanned Mercy with contempt.

"Let's not drag this out." Another young man said as he walked toward the kneeling Apostle and gripped a sword in his right hand.

"We finish off an Apostle to the god of Mischievous Depravity, and we get to leave. Job done." The young, blond woman explained to Mercy, her lips curling into a smirk.

Mercy responded by laughing in her face.

It started as a low, rasping sound deep in her throat that was barely more than a breath. But it quickly built as it was filled with pain and defiance until it echoed wildly. The Champions from the Tower hesitated, and their grips on their weapons tightened as they were uncertain whether it was just madness or something worse.

Marcy's laughter finally broke into a ragged cough, and she doubled over, spitting a mouthful of dark blood on the pavement between them.

"You think I'm the only Apostle here?" She wheezed before she grinned, showing off her bloodied teeth.

"I've fallen out of favour with Mischievous Depravity now that they have Him." Mercy hissed angrily, and she felt a flood of shame course through her body. She was no longer her god's favourite, and it stung worse than she had expected.

"Him?" One of the Champions asked as they looked at each other in confusion. They had thought there was only a single Apostle on this Floor.

It was at that moment that a deafening sound split the air, and a vortex of mana churned the clouds above them. The sky twisted, and an overwhelming pressure dropped over them in an instant. It was suffocating and intense.

The Champions stumbled and gritted their teeth as their knees tried to buckle under the crushing weight. Their bones creaked, and their lungs struggled to take in air.

Mercy, still kneeling, tilted her head just enough to see the figure approaching her with a sword in his hand. A shudder passed through her that was half relief and half something bitter. She whispered his name like it was both a prayer and a curse.

"Mathew."