Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

The Champions eventually carved their way through the hordes of demons, temporarily stemming the flow from the rift. It gave the defenders a moment of relief and a great sense of accomplishment, especially when the notification rang out, letting them know that the Floor objective had been cleared.

While they waited in front of the rift for their next orders from the Tower, Emily and Louis chatted briefly under the red sky, surrounded by dead demons and their fellow Champions. It was then that they made a connection; they were both familiar with Mathew.

"You knew him before all this?" Louis asked, gesturing at the landscape around them. He obviously meant the Tower, not this Floor. His voice was casual, but she could detect a hint of curiosity and determination in his tone.

Emily's thumb ran idly across the wood of her staff. It was worn smooth from the years of use and she had never thought to replace it. It boosted her magic considerably, but perhaps it was time to look at the Shop for something better. She had more than enough Aether to purchase whatever she wanted.

"Yeah, we were in the same year in law school." A small, bitter smile touched her lips.

"He was smart but quiet. Mathew was incredibly competitive, but he didn't lord it over everyone when he won. It was more like he was proving something to himself." Emily trailed off, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with everything. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

"How did you meet him?" She asked, trying to change the subject slightly to avoid discussing her past with Mathew anymore.

"He came to Francia to hunt demi-beasts. I had never met anyone like him before, someone I could connect with. I thought, 'If the Tower could forge a warrior like him, it was a place I must enter.' I found him very motivating and a good friend." Louis explained with a smile.

"That sounds like him." Emily replied without looking at him.

"There have been rumours about Mathew. Even in the Tower, separated by Floors, word travels. That he has become the Apostle to a dark god, that he has been conquering words on his deity's behalf. He has been seen in the company of a woman." Louis explained carefully, his eyes searching Emily's face for any change in expression.

Louis didn't want to be the one to tell her, but it was obvious Emily and Mathew were close, and she should know that he may not be the same man she knew before. Emily was quiet for a long time before she responded.

"He did it for me." She explained.

They sat in silence after that; the dead demons creaked faintly around them as the wind howled through the rift. It was a while before the Floor notification came, informing them that their next objective, the 94th Floor, lay on the other side of the rift.

Emily, Louis and hundreds of other Champions stepped through the rift to the 94th Floor, and the rules of reality shattered. The air warped the moment they crossed the threshold, and the colour of the world shifted to a deep and all-encompassing red.

There was no sky above them, only an endless expanse of the same red light that lacked clouds, stars or anything else to identify direction. The red light was muted and washed out like it was coming down through a haze.

The ground beneath their feet was cracked obsidian glass that was veined with Aether. Emily could feel it thrum with energy. Each step she took sent tremors through the encased Aether, subtly shifting the blue energy.

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The Champions had entered a realm where the Tower had little presence, and the man inside their bodies turned sluggish and unresponsive. It became a struggle to use, with double the effort required for half the result.

Gravity shifted unpredictably, and the light did little to provide relief from the shadows cast across the ground. The horizon was all jagged peaks formed from spires of bone, the ribs of colossal corpses. They could see thousands of demons marching toward them while armoured monstrosities hovered in the air above the horde, providing magical shielding and other support.

Emily tightened her grip on her staff. Her body still ached from the last battle, but her will remained as firm as ever. But this place wanted to erode her resolve by gnawing away at her certainty. Her mana felt sluggish and heavy, as if it were being pulled down by the unnatural weight of this realm.

Louis, however, was unshaken. He adjusted his elegant, white duelist gloves and looked around at the landscape with an expression of distaste.

"So, this is the demon realm."

A thunderous roar suddenly echoed through the red void above them, and something massive slowly descended. It was towering and half-formed, like a celestial being that had been corrupted and tainted. Dozens of eyes blinked across its face as it stared down at them.

"How very dramatic." Louis stated, rolling his eyes. He was gone in a flash, his sword already drawn and striking at his enemies. Emily exhaled once more and joined him.

Page Break

The battlefield was silent around them once more. There were no screams, no shouts of anger of the clash of metal on metal. There was just the smell of scorched earth and blood.

Mercy stood with her weight on one leg, her hip cocked to one side while she pressed a hand coated in healing elixirs to the wound on her ribs. She had taken multiple potions, but they were less effective than normal since she had accepted the demon blood. There was always a cost for more power, but she had been more than willing to accept it.

Her torn leather jacket barely clung to her shoulders, exposing enough of her skin to be considered indecent. The remnants of her demonic transformation left faint, tattoo-like marks across her chest and stomach.

Mercy didn't care about anyone seeing her like this. The only person around was Mathew, and he had seen far more during their time together. Clothing wasn't something that lasted long when she transformed, and he had been with her enough to see the results more than once.

She watched Mathew work in silence from where he was sitting on a piece of rubble. His fingers moved across the sword in his hands, cleaning it with a rag. She wasn't sure why he bothered; it's not as if anything would damage the magical weapon.

Maybe it was his way of avoiding talking to her.

"You're still so dramatic." She finally said; her voice was low and playful as she tried to banish the silence between them.

"You show up at the last second, tear the sky open and, annihilate half the battlefield, and then you don't even stick around to have a drink with me? You're not much of a gentleman, Mathew." Mercy chided while subtly shifting her body to expose more of it for Mathew.

Unfortunately for her, Mathew didn't look up from his sword or respond to her words.

"You used to have more manners. I remember when we used to fight against each other, you were always so rough with me, but I could tell you weren't going to hurt me too badly. I thought maybe you were into me?" Mercy grinned, but there was still no response.

She walked forward and crouched beside him.

"I mean, it's hard not to be right? Just look at me; don't tell me you've never snuck a glance. Or had a single dream of what we could be doing right now?" She leaned closer to him, but Mathew still refused to indulge her.

Mercy scoffed and stood up angrily, stomping her foot on the ground.

"You're colder than you were before! I used to be able to get something out of you. You would at least joke with me or scowl. But now you're just a statue with a sword." Mercy muttered as she reached out gently and brushed her fingers against the sleeve of his jacket.

She slowly rose from the ground and brushed the dust from her ripped jeans.

"You know, it's kind sad." Mercy said, her voice light, although it cracked around the edges. She didn't like being rejected.

"I used to wonder what it'd be like if you and I got together. Two Apostles, doing what had to be done. Then, maybe we could get a house with a little white fence, and we could argue about the furniture or the clothes I'm wearing."

Mercy teased, but there was still no response.

She forced a smile onto her face when Mathew finally stood up and replaced the blade in his hands to his inventory, before walking away without a word. Mercy watched him go, and her smile faltered.

"You're not dead yet, Mathew. But gods dammit, you're getting close." Mercy muttered, conflicted. She wanted to be the only Apostle again, to be the only Mischievous Depravity relied on. But she had also grown used to having Mathew protecting her.

"It doesn't matter. We've got all the time in the world."