Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 92 – Floor 9: Part 13

‘Here we go.’ Mathew thought as he stood in a circle with the other Demon Lords around the center of the Pavilion. Yule stood behind him, shivering slightly from the intense atmosphere that the meeting exuded.

Even Mathew felt the mana in the air, the conflicting energy that came from Players of such different backgrounds and Disciplines meeting together.

The ‘Buzz’ had become a rhythmic pulsing in the back of his head, not painful or unmanageable, but insistent that he take notice of it. It had worsened as he approached the others, alerting him of his place in their ranks.

The locals here were correct, Mathew was the weakest of the ‘Demon Lords.’ Although he suspected a significant reason for that was his hoarding of Aether. If he burned through it all on leveling his Discipline, he could probably take his place amongst the upper ranks.

But he didn’t want to do that. Better to be underestimated for now; let others carry the burden of the fight against these Lords and Ladies of the Lineage while he sat back and observed.

If the worst that happened was the others ridiculing him, Mathew could live with that. He was the ‘Enduring’ after all.

Once they were all assembled, it fell on Mathew as the weakest to begin the introductions. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Mathew, Villain. Ranked Thirteen.” He said, looking around at the others while he introduced himself. The Chronicles were all furiously writing in their notebooks, no doubt recording not only his words but also his tone and appearance.

Alivia looked over at him and mouthed ‘Villain?’ with a sly smile, and Mathew shrugged. He would explain to her afterward that there hadn’t been much of a choice in disciplines at the time. It wasn’t like he wanted to be a villain; he just didn’t have any other option. It was between bad and worse.

Stepping back to his place, it was Aster’s turn.

“Aster, Lancer. Ranked Twelfth.” The young woman stated. Her green eyes stared straight ahead, careful not to look directly at anyone else. Finishing, she nodded and returned to her place.

“Marvin, Fencer. Ranked Eleventh, although I think I was misjudged!” Marvin said, his enormous figure blocking his Chronicler from Mathew’s sight. Even now, the man’s words flowed quickly in this formal setting.

Still, Mathew didn’t underestimate him. There was a way Marvin moved, like he was gliding across the ground, that spoke of a skill or Blessing in combat that made Mathew wary. Anyone who could survive the Seventh Floor deserved his respect.

“Aleks, Outlaw. I’m Tenth.” Another young man said. Wearing what Mathew could only call a cowboy outfit with a large hat and brown duster jacket, Aleks was scruffy and had a cigarette in his mouth. He looked like he had just come out of a John Wayne movie.

On his hip was a pistol that Mathew could sense mana emanating from it. Strangely, Aleks had an Eastern European accent rather than the American southern drawl that Mathew would have expected.

“Kristen, Prophet. Ninth.” The next Demon Lord was a woman in her twenties. Wearing long, blue robes, she had her hood pulled low over her head, preventing Mathew from getting a good look at her face. But he could see that her eyes were completely white, lacking an iris or pupil.

Mathew watched her warily.

He had experience with Oracles and Diviners in the past. He wasn’t sure if they could actually know the future; he suspected it was more of a perception of events or details that the rest of them missed that gave them an advantage in predicting what would happen.

But then again, several of their predictions had been eerily accurate. There was also their connection to the gods. With a Spirit stat as high as their Discipline could give, they relied on the pantheon of gods to provide them with knowledge and power.

Righteous Subjugation had worked through an Oracle, and he had no doubt that Kristen was a favourite of one of the gods of the Tower. Not quite an Apostle, but on the path to becoming one. He could feel it, and it unsettled Mathew like few things could.

He had his fill of Apostles.

“Alivia, drafter. Looks like I’m ranked Eighth.” Alivia said. The silver buckles on her jacket caught the light, and Mathew saw that her deck of cards was grasped firmly in her right hand.

Mathew doubted she had any trouble replacing her cards, and in the intervening time since he last saw her, he was sure that the power level of her deck had improved. Alivia’s power was mainly contained within the deck held in her hands.

From what Mathew understood, levels gave her a minimal boost in her stats, so purchasing new cards from the shop was better than pumping Aether into levelling. The ‘Buzz’ came from the deck rather than her when he was around her, making it feel strange compared to the others.

‘At least I have someone I can trust.’ Mathew thought, pleased to have an ally. While he was thinking about their time together, journeying into the pit, the next Demon Lord introduced themselves.

“Joseph, Illusionist and the Seventh Demon Lord!” A man shouted. Mathew was startled from his thoughts by the loud declaration. Joseph wore a full suit with a wide, bright red tie and a coat with tails. Best of all, he wore a black top hat, which he took off with a flourish.

His introduction was followed by a kaleidoscope of colours appearing in the sky above them like fireworks, accompanied by the sound of applause and cheers from an invisible audience. When none of the Demon Lords clapped or showed any hint of response, Joseph let out a sigh and placed his hat back on his head.

“Tough audience.” He muttered, taking his place with the others.

The seven of them formed the ‘Upper Ranks’ of the Demon Lords, and Aster’s intention was for them to work together to balance against the ‘Lower Ranks.’ From what Mathew could ‘feel’ from those around him and his brief discussion with Aster and Alivia, the top Seven weren’t immoral or dishonest.

But the Lower Ranks were different. Mathew and his allies may be ‘playing’ as Demon Lords, but it seemed the gods had found Players better suited to the role.

“Osmund. Blood Sorcerer and the Sixth Demon Lord.” The next stated. Wearing blood-red robes covered in strange symbols, a middle-aged man held a staff in both of his hands. The black wood was topped with a large ruby that flickered with an inner light.

Mathew wrinkled his nose at the sudden coppery smell that wafted across the pavilion, and his muscles tensed involuntarily.

‘Dangerous.’ Mathew thought, assessing the man. He had black hair with flecks of grey. If he was showing that much age, even after gaining so many levels, he must have been ancient when he arrived, or his stats leaned more toward Mind or Spirit. The higher the Body stat reached, the more your age would change to reflect the ideal.

Mathew remembered that Samuel had been older when they first met but had regained his youth as he progressed through the Floors.

It hadn’t been the case for Mathew. Instead, his body gained more muscle, and time didn’t affect him. He should have been in his mid-thirties after so long in the Tower, but he still looked to be twenty or so.

Thankfully, the smell of blood retreated as Osmund returned to his side of the Pavilion to make way for the next.

“Hello! I’m Carlie! I’m a Beguiler and number five!” A beautiful woman said as she stepped into the circle and looked around at the group. She wore an outfit that was nearly a bikini but had a little more material than swimwear and was made of black leather.

Her long, black hair framed a pale face with a pair of red lips and honey-coloured eyes. She smiled at everyone before her eyes locked onto Mathew’s, and she winked at him. Raising her hand slowly, she blew him a kiss.

A smell of perfume brushed past him, and for a moment, he could feel his hold on his emotions slip. Mathew wanted her, whether as a lover or to serve her as a slave; he wasn’t sure. His mind reeled, and he was lost.

White-hot and intense anger rose from within him, and he violently banished the thoughts from his mind. Snarling, he was about to speak, or strike out, when he noticed that several of the others on his side of the pavilion, including Marvin and Alivia, were affected.

It took them a second or two longer to recover than it did Mathew.

Carlie seemed surprised by his reaction; her eyes widened as she stared at him.

“How did you…” She was interrupted by a refined and sophisticated voice from the far side of the pavilion where the Lower Ranks were stood.

“That’s enough, Carlie. We’re all allies here.”