Demonic City Builder [LitRPG, Kingdom Building]

Shiny stood still, facing the crackling fire in the hearth. He peered into it, as if unlocking the secrets that dwell within.

Behind him, he heard Clod and Sing ushering more and more of the brood inside.

“Gather, gather! Boss speak soon!” announced Clod.

“OH!”

“SPEAK!”

“Here go!”

More and more voices filled the common room of the brood rookery, as body after body was squished inside. Imps descended down from the stairs, entered through the doorway, and in a few cases even climbed in through windows.

They squeaked and chittered in excitement, seeing so many of their brethren awake and socializing at such a late hour. It was really quite irregular.

Shiny, however, paid it little mind. Shiny was smart and understood that he was getting even smarter. At first, it was small things. New thoughts and ideas over the past weeks. But now… Now it was big things.

And after the confrontation with Nod where the city nearly lost its DR manager—well—it was a really big thing. Shiny felt… a sense of devouring hunger. Not like dinner time hunger, but more like… a broodful hunger. One that reminded him of how the spawning circle felt when master summoned too many imps in one day.

It felt nice. Not bad. In fact, it made him feel even more smart. So, Shiny decided some things needed to change. He’d called a meeting with all the brood.

Well. Not DR. They could keep sleeping in their little camp outside.

But the rest were waiting. As he eyed the flick of flames over the scraps of wood, he imagined what it might be like to devour even them. To fill that most delicious hunger with a fire that would roar through his belly.

He leaned forward, letting one little claw inch closer and closer to the hearth. His skin on it tingled. Like something wanted him. Suddenly, a log in the hearth shifted, throwing up a smattering of sparks. Instead of reeling back, he smiled and let the little embers collect in a flurry along the edge of his claw.

Then, with a tiny glint in his eyes, the sparks simmered, dimmed, and then cooled until they were no more than dust.

Shiny just stared down at the little black marks where just a moment ago they’d been on his claw.

Tasty.

“Boss?”

“Hmm?” Shifting, he saw Clod and Sing waiting. Behind them, the entirety of the room was filled with a wave of crimson.

The brood.

“Everyone?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“It time then.” Brushing down his sides with his claws just like he’d seen master do, he polished himself up, made sure he looked quite nice, and spun around.

“Clod! Ground!”

“Boss?”

“Get on ground!”

“Yes boss!” Clod looked confused, but he got on the floor like his boss ordered. “Why—ow!”

Ignoring him, Shiny stepped upon his new stool and stared out upon the brood. He raised his voice, holding out both arms. “Welcome! Welcome! Tonight very important. Very, very important.”

Gasps and oooo’s came from the imps watching.

“WHY?”

“MORE FOOD?!”

“TASTY!”

“No. Much better.” He paused, putting his claws on his hips. He considered what Bean had said at the meeting.

Same team…

“Today, is special day! On eve of battle. Big battle!” He waved both his arms. “The brood become team.”

“Ohhhh.”

“Team!”

“TEAM!”

“EAT!”

“And,” continued Shiny, “teams work together. We grow together. Strong together.”

A new champion of brood called, and in the distance, a rumbling answered.

“Grow?”

“BIGGER?!”

“Stronger?!”

“Better!”

The brood was getting excited now. So too was Shiny. They all were. Even the city itself seemed to, for in the bustle and excitement, Shiny swore he heard a giant gulping down food and swallowing it into his belly.

Maybe master was hungry? It didn’t matter. Shiny already ate.

“So! From now on. Brood has responsibility.”

“More waste recycle?” asked an imp.

“That too! But more importantly…” He thought about how to explain this to his brothers. “Wrath think strong. DR think strong. Demon think strong. But,” he held up a claw. “Brood strong too.”

At the mention of the powers that be, it was like someone blew out a candle in each of the fiery little imps. They deflated right before Shiny’s eyes, claws trembling.

“Nooo!”

“The wrath?!”

“The DR?!”

“Supervisor Nod?!”

“Manager! He manager! Stupid!”

“DEMONS!?”

“VORA-MEANY!”

“Quiet!” snapped Shiny, slamming his claws together. “Listen to me! You right be scared. Alone, wrath beat us. Alone, DR beat us. Alone, demons beat us. But… Together?! No! Together, brood is one. Brood is strong!”

This time, when he spoke, his voice was so loud even master couldn’t match it. The very walls shook, the light in the fire of the hearth trembled, and the ground beneath their skittering feet quaked.

Just like that, the flames were back, and hotter than ever.

“BROOD! BROOD! BROOD! BROOD!” began the chant.

In the middle of a dark city, its warriors resting and leaders preparing for war, their workers chanted. And, just like that, Shiny grew his workforce exponentially.

No longer was it just Bean, Clod, and Sing.

It was The Brood.

***

The lines of hundreds of clans warriors paused. Over the last hours, the trees had become more and more worn, the ground more and more sparse, and the air more and more dry.

With all the occurrences as of late, not to mention where they were headed, that was acceptable. They simply trudged on. Clans rotated, new members came to the front, and the migration continued.

For the better part of a week, that had remained true. The march was all the clans focused on. Getting from point A to point B.

