Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

Miguel crouched at the mouth of the cave, his every muscle tense as he beheld a spectacle no one should ever have to witness. Hundreds of trolls, many of whom rode giant insects, charged the walls of the fortress below.

“I can’t watch,” Isaak muttered from beside him.

“Don’t you dare look away,” Miguel insisted. He knew the order was unnecessary. Isaak was just as entranced as he was, and that had been the case since the very first charge. That had been days ago, and it had been easily repelled by the fortress’ defenses. Individually, the trolls were impressive specimens – as befit an elder race – but the true danger lay in the endless waves they could send.

According to the guides he and Isaak had been given, that wasn’t abnormal for the extinct race. They reproduced so prolifically and matured much more quickly than most other races. That allowed them to continuously supply fresh troops. Most weren’t particularly high-leveled. They weren’t even terribly skilled, all things considered. What they did have going for them was their immense natural Regeneration, imposing Strength, and decent Constitution. Because of that, even a force of barely classed individuals could prove a powerful foe.

But if they were ever allowed to level, they became something else entirely.

Miguel hadn’t seen one of those champions, but he’d read enough about them to know that if he did, he would need an army to back him up.

An explosion below bathed the oncoming horde of trolls in fire, halting their advance. Before the elves on the wall could even finish off the trolls who’d managed to mount it, more were on their way.

Thus it had gone for the past few days, almost without end.

“Where do they get their numbers?” he asked.

From behind him, Ivin answered, “There is a spawn point nearby.”

“But what does that mean? They just appear from nowhere?” he asked, turning to see his mentor.

“No. They are ritual sites,” Ivin said. Then, he pointed to a group of smaller creatures, barely visible in the horde. “You see those?”

Miguel squinted. The cave was miles away from the fort, so details were difficult to discern. But he could just make out the indicated figures.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Blood Priests,” Ivin said. “Easy to miss, but they are the true engine of any troll horde. Those fighters, they’re little better than wild trolls. Their bodies mature quickly, but their minds lag far behind. They are no more than chaff. Troll society is built on the backs of the Blood Priests. They are the aristocracy. The rest of this force is entirely expendable.”

Miguel frowned. If what Ivin said was true, then a half dozen Illythiri forts had fallen to what amounted to disposable cannon fodder.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

“Gathering blood for fel rituals meant to empower, nurture, and ultimately, summon their soldiers,” Ivin answered. “When tied to a Primal Realm, the summoning rituals are the spawn points.”

“Why don’t we attack them, then?” asked Isaak without turning away from the distant battle.

“You will see.”

“Can’t you just tell us?” asked the Sorcerer.

“No. You must see it if you’re to take it seriously,” Ivin stated. “First, we will watch this fort fall.”

“I want to help,” Miguel said. “I can. I’m –”

“We cannot stop what is coming,” Ivin interrupted. “The order has already been given. Watch.”

Miguel wanted to continue that conversation, largely because he truly did believe he could help. A few more fighters could make a significant difference, given the advantage afforded to them by the fort’s defenses. However, he knew better than to argue with the powerful illythiri soldier. Doing so would only earn him disdain, if not outright punishment, as it would have been for any of the accompanying elves. If there was one thing to remember about the illythiri, it was that they took obedience to authority seriously. There was likely a cultural reason for that, but Miguel hadn’t plumbed the depths of their society deeply enough to know the details.

Regardless, he took his cues from the other soldiers and followed his orders.

In doing so, he saw the battle progress. The shield surrounding the fort protected the settlement from airborne attacks, but as wave after wave of trolls and their insectile mounts battered it, the barrier began to waver. It took another six hours for it to break.

When it did, the trolls erupted into newfound fury, mounting the walls and slaughtering defenders. Each wave was beaten back – through the weight of sheer numbers, if nothing else – but the damage began to mount. The end was near, and anyone with eyes could see it.

On and on the elven defenders fought, but their numbers continued to decrease until the trolls finally gained a foothold on the walls. After that, the battle was over.

However, there was some hope. Miguel knew that non-essential personnel had long since left the fort for a more secure location. People still died, and in numbers that Miguel found truly distressing.

It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d considered the illythiri his enemy. At times, he still did. And he certainly hadn’t forgotten being hunted by hundreds of them on his way to Argos. He would never forget what they’d done to Norcastle, either. However, from everything he’d seen since descending into the Hollow Depths told him that those had been isolated events.

Sure – he wasn’t so naïve as to believe that the illythiri wouldn’t seize upon any advantage they could find. They were fighting for the very survival of their species, after all. Yet, many of them possessed a sense of honor he could admire.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

None represented that ideal more than Ivin.

Whatever the case, it was difficult for Miguel to watch the slaughter with dispassionate detachment. Those were people down there. They didn’t deserve that.

“They chose to stay,” Ivin stated, having returned to see the fall of the fort. “It is a great honor, to give one’s life for the survival of our people. Each one of those soldiers will be honored by the Empress.”

“Doesn’t do them much good,” Isaak remarked.

“It is not about them,” Miguel said. “It’s about devoting themselves to a higher ideal. I get it.”

And he suspected that Isaak did too. He’d put his own life on the line in defense of Argos, and he hadn’t done so for his own sake.

“We need to do something about this,” Isaak muttered to himself. “If these things reach the surface…”

“Come. We have much ground to cover before we are done,” Ivin said.

“Where are we going?” Miguel asked.

“You asked to see a ritual, and so you shall,” Ivin answered.

With that, Miguel and Isaak followed the illythiri commander deeper into the cave, and after only a few minutes, they rejoined the rest of the fifty-strong force. Most were Rangers, but there were a fair few Warrior variants in the group as well. They were also uniformly higher-leveled than Miguel or Isaak, and they held themselves like the elite squad they clearly were.

