The Pyramid Game Read online

  THE PYRAMID GAME

  Book Two of the PIXEL DUST Series

  Written by David Petrie

  © 2019 Mountaindale Press. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by US copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Newsletter

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Logs

  Afterword

  About David Petrie

  About Mountaindale Press

  Mountaindale Press Titles

  GameLit and LitRPG

  Appendix

  Character Stats

  Bestiary

  Cities

  Class List

  Acknowledgments

  I started this series because I wanted to tell a story. A story of friends saving a game that they loved. I wrote it for myself because, well, it was fun.

  To my surprise people liked its quirky characters and ridiculous action. Now, with all of your support, I get to do more, and the world of Noctem gets to grow. For that I am grateful. So thank you to everyone who picked up a copy, left a review, told a friend, or commented on a post. It’s because of all of you that I get to do this.

  In addition, thank you to my betas Andy, Tara, Kevin, Sean, and Caitlin, as well as my amazing wife Sam and everyone at Mountaindale Press who keep me motivated.

  Newsletter

  Don’t miss out on future releases! Sign up for the Mountaindale Press newsletter to stay up to date. And as always, thank you for your support! You are the reason we’re able to bring these stories to life.

  Prologue

  Light swept across the night sky in a cascade of shimmering particles as the barrier surrounding the Palace of the Six Wolves failed. The released energy fell like snow across the city of Torn. The roar of engines shook the heavens as two hundred heavy transport ships circled like vultures.

  The imperial fleet of the House of Serpents had arrived.

  Doors of each craft slid open with enthusiasm—a thousand mercenaries ready to dive into action. They rained down upon the palace like hailstones, each throwing a glass bottle at the ground before landing. Most timed it right, landing with a shockwave of sparks and wind as the item bled away the kinetic energy of their fall. Some were not so lucky. Bodies hit the ground. An acceptable loss, as the rest pushed forward.

  The small force of palace guards that stood in their way put up no resistance. Instead, they turned tail and ran, only stopping when they were safe inside the main gates. Laughs and taunts were heard among the attackers as they flooded on to the palace grounds.

  It was going to be easier than they thought.

  Then a lone figure stepped out on to the main dome of the palace. The dark gothic robes of a Cauldron Mage drifted behind him as he walked. His stride was slow but purposeful to match his class, its high damage potential equal only to the care that each spell took to brew. Silver chains coiled through the handful of braids in his long, black hair. They gleamed in the cold light of the moon as his presence darkened the scene.

  He ran a hand down his closely-cropped beard and took a moment to survey the oncoming force. Then he snapped open the caster on his wrist, a crimson circle materializing above the crystal that sat at the bracelet’s center. He pulled a white velvet pouch from his robe and emptied its contents into the glowing ring. The small selection of items vanished, swallowed up by the void inside to be shaped into something more.

  With a stern expression, he waited until the circle shrank into a single point of glowing power. He reached forward as a sigil appeared in the air before him and slapped his hand flat against it. The pattern in the air shined brighter for every second he remained in contact until concentric layers of power appeared around it.

  Then he spoke.

  His voice boomed, so loud that even the incoming army on the ground could hear him over the distance and the noise of the engines above.

  “In the name of Lady Amelia of House Winter Moon, you shall not pass!”

  He closed his fist the instant the last word left his lips, and a bolt of lightning slammed into the ground. On contact, it shot out in all directions. The attack ripped through the mercenaries below, killing everyone within fifty feet of the palace gates. A mist of sparkling glitter drifted through the air in their place.

  To the other fighters on the ground, the sheer destructive power of the display should have given reason to run. They didn’t. They were getting paid, after all. Instead, they ran past those who were unlucky enough to be caught in the devastation without looking back.

  The dark mage raised his sights from the chaos below as one of the transport ships banked toward him, its pilot determined to earn a bit of extra hard. The mage could have run or dodged, but the fight was already over for him. His single attack had drained all of his mana.

  A grin crept across his face.

  He had bought enough time, and really, that was all he had to do. Throwing his arms out wide, he stood his ground in defiance as the ship slammed into the dome.

  Deep within the palace, a distant rumble sent a trickle of dust falling from the ceiling of the library where Lady Amelia poured over several books. She scratched in lines of text with a heavy pen, faster than she had ever worked before. Chips of stone landed on her shoulder as the name of one of her party members vanished from the tattooed readout on her wrist. Her Archmage was dead. She suppressed an annoye
d eye twitch and continued to work. There wasn’t time to be irritated. She had to finish. The fate of her city, no, the fate of all Noctem depended on it.