That was, at least, until a barrier had been reached.

Rosk growled under his breath, the afternoon sun already bearing down, bald head glistening with sweat.

“Well, I don’t know why you’re all giving me those looks,” he grunted.

“Elder… Don’t ya feel it?” asked a warrior. Around him, others shuffled nervously. Lines and lines of warriors wound back into the path they’d made, five or six abreast at the thickest points.

The great war chief shot the man a disapproving glance. “Of course I feel it, boy. You think I’m daft?”

“Er—no, elder. Of course not. But it’s just…”

“Just what? You thought those fancy lights Valdren was shooting off had no purpose? That they were just for show? That our forest,” he waved his meaty palms around them, “just wilted and died on its own?”

“No. Elder, it’s—”

“That’s alright, warrior,” spoke Senna. Striding forward, she peered up at Rosk, patted his back, and strode past him. “Me and Elder Rosk shall lead the way. As elders should,” she said scoldingly.

With a snort, Rosk pointed. “Fine by me. You coming?”

“I am,” replied Senna mid-stride.

Several paces ahead, the decaying and sparse earth morphed. It went from an eroding, but still muddy appearance to… death.

Together, the two elders pushed ahead. A feeling of wrongness, of death and decay, of taint pressed down upon them as they did.

“Whatever Valdren’s done, this is where it roots,” whispered Senna. The whites of her eyes had grown, her delicate hands opening and closing as she tried to feel the forest around her.

“Yeah? Looks to me like they have some kind of wicked doings. Not that it matters. Once we find ’em, we’ll get to the bottom of this right quick.”

Instead of replying, the female elder bent down, grabbing handfuls of the dry dirt into her palms. Then, taking a step forward, she knelt to do the same with the ground on the other side of the terrain, but froze.

The moment one of her feet dug into the orange, desolate sandy dirt mix, her body stilled. She breathed in sharply, her spine going taut. “It’s… It’s here,” she hissed.

“We knew that, woman. Anyone can see as much. Now if you’ll just—” Rosk stuttered to a halt, his massive form trembling. Just for a fraction of a moment. But it did.

Shaking his head, he moved forward past the invisible barrier and onto the domain of evil. One step. Two. Four. Six. At a dozen steps in, he halted. Senna said something, but he paid it little mind. For, in his head, a new voice spoke.

One that hungered. That raged. That demanded violence.

Despite his barbaric nature, Rosk could realize that something was clawing at his mind. It was like a tainted, wicked spirit was trying to invade his very soul. The smell of sharp sulfur and mixed metal pressed into his nose, and a mix of alien emotions wormed against him.

The thing was, Rosk didn’t care. He was beyond caring at this point about anything other than finding the bastards who dared ransack their forests and murder good greenfolk. That would challenge the clan’s very way of life and freedom.

“Rosk!” came a distant voice.

“Shut up.”

“Rosk!” Louder this time.

Why wouldn’t that voice be quiet? He was trying to understand what—

“Dammit Rosk!” A hard slap landed on his cheek. With a start, his senses snapped back into reality.

“Did you hear what I said?” asked Senna frustratedly.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you felt it. Judging by your face, I’d say you did.”

“I…” hesitated Rosk. “Did feel something,” he admitted finally. “But it don’t matter. We’re here, and Valdren is too. It’s time we find them.”

Senna snapped her fingers under his chin. “Hey. Look at me. Rosk, the feelings I’m getting… It’s not right.”

“I know it ain’t! That’s why we’re here!”

“Yes but… I don’t think any human could make something like this. I think… I think perhaps some other evil is here.”

“That’s what we call black magic. If the Solari can do holy magic, who’s to say someone can’t do the opposite?”

“I—”

“No!” roared Rosk. “Enough!” Turning, he raised his fists at the clans. “Valdren’s here, boys! I can smell it! Raise your spears, grab your weapons, and brace yourselves! We’ve got some soldiers to hunt.”

A roar of agreement answered him from the gathering. Fists clenching and wills hardening, the front of the clans people began to walk atop the hellscape.

Senna watched them moving, before shaking her head in resignation. “Rosk, where do you think we should go? These sands seem vast…”

“You are a smart woman, Senna. But you lack the eye of a warrior. Look here.” Bending down, he pressed two hands into the sands. Dozens and dozens of boot prints had been worn into it. They followed a path headed directly west. “Militia boots, Senna. That’s them alright.”

She frowned. Whatever she was about to say, however, Rosk had already wheeled around and began to follow the trail. Like a hound, he had the scent. He’d find them.

He had to.

***

Brexin, Lord Paladin of the sixth hand of the Solari empire, was cold. He was tired. And he was not happy.

“They are just watching?!” he hissed.

The Valdren officer gulped, throwing glances at the armored paladins trudging alongside the convoy. The eyes under their helmets only softly shined, before they turned and continued forward.

“That is the report, sir,” confirmed the lieutenant. Brexin didn’t remember his name, nor did he really want to know it. Who cared. The man was a fool and not of the armor.

Alas, he reminded himself that The Five schooled mercy, even to those who did not deserve it.

As long as they walk the path of light, that is.