They were also extremely standoffish and only interacted with Miguel or Isaak during their daily training exercises. Otherwise, they ignored the pair of humans entirely.

That pattern continued as Ivin ordered them to move out. They were all already packed and ready to go, so it wasn’t long before they were following the curve of another tunnel. How they knew the route, Miguel had no idea. To him, the system of caves, caverns, and tunnels was a maze. But the elves unerringly found the proper path to reach their destination.

For his part, he maintained his vigilance despite knowing that an attack was unlikely. The wildlife would usually avoid such a large group, and the trolls were unlikely to venture out from the current target of their conquest.

Even so, Miguel felt more than a little uneasy as the group crept through those often-claustrophobic tunnels. Part of it was the knowledge that there were millions of tons of rock above his head, but mostly, his discomfort came from his distance from the grove. Of late, he’d begun to feel it even more keenly, and he desperately wanted to return.

Was that because of his own levels? Or was it just a natural effect of stress intertwined with homesickness? He had no idea. Maybe it was something else entirely. After all, his knowledge of the grove was shallow, and unlike most other subjects, he didn’t dare search out a guide to explain it properly.

That might put a target on the grove, which was something he refused to allow.

For two days, they continued through the tunnels. At times, they passed through much larger caverns. According to what he’d overheard, some of those were hundreds of miles across, and there existed caverns the size of continents, with miles-high ceilings and a wide variety of biomes.

But with all that space came significant danger. Similar to the deepest parts of the ocean, those huge caverns were natural homes to powerful creatures that were best left to their own devices. Even the illythiri were wary of venturing into such biomes, which ranged from deserts to jungles and everything in between. According to what Miguel had learned back in Eldrathûn, there were even oceans and frozen tundras, though that was an assumption based on the elves’ experiences in their home world’s underground environments.

To Miguel, it sounded like there were entire worlds nested within one another, which meant that Earth was effectively even larger than anyone had ever expected. It was an intimidating thought, though that feeling was not an unfamiliar one. To the spirit of an explorer nestled within him, it was also exciting to imagine so many undiscovered locales.

Eventually, the group found just such a cavern, though. The terrain was marshy, with all the hallmarks of a swamp. That included stagnant water, twisted trees, fog, and a host of insects carrying a truly wide variety of diseases. There were also venomous reptiles, aggressive fish that would throw themselves from the water like silver bullets, and creeping vines that would strangle anyone who ventured too near and stayed a little too still.

But to Miguel, it was the most inviting environment he had visited since coming to the Hollow Depths. The sheer vitality of the place settled onto his shoulders like a warm, moist blanket, and though he was no more immune to the stuffy atmosphere than anyone else, he couldn’t bring himself to mind it.

Part of that was probably because the insects mostly avoided him.

Isaak was not so lucky, as evidence by an annoyed slap followed by a sound of pure disgust as he groaned, “It’s like I’m a mosquito magnet.”

Miguel glanced back at his friend to see him spreading his fingers. Goo and blood – what was left of the baseball-sized insect he’d just killed – stretched between each digit and coated his palm.

“Gross,” Isaak grumbled, wiping the remnants on his pants, where it joined the crusty remains of other insects. He quickly applied a dab of salve he’d gotten from the group’s quartermaster – a necessity if they wanted to avoid getting swarmed. Aside from the risk of infection – which would affect them, regardless of Constitution – having an open wound in the middle of a swamp was a very bad idea. The salve wouldn’t do much to heal the bite, but it would mask the scent, which was far more important.

“Silence,” one of the Rangers hissed as they waded through the knee-deep water.

Isaak looked annoyed, but he followed the order. He knew better than to ignore it.

After another day, they reached their destination.

On the most basic level, it was an island. However, there were two factors that set it apart. The first was that it was crawling with trolls, and not the brutish monsters that occupied the front lines. Most were just as tall and covered in shaggy hair as those creatures, but they were also slightly thinner and, to Miguel’s eyes, more refined. It was like comparing a prehistoric human to someone more modern. The parts were largely the same, but they added up to something slightly different.

Whatever the case, if there were less than a hundred present, Miguel would have been surprised. The island also played host to a small settlement with buildings crafted from the raw material of the surroundings. He was no student of architecture – in fact, he barely noticed it most of the time – but he couldn’t ignore the savage cast of those structures. There was a prevalence of wood and bone, and most of the trolls were clad in deep red. Robes, armor, or more casual clothing – it didn’t matter. Red was the clear color of preference.

The final thing Miguel noticed was the temple at the center of the settlement. The building itself wasn’t that remarkable, and it followed the same pattern as all the other structures. It was a little bigger, with more bones used as decoration, but that only set it apart by a little.

The same could not be said for the procession of brutish trolls, each one armored in crudely forged metal, heading out into the swamp. From what Miguel had seen, he knew where they were going.

This was where the trolls got their reinforcements.

Even more troubling was the density of the local ethera, which wasn’t quite as powerful as what he’d felt in the grove, but far exceeded anywhere else Miguel had ever been.

After observing the settlement for almost an hour, the group retreated. No one spoke as they crossed the swamp, and they remained silent until they were safely nestled miles into the tunnels.

That was when Ivin said, “There are hundreds of those throughout the Hollow Depths, and they spread more and more each day. If we do not stop them soon, they will overrun the entire world. Such is their nature.”

Miguel listened as he struggled to grasp the scope of the problem. He knew Primal Realms were dangerous, but until that moment, he’d likened them to towers. Something that needed to be dealt with, but not an existential threat to the whole of humanity. Even without the possibility of excisement, the trolls were an extinction-level threat that needed to be handled.

The alternative was that the trolls would spread across the world and destroy everything in their path.