  Finally, she slammed a book shut and stood, knocking over her chair in the process. She didn't pick it up. It didn't matter. It wouldn't be her chair much longer anyway. She snatched up the long, curved saber leaning against the door frame, taking a brief moment to feel its weight in her hand. It was a strange sword for a Blade class, its hilt lacking a cross guard or tsuba, but then again, she was not an average swordswoman. Amelia tightened her grip around the beloved saber and licked at her teeth in preparation, then burst into the hallway.

  Her Knight, an enormous faunus covered in thick muscle, stepped forward from a small party of guards. The horns of a ram curled around the woman’s head like a helmet. Her hand bore the emblem of a Rage class. It was an unorthodox choice for the First Knight of their house with its focus on offense over defense, but like Amelia herself, Winter Moon was an unorthodox house.

  “Kashka, how many are there?” Lady Amelia looked up at the massive woman.

  “Hundreds, with more landing every second.” The Rage rested her rusty claymore on her shoulder.

  Amelia stared down the hall as the long, furry ears of a reynard twitched atop her head, her tail wagging lazily behind her. “And Klaxon?” She gestured to the space on her wrist where his name had been listed as part of her party. “Was he able to slow them down?”

  “The Archmage has fallen,” Kashka tightened her grip on the handle of her claymore, “but he took out plenty of the Serpent’s men with him.”

  “Heh, that sounds like a good way to die.” Amelia bowed her head. “It wasn't in vain. We may lose our claim on Torn tonight, but I'll be damned if I let the House of Serpents take all of Noctem.”

  “Damn right.” The Rage readied her sword as the sound of combat reached them from down the hall.

  “Still glad you signed on as my First Knight?” Amelia patted the back of her hand against Kashka’s worn, leather armor. The Rage nodded, getting a warm smile from Amelia in return. “Okay, you're with me. The rest of you,” she turned to the small party, “make them work for every inch they take.”

  “It will be our pleasure.” The leader of the party bowed his head before leading the others toward the sounds of violence.

  Amelia watched them go before drawing her saber, Corpse Maker, from its narrow sheath. A faint mist drifted from its edge. “Let's go.” The Rage fell in line behind her, and they sprinted in the other direction.

  The palace was under siege as the Serpent’s mercenaries pushed forward with relentless fervor, stepping over their dead as they did. Amelia didn’t hold back either when she came upon a party of six finishing off a few of her men.

  Their leader stumbled when he saw her like he’d expected her to have evacuated long ago. Surprise was on her side. She laughed as the edge of her blade slipped past his defenses.

  Amelia wasn't one to flee.

  Using the length of the Corpse Maker to her advantage, she pulled the saber from the man’s throat and spun back on the enemies behind her. In almost the same motion, her blade sliced through the group. One scratch was all she needed as the dark mist flowed into each of their wounds. Crimson light streaked across their skin before fading away, leaving dark veins of color that spread through their flesh. They fell one by one, and she wasn’t even winded.

  The two remaining combatants, a Shield and Cauldron stood before her, hesitating, clearly startled by the speed at which she dispatched their cohorts.

  Her long hair fell across her eyes in a mass of flaming red curls as she glared daggers at them. Her ears flipped back at the sound of a bowstring from behind. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. Amelia knew Kashka had her back. That was what a having a Knight was for.

  Flipping her sword back, she held it downward with both hands in preparation for her next strike. The enemy Shield brought up his gauntlet, activating the barrier of energy it generated. The Cauldron behind him tossed a few ingredients into the glowing circle that hovered above his caster.

  Amelia darted forward, low to the ground. The Shield responded well, adjusting his stance to block. Instead of attacking, she rolled past him, hopping back to her feet behind. She swept her blade through the Cauldron’s throat before they could activate their spell.

  With the momentum of the strike, Amelia continued toward the opposite wall where she kicked off with one foot to redirect her attack. Confusion struck the Shield as the tip of her blade punctured his breastplate. She didn’t stop there, shoving her prey back until the hilt of her saber was buried in his chest.

  “You good over there, Kashka?” Amelia turned, pulling her saber free as the man fell to his knees and vanished.

  The burly Rage gave her a simple nod as she withdrew her rusty claymore from the chest of the last remaining enemy.

  From there, they tore their way straight to the heart of the palace in a marathon of carnage and death. Amelia exploded into the throne room, finding it empty. Kashka moved fast to secure the large doors of the great hall with a thick cross beam.

  “What now?” The Rage gave an awkward shrug.

  “We wait.” Amelia ascended to the throne for what she knew would be the last time.

