The collaborative path to victory was harder, and the gamesmaster’s reminders of the previous days made that crystal clear to me. A wretched voice within me whispered insinuatingly that there were millions of non-citizen lives on the line, and that damn Abaddon, whose base health was already six hundred and sixty million, would meet our raid tomorrow with almost fifteen times his current strength.
Chapter 29. General Abaddon
THE LAST DAY OF THE GAMES began for me with a gleaming notification:
You were named the best player of day seven of the Demonic Games!
Reward: one-time boost Infernal Tenacity (+90% fire resistance for 1 hour).
We spent the following four hours in a fruitless search for Youlang. My allies combed through the whole zone while I flew all over, but the farther we searched, the more convinced we became that the spellcaster must be hiding in Invisibility. She had plenty of opportunity to level it up yesterday.
Flying above the Cursed Chasm, I kept thinking of how to end the Games. All last night I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept racking my brains: betray my allies to save the world, or save my soul and, if we lost, watch millions of non-citizens die? Not an easy choice. And what if my calculations were wrong? What if my plans wouldn’t work for some reason?
Whatever I decided, for now it was all just thoughts — the choice wasn’t made yet.
I returned to the raid toward midday. When Quetzal saw me, he shook his head:
“We didn’t find her. We questioned the NPCs, but nobody’s seen her. Time to head down.”
“Not good. Well, you guys start heading down. I’m going to pay Abaddon a visit, I need to check something.”
My allies ran to the Pitfall. Flying past them, I dropped like a stone down the abyss.
As soon as one of Abaddon’s tentacle-like arms shot out of the gates of floor 666, I went into Clarity and slipped into the instance. There I saw the final boss in all his horror. The sight made my breath catch.
Abaddon was almost as large as the Montosaurus — his frame loomed from at least fifty yards up. Anthracite black, with leathery torn wings shimmering with purple. At the top of his muscular torso was a triangular head ending in two pairs of horns: the outer set long and thin, the inner pair short, as if decorative. His forearms were clad with spiked armguards, his legs with a skirt of chainmail hanging from a broad belt. Abaddon’s huge hooves could have easily crushed the Bubbling Flagon in Tristad.
He was frozen by the entrance to a huge cave, its roof supported by columns placed every thirty feet. The entire floor was an oval grotto around the size of three football stadiums. I saw no side corridors. Nether, the instance was too big — my initial plan wouldn’t work. I had to resort to the most extreme option, the one I didn’t even want to think about…
I focused on the boss’s profile:
Abaddon the Destroyer, Higher Demon, level 666 Gate Guardian
Final boss of the Demonic Games.
Health: 9.3 bil / 9.3 bil.
How much? Nine billion! There was no way we could get all that health down…
My worst fears had come true. To the very end, I had hoped that the boss’s scaling would be more forgiving. Even with all my special abilities, I would have to deliver at least a thousand Hammerfists to take down all that health! And that was if every hit dealt full damage, without resists!
There seemed to be no other way. I had to get rid of my allies. It was the only way I could win the Demonic Games. I had to stab them in the back…
Ascending, I landed by the open gates of floor 531. Behind him I saw the walls of Despot’s Labyrinth, where I’d roamed while trying to lose my indefatigable future ally. Back then I entered at level 1 and left at 102. It wasn’t long ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
Despot soon materialized nearby. Stepped out of nowhere, as usual.
“I’m asking you again. Are you sure you won’t help against Abaddon?”
“And again, my answer is no,” the demon answered.
“Then do something else for me…”
Despot listened to me, cocked his head, grinned and breathed out smoke:
“You never cease to surprise, ally! Shame that the worn mark of the sleepers covers your soul, but I see the Inferno has touched it all the same. Chaos has much influence here… And the three-headed beast has reached you! Good. I will fulfill your wish.”
My allies… although how could I call them that after what I was going to do? They were all falling already, with Feather, arms interlinked. I caught up to them around floor 300 and pulled them like a string of balloons to the gates of floor 655.
“What’s up, is the final boss set up?” Quetzal asked jovially. He nodded toward Bloomer. “Aren’t you scared of our Wild Division?”
The poet was soundlessly mouthing something, his eyes lowered. He wasn’t upset by being named the worst player in the day for the second day in a row — his debuff today only lowered his critical hit chance by 25%. Boomer was apparently leveling Poetry up to rank two to strengthen the inspiring power of his craft. Unlike the songs of bards, poems didn’t make a big difference, but in our case every little helped. Even the few fractions of a percent to attack speed and damage from Bloomer’s sonnets. Or rather, would have helped…
“He’s set up,” I answered.
The titan nodded in satisfaction. I waited for all of them to land, then left them to prepare for the fight. Myself, I took off upwards again to use the time to level up Meditation.
