The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 492: Who wants to live forever?

Mason walked with Stag through the fey, pausing as he tried to decide where to go. He’d been considering another mountain range, curious to find those dragons he’d seen in a druid dream.

But with his new knowledge of the south from the centaur scout, he was pretty confident he knew where Demi the ‘mushroom girl’ was.

They had a swamp labeled ‘dangerous’ and ‘full of Gaian magic’. He suspected a few of their kind had gone that way and found Demi waiting with plants full of nasty. It made him grin, but the problem remained: could he teleport her into the fey, or not?

He’d needed Ayet the elven enchanter’s help before. But that was to take Naya, an elf, not a nature-affinity player. And whatever the answer, it was a problem that wasn’t going away until he tested it and found out.

If the answer was no, he figured it was best to know and then get Demi moving north towards Nassau, either on her own or with him on foot. Or he could maybe use a teleporter beacon. Though if he went on foot he could probably meet up with the centaur en route and get Lila back at the same time…

The ridiculous fantasies that followed reminded him it was far past due for some sexual fucking discipline. He’d been absolutely developing…something with Demi, but he needed to put a stop to that. Even for him, coming home with not one, but two more women he was sleeping with was getting out of hand.

He had enough women in his life. That was the truth.

Even with his insane libido he just couldn’t manage the emotional and social consequences of more. He already had a proper ‘harem’, and the only thing keeping it together was…well, he didn’t entirely know, but he was guessing circumstance, his magic dick powers, and Haley. And the first was changeable.

Plus Demi was a player. A potentially powerful player. What was most important was recruiting her, not getting in her pants. Or so Mason told himself about fifty times en route through the fey.

It wasn’t far, really, from the Green Sea to the swampy terrain. Even on foot he likely could have crossed it in a few days. But in the fey it was just a bit of mana and a few dozen steps, then Mason was standing over a patch of mud, and a big lake beyond that probably meant an ocean.

As he stepped closer he saw flits of color and feminine laughter, allowing himself at least a quick glance to see what it was. There was a girl, er woman, no more than four feet tall in a skin-tight pink dress, hovering with at least three sets of wings near the trees.

She met his eyes and smiled from pointy ear to ear, giving him a wave but hiding behind the tree as if shy. Mason had the ridiculous urge to wave back, but just stared and tried to remember the fairy’s face.

He understood these creatures were dangerous, but they probably also had knowledge, and Mason was pretty resistant to mind powers…

Stag snorted at both the idea and the fairy. He took a few steps towards the creature’s tree, and she vanished into the woods with a girlish giggle. Mason heard at least three or four other creatures run off and realized there were more hiding, so camouflaged he hadn’t noticed them.

Now that he was paying attention he heard and smelled more in the trees on the other side.

In fact, some of the trees weren’t trees at all, but walking tree-like creatures. It seemed a small crowd of the things were sneaking to the edge of the wood and staring. Mason glanced at them and raised a brow.

“I’m suddenly popular. Is it because of Cerebus being free?”

Stag flicked a dismissive head as he walked back, snorting again to chase off a few more of the braver creatures.

No, ranger. You carry something of immense power to this plane. I sensed it as you walked in, and so will everything else. But whatever it is, don’t discuss it here.

The seed, Mason realized.

Apparently getting it back to Nassau was going to be more complicated than not getting it broken. Though if all the creatures did was follow him there wasn’t much of a problem. But he’d only taken a few steps. If he tried to go further, stayed longer, would he attract a lot more attention? And from what?

First he needed to get out and summon Stag to ask some questions without prying, pointy ears.

He stepped into what he hoped was Demi’s ‘swamp’, the world swirling and expanding, all the distractions and echo-like noises fading and crystallizing to the familiar, ‘real’ world of the prime. He summoned Stag a moment later, then his titles flared.

[Title activated: Abyssal Antagonist. Improved resistance to abyssal environments.]

[Title activated: Demon Slayer. Increased resistances to all demonic magic and abilities. You have resisted a minor aura.]

Mason blinked and spun, Claws out as his powers and senses screamed danger. He was standing on a raised hill that was probably the tip of some mountain in an ancient age. All around it was mud and bog and a thousand hills covered in patches of trees. It stunk of old life and new death, but nothing dangerous was obvious as he searched.

East, ranger. In the shadows of the trees.

Stag stared with unblinking eyes, his ‘grumpiness’ transforming into obvious hate. Mason followed the creature’s words and eyes and saw at least a dozen creatures huddled together like penguins. They were black and brown, their wiry bodies camouflaged but still visible now that he looked.

He inhaled and smelled the rotten-egg like, sulfuric reek of the abyss. He saw the low mist on the ground and felt it prickling his skin. One with Nature was feeding him a never-ending report of failure—life that was dead or dying, resigned to its fate.

Was this what happened when the world ‘lost’ an event? Had the portals opened here and defeated whatever was supposed to stop it? Had Demi been here and died?

That was the feeling Mason had, at least. It pissed him off, because somehow it felt personal. Like he should have been here to deal with this. To help her. It was especially annoying because he didn’t know anything, he just felt it. Though his feelings about the world were getting increasingly right.

But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t defend the whole God damn world from sudden magical invasion. It wasn’t fair, or reasonable. But then if there was anything an orphan learned young was that life wasn’t fair or reasonable, it was just people who pretended otherwise.

Whatever his failure, he decided, he could sure as hell deal with it now.