  The pelts of various monsters lay draped over the arms and back of the chair, covering its ornate carvings beneath a layer of fur. It was a little crude, but the pelts made the stone chair far more comfortable. The furs were an addition of her own, which Amelia thought appropriate, considering she had murdered her way to the seat of power to begin with.

  Though nothing lasts forever.

  She lay her blade across her lap unsheathed, letting its mist drift across her legs. Soon, she thought. Her tail swished beside her as silence set in.

  Just when Kashka began to relax, the sound of footsteps bled through the door, continuing for a few minutes. Then they stopped.

  “You should probably take cover.” Amelia leaned back in her throne.

  The eyes of the huge Rage widened as she ducked behind her sword. An instant later, the massive doors exploded inward with a burst of flame and smoke, sending a shower of debris into Kashka’s weapon.

  Amelia remained seated as splinters of wood fell at her feet. She wasn’t one to flinch. Her gaze settled on the smoldering hole.

  Suddenly, a dozen Blades flooded into the hall, their swords drawn before the dust had time to settle. They were followed by twice as many Leaf class players, arrows already nocked to their bows. Mages were next, a few Cauldrons followed by a lone Venom, his caster open and ready to inflict debuffs at the first sign of trouble. Several Breath Mages brought up the rear, hiding behind the others to heal from relative safety. Amelia’s lone protector, Kashka, First Knight of House Winter Moon, stood before the horde, her pledge of loyalty staying true.

  Finally, a Shield class entered, followed by a Coin in a long, green coat. The Shield was a monster of a man, gruff and clad in black armor. He wore an unsettling grin on his roguish face that made him look a little too excited to be at war. The Coin was short in comparison but far more elegant. Near perfect cheekbones and youthful face reminded Amelia of a model from a clothing catalog. He wore a smile well, almost seeming friendly, though his eyes were dangerous. A crown of gold wrapped around his head, splitting in the front into two points of curling filigree. It looked as if it had always belonged there below his stylishly tousled brown hair. Strangely, he carried no dagger or grappling hook, the standard equipment of his class. It was as if he simply didn’t need them.

  His eyes locked on the throne. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, Lady Amelia.”

  “Yes, Lord Berwyn.” Amelia forced a smile. “I hope you'll forgive me if I don't get up.”

  Berwyn laughed and pushed his coat back so that he could slip his hands into his pockets. “Oh, don't worry about it. I just wish we could have met sooner. You never come to my parties. I have invited you, you know.”

  “True
, true.” She leaned her chin on one hand. “I must admit that I have spent far too little time indulging in the frivolities of life in Noctem, like you. My attentions have been elsewhere.” She ran one hand across one of her pelts, making sure the act was as overdramatic as possible.

  “Fair enough.” He shrugged and took a step closer toward her Knight. “Although, I must say, I wish we had gotten better acquainted, after seeing you in person. I can tell that you're a woman of considerable beauty, and I do enjoy spending time with your kind. I have always found reynard women,” he gave her a toothy grin, “exotic.” He bowed, keeping his eyes trained on her throat.

  Amelia grimaced as if she’d bit into a piece of rotting meat. “I prefer not to offer my company to snakes.” She was done with the play-acting. “Now, if you have a valid reason for defiling my territory with your house’s presence, I would have to request that you leave. You're too late anyway. I no longer have what you want. I spent it.” She grinned back at him, spacing her next few words out. “All. Of. It. Active farming territories for my people and bounties on everything, including you. I bought everything available. So, you’ll get no spoils here. The treasury of Torn is gone.”

  Berwyn’s face fell, leaving just his dangerous stare resting on her throat. “Alright, I can be patient for another week.” He motioned to his Shield in black armor and stepped aside. “Kill them please, Mr. Ripper.”

  Amelia stood with saber in hand as Kashka moved forward to defend.

  The dark Shield, Ripper, activated his gauntlet, but instead of producing an energy barrier, its clawed fingers began to glow an angry red. Amelia’s attention fell on the gauntlet; she had only heard rumors of it.

  That was when a pair of women, one reynard and one faunus, dropped from the ceiling’s rafters to either side of Kashka. The faunus, another Coin, slipped a grappling line around the Rage’s neck before retracting it back into her wrist launcher. The wire tightened around Kashka’s throat. Being significantly smaller, the Coin shot back up toward the ceiling where she had looped the line over a beam. She caught a wall sconce with her free hand to stop her accent, and Kashka’s feet lifted off the ground. Her rusty claymore clattered to the floor as panic filled her eyes.