Demon Core: A Dungeon-Core LitRPG by D. M. Rhodes & Razzmatazz

Author:D. M. Rhodes & Razzmatazz [Rhodes, D. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Podium Publishing
Published: 2023-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

~ [Ruhr, the River Sorceress] ~

Half Elf | ♀ | Sorceress

Rank: SSS

Location: The Demon Carnival

Level: 92

The ground slides away beneath her feet. Ruhr scrambles upward, her fingers and boots sliding through the cascading mud as screams and bodies fall all around her. The storm rages above their heads, the wind howling as the world rumbles and shakes. The incline that she and the raiding party are all on grows ever steeper, causing them to all slide down toward the monster waiting at its end.

She slips.

Ruhr spins around as she slides, getting ready to cast a spell to blast herself back up. At least until her bottom strikes something solid and she winces, looking down.

The ground below her, covered in streaks of mud, becomes alight. Along the slope, several translucent, magical barriers have been created as platforms of sorts to stop people from falling down.

She sighs in relief, looking down through the glass panes. Not everyone was lucky. The bottom quarter of the troop fell right into the monster, their bodies plunging into open maws made out of flayed-open rib cages. The liquefied bones or worms or whatever they are press into the captured people, moving through their ears and eyes and burrowing through the sides of their necks or chests.

Moments later, the lowest translucent window is splattered red as dozens of horrifically screaming carcasses explode, spraying their insides everywhere.

Ruhr winces.

“Get up,” barks Zacarias, grabbing her.

As she rises to her feet, Ruhr slides around, her boots slipping all over the sleek, muddy glass. She awkwardly swipes his hand away, trying to maintain her stance like a newborn fawn just learning to walk. “We’re going to have a real talk about your attitude, Zuzi,” says Ruhr.

The world stops shaking as the incline comes to its steepest point, mud running down the sides of the ramp and dripping down the steps that they have made with their barriers like a sludge-flowing waterfall.

“Tell it to the Demon King,” replies Zacarias, nodding his head.

Ruhr awkwardly scrambles over to the edge of the step they’re on, the highest of the glass shelves they’ve created. Dozens of casters and ranged combatants have gathered at the edges of the platforms, shooting down at the trap they were meant to fall into.

To her surprise, it’s working quite well, actually.

This was a good improvisation, using the magical barriers like that; she has to hand it to the guardsmen. Though she supposes they are high leveled, after all, even if they are untested, untrained nobles’ children.

Chunks and pieces of the monster fly off in all directions. Feathers from dead anqas, beaks, and bones of people who were alive a moment ago, or even those who still are—trapped, flailing, screaming—fly all over the place as the entity is decimated by an abundance of heavy offensive spells from above.

This thing is weaker than the creature they fought in the city, the finger-collecting entity.

Ruhr narrows her eyes.

That means that the Demon King really is on the run. This was a smart trap, and it almost worked, but if he’s resorting to this level of chicanery, that means he’s burned through.

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