The cluster of demon-penguins dropped or ran as Mason crashed a lightning bolt into their center. The spell boomed into them with a good quarter of his mana, and his Elven Bow was up and loosing Abyssal/Fey arrows as the thunder cracked.

He activated his Sleeves to camouflage, hunting the survivors down as they panicked or fled, only two actually finding him and trying to attack. The first exploded with a Power Shot to the chest. The second ripped to shreds with a Crippling Strike before he put a shaft through its neck.

[Abyssal Corruptor pack destroyed. Abyssal aura increased. Experience gained (minor).]

There is little point now, ranger, the ground is lost. These creatures are too weak for you to gain much power. Stag’s voice came into his mind slow and sad. There are rules.

“I’m pretty tired of hearing about fucking rules,” Mason hissed, the killing blood still coursing through him. “What are they? Can I see the God damn list? What do you mean the ground is lost?”

Divine rules, human. The abyssal invasions will be no accident. They are pre-ordained, the locations negotiated by the gods. Their success or failure will last a hundred years, just as your victory for Cerebus. You cannot undo what is done. Not here. Not now.

Mason gripped his bow and ground his teeth, but he felt the truth of the words slam into him. Stag certainly had no reason to lie to him, and he was apparently so ancient Cerebus thought of him as an old acquaintance.

“How do I learn the locations?” he asked. “The timing?”

A good question, ranger. The gods are forbidden to tell you. Only the greatest creatures of the invading planes will know. I fear it would be too late. Expect attacks wherever there are forces that might resist them, and at strategic locations, or places of ancient power. The invaders must ‘bid’. They must devote finite resources.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

You did not ask. And you’ve been busy. I was also recently torn in half.

Mason nodded, calming a little now.

“Well, since we’re talking now, I have a few more questions. Tell me about this seed.” He held it up. Stag’s liquidy dark eyes stared without expression.

Impossible, he finally answered.

Mason didn’t know what that meant. Impossible that he had it? Or impossible to tell him because of some other kind of mysterious rule?

Stag took a few steps closer, and Mason reflexively pulled the thing away. The paranoid part of him started wondering just how ‘bound’ this Stag truly was, and what rules it might break, or what magic it might have.

Wetness formed in the edges of the Stag’s eyes.

I thought all the Seeds had been used, or destroyed. How? How is it possible?

The creature’s emotion helped Mason from just rolling his eyes and asking ‘cool, now the fuck do I use it?’ A little understanding was probably the right approach.

“It was in a dying Great Tree hidden in some Maker lab. Guarded by the druid, Tadg. But he’s gone now.”

Stag looked between the seed and Mason, then he maybe sneezed or snorted. Or that’s what it looked like until Mason was pretty sure he heard animalistic, donkey-like laughter in his mind.

I am very old, ranger. But even now I can be surprised. You hold an artifact of immense power, one of a dozen that once existed. This must be all that remains—a seed infused with the divine life of the fey, but fully here in the prime. A piece of divinity, technically speaking, created from the Tree of Gaia and from Cerebus, in the days before they…parted ways.

Mason stared at the seed and blinked, not sure where to start with that. He’d definitely been getting an ‘angry, bitter, divorce’ kind of energy from Gaia and Cerebus, so it didn’t shock him.

“Shouldn’t that…” He shook his head. “I mean, you’ve just described…are you telling me this is….a fertilized egg, or something? If I plant it does it grow a baby god, or what?”

Stag gave him that ‘you silly human idiot’ feeling again, but he also sensed a moment of hesitation, as if he was considering that description and thought it wasn’t actually that stupid after all.

These artifacts have been called many things. The truth is no one knows what they will produce. They are most often called Miracle Seeds. Once consumed, they grant the wielder a kind of….primal wish, the power of two gods invoked within a certain set of rules. Only those who’ve used them know exactly how.

Mason looked at the thing with a low whistle. Miracle Seed, huh? Sounded like a damn magic lamp. That certainly explained the fey attention. Apparently Mason was carrying around a budget genie with one wish instead of three.

“My people have stories about heroes who ask gods for wishes and favors,” he said. “They don’t end well. Is there anyone alive who’s used one?”

The Stag snorted, its eyes far away.

Your people are wiser than I thought. There is only one such creature that I know of. That all who dwell in the fey know. He wished for immortality, and his wish was granted. Since then he has tried to die many times. You have met him.

Mason squinted, mind racing until he decided he knew the answer.

“I saw Cerebus pin a creature to a tree with a spear through its chest.”

The king of the satyr, Stag confirmed. He was once a creature like an elf. He hates all the world and your master most. But there is no creature more…familiar with the use of a Miracle Seed. Though I doubt he’s likely to tell you anything.

Mason sighed, looking out at the dead bog all around him, smelling more abyssal creatures lurking and staring at him with growing malevolence. Sooner or later, he imagined, they were going to start getting the courage to test him.

He could just use the Seed, obviously, without talking to some ‘satyr’ king. Or he could take it to Nassau and bury it somewhere no one could find it. Or he could just destroy the damn thing.

But who knew what the world was in for. He decided it was probably best to learn as much as he could, then save the artifact for when shit truly hit the fan.

Somehow he doubted ‘kill roboGod’ or ‘put everything back to the way it was’ was likely to work. A very selfish piece of him also whispered: would you, even if you could?

He put the seed back in his pack, knowing for now he needed to search this apparently abyssal bog, and figure out where Demi went. The dying ground all around him was better evidence than ever—he had no time to lose.