“Why is it that these barbaric, wicked spawns go from bloodthirsty raids to just… watching?” Brexin asked. He wasn’t intending for an answer, more thinking aloud.

Unfortunately, the good lieutenant didn’t catch on. “If I had to guess, sir, it would be from that light show your paladins put on. Since that day, they’ve kept their distance. Thrown rocks, dislodged boulders, just been… skittish.”

Brexin, his helmet off and hair covered in a thin sheet of snow, glared at the man. “You are suggesting they are thinking. Explain to me how they think when they are mindless beasts that walk the path of dark?”

Seeing his displeasure, the man spluttered to continue on. “Sir—I… It’s not… Well… I mean… The men whisper. They said that perhaps they are not—”

“Gah!” he waved dismissively. “I can not expect those of such… mundane beginnings to comprehend the minds of the tainted. Thinking these are anything but the barbaric animals they must be. Some evil has tainted these lands, growing from them. We will cleanse it, worry not!”

Brexin shifted the luxurious furs atop his armor, filling in a few places where the biting winds still cut in, and studied the ranks traveling down the descent.

As the shepherd of The Five’s will, he was in the rear, ensuring all knew their way. Being the paths were as tenuous as they were, no more than one or two men could walk side by side. Meaning he couldn’t see past the fogs and light flurries far enough to spot more than a few dozen of the rearmost soldiers.

But they were close. Very close.

“We have… perhaps half a day left. I think if we push hard, we should make the pass end by nightfall. I don’t know about you, boy, but the path of the light burns brightest when not in the colds of these cruel mountains.”

“Yes! I would assume it does, sir!”

“Then… pass these orders along. We are to move at all haste until we find the end of the pass. No stopping. If any more red devils are spotted, they are to be eliminated. I mean to cleanse the taint from this place.”

“Understood, sir!”

With one last fearful glance, the Valdren lieutenant adjusted his pack’s straps and dashed ahead. He had orders to pass.

***

High Bishop Arthur Demetri despised dinner parties. Not because of the food, but the company.

I did used to enjoy these. But now…

Now they were all posturing and scheming. Tonight was no different. He sat around the table with a dozen other bishops, including several of rank. Perhaps the most notable of which, other than himself of course, was High Bishop Stainard. The man had been noticeably more reclusive after their last chat.

Bringing the goblet of wine to his lips, Demetri took a careful sip, returning his attention to the conversation around him.

“Tell them what you told me, father,” urged William.

Another bishop scoffed. “You can not seriously believe demons are real, William. Our historical writs are quite clear on this point. The demons were cleansed in their entirety after the third coming of light. Any further cleansing, such as what Brexin is going after, is purely minor clean up—keeping any remnants of the dark at bay.”

“There are eyewitness accounts that contradict that notion!” said William in exasperation.

“Yes, yes. You keep saying that,” said another at the table. “But honestly, can we even trust the people of North Valdren?” His patronizing tone at the region made it quite clear what he thought of that idea.

“I—” began William, before being waved off by Demetri.

“If I may. William is young, and with youth comes a mix of vigor and spark that even The Five must envy.”

Grunts of approval from the gathering.

“My son can attest to that,” said another bishop. He took on a wistful expression. “Sometimes, you simply need to remind our younger ones,” he waved amicably at William and a few others near him at the other side of the table, “that vigor is best tempered with patience and wisdom.” He took a long pull from his own goblet, a very satisfied look on his face.

Stamps and louder grunts of agreement came with that.

William glowered.

“However,” began Demetri carefully, “vigorous and youthful as William is, it does not mean he is necessarily wrong. As those with wisdom, must we not consider the words of all, even the youngest? In fact, was it not a child that first warned our predecessors about the third coming?”

A contemplative silence was his answer. Silverware clanged against plates, wine sloshed, and food was eaten.

High Bishop Stainard swallowed his slice of honeyed bread before clearing his throat. “Demetri has a point. We should consider the words of all that walk the path of light.”

Demetri gave him an approving nod. Despite being one of Oren’s staunchest supporters, their last meeting had done wonders on the man.

Wonders that, Demetri reminded himself, still weren’t quite enough. The man’s next words were proof enough of that.

“However, I think what the bishopric needs, Demetri, is something to prove these words should be listened to. Is there perhaps more… credible information or findings you could share with the rest of us? Because I must tell you, what Oren says rings loud with many. Sightings and testimony from the mundane can not contradict The Five’s teachings. We know that for demons to have returned to our world, there would need to be a gap in The Five’s will. It is they who have bound our world in the light, after all.”

“That is certainly one interpretation,” sighed Demetri.

Internally, the spymaster was conflicted. Knowledge about his guest, that being Commander Ashlan, was strictly confidential. If the other bishops got word of him, he’d never have anything else useful from the man. They’d cleanse him immediately.

Yet, it was that man’s testimony that both he and William found to be the most compelling.

The other needle in his side was the silences. He’d shared as much with Stainard, but that was as far as he was willing to go on that subject. Even William’s involvement there was tenuous at best.

As the dinner party continued around him, more scoffs and laughs about tales of demons and the fancies of youth, Demetri found his mood too matching that of William’s.

Just what are we going to do?