Dawn of the Void Book 3: A LitRPG Apocalypse Trilogy by Phil Tucker

Author:Phil Tucker [Tucker, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26:

The Rarest of the Three

James was riveted.

Even Yadriel had ceased to crack puns.

Only Olaf still let out the occasional cry of excitement or groan of dismay, pointed out smart tactical moves or where the enemy was going to break through.

Two hours had passed.

A certain rhythm had made itself obvious.

The angels had grown in numbers to the point where the centipede centaurs had difficulty crushing them, and this had activated the third tier of demons. These had the appearance of degenerate elves, sublime in their beauty and wearing overly sexual and impractical armor. With white hair flowing down to their heels, they leaped into combat, voices raised in shrieks of laughter or lilting song, and slaughtered the angels with terrible precision.

The elven demons would have slain the angels all the quicker if a significant part of their number hadn’t stopped to either dine or mate with the corpses.

But the angels had returned in greater and greater numbers, and by the hour and a half mark were fielding an army almost a hundred thousand strong.

The elves, for all their savage power and grace, couldn’t get through that many before arrows took them down.

Which resulted in the activation of the first flying demons. These came in three types: a massive gargoyle off whose stone hide most weapons bounced; ribbon-like snakes that simply punched through ranks of foes like needles being pushed through a hem; and the rarest of the three were hollow suits of kingly armor who hurled bolts of black lightning that electrified scores of angels at a time.

The angelic army collapsed.

The 150,000 who appeared thirty seconds later managed to last five minutes.

The 300,000 who appeared right after lasted ten.

When over half a million angels appeared, it was a sight to behold.

“I’ll be god damned,” said Yadriel, leaning forward to peer at the glittering host. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle. Square regiment after regiment marched out of the golden portals to line up with spears and shields while long lines of archers spread out at the rear. New regiments of double-handed sword wielders appeared, their helms fluted and pure silver, their robes of fire, and these took to the flanks.

Five hundred thousand angels let out a cry as one, their shout shaking the heavens, and the demons came for them.

But the archers darkened the skies with their shafts and the gargoyles fell, cratering the ground with hundreds of arrows bristling from their stony hides. The ribbon-snakes danced between the shafts but were impaled on the bristling phalanxes of spears which turned each regiment into hedgehogs, while only the king-armor demons were able to do much damage before also being taken down.

“They won,” said Olaf, almost giddy with joy. “They - oh.”

The fifth demon rank had activated.

Each was a giant as tall as Jessica’s Somnia, a moving elemental of obsidian plates floating on an inner core of magma. Dozens strode forward, slow and purposeful, their huge heads intimating facial features but really little more than boulders.

The angels did everything they could. Arrows bounced off the elementals.

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