The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Blake stood right in the middle of endless carnage. He appeared dutifully grim next to Chinua and his people, as all around him the battle for the holy city raged. His city-constructs were slaughtering anything near the South Gate—the main source of the attack so far. But he himself was really just…standing there. It was all a little boring.

But he smiled as the text scrolled across his profile, his many minds moving fast to calculate. He’d expected something like this. But it sounded even better than anticipated.

[Second Doom personal event score: 23. Post-game rewards will be offered at the end of the event. Even if the world is destroyed, a high score may still allow you individual survival. Please note, based on your affinity and overall game choices, your score can be increased against planar or player targets. Keep it up!]

And there it was. Another system reward just for him, no need of other people’s approval. It even included player targets. That meant he could conquer the Nexus for Yalor, and win himself the approval of both a ‘story’ god, and the direct reward from roboGod himself. A win-win.

“There’s a battering ram on that giant skeleton. Blake, do you think you can destroy it without us having to…”

Blake flicked a hand before the general finished speaking. He warped Navi down to get in range, and pulled apart the giant ram with his unmaking power through his familiar. He noticed a few amazed eyes but wasn’t interested in stroking his own ego anymore. Chinua was maybe thanking him but he wasn’t paying attention.

He couldn’t just betray mankind. Mason would be too damn stubborn. His brother could obviously win himself enough personal glory to survive no matter what the result of the battle. But the noble idiot would go down with the ship.

So a ‘win-win’ wasn’t good enough. He needed a win-win-win.

How to both gain himself immortality, and a future role of something like divinity, and save his brother? Tricky tricky. It was a good thing he liked puzzles. His Mental Partitions were hard at work coming up with answers, all of which he gave equal weight, and tried not to favor any of them.

You always knew who was listening, after all. And if there was anything Blake despised, it was being predictable. Or was that Psion? He tried not to think about it.

In any case his first plan was in motion—his greenskin army would be doing good work in Nassau by now, and maybe the tree city would flat out win. Seul-ki was getting in place for Plan B. And here he was at the holy city, ready to protect. Or ready to conquer. Call either one Plan C.

The idiots had even given him full access to the city’s constructs. He’d expected to at least have to mentally command it, and spend some mana. But there he was, the power of the city freely given. The puppeteer at the end of the world. It was almost too damn easy.

The usually careful Chinua probably couldn’t conceive of a betrayal now in the final battle. He would have assumed that a betrayal would have happened before now. A lack of imagination was often the weakness of even impressive men.

Blake blinked back to reality and inspected the battlefield. Hundreds of players were blasting away from the walls, ripping apart the invading horde of undead and planar creatures with all the mighty defences at their disposal. There was at least one planar lord out there now, its aura glowing in the distance as it summoned its retinue.

More would be coming. And only God knew what else. Would humanity hold the holy city, too? That was truly the question.

Blake’s pact with Yalor only triggered if he conquered it himself. He could simply…not, and pay no price at all. His patron didn’t care. He could instead use all his power, all his effort, and help humanity survive. Even if he failed, he might gain enough personal score to survive the apocalypse.

But if humanity failed, Mason still died…

So in two out of three outcomes, you had a dead Mason. And Blake’s Other plan, which was to receive the minimal amount of mental activity, maybe meant everyone died. So the math wasn’t very good. But then Blake knew life wasn’t fair or easy. He’d learned that before he was five.

“Captain. There’s another planar lord forming south-east. The players are asking for some of the tier ones to move over.”

Chinua turned to his scout and nodded, promising he’d send them help before it arrived. He was talking to his people, then giving Blake little glances like he couldn’t decide how best to ask for help. Or maybe if he was capable of handling it on his own like Mason would.

Blake was back in his mind, doing everything he could to feel nothing, to focus on nothing, to throw up enough mental dust even a god couldn’t see through it all. How did you beat a thing that could read your mind?

The only way was chaos and madness. It was the only way.

“Heads or tails, Captain.”

He took out the constructed coin from his pocket, changing his mind again and again and again and as many times as it took. He’d intended to keep it for the very end. But now seemed as good a time as any.

The ex and current general was staring at him with those cunning eyes. God only knew what the man was thinking.

Blake almost laughed. Almost wept. In his many brains he did both and neither. He blinked away some wetness and shook his head, blaring fog horns in his mind, thinking about fuzzy TV screens and marching bands and white noise. He flipped the coin, and slapped it on the back of his hand.

“Call it, Captain. Heads or tails. Indulge me. With my luck score it can’t be me.”

What was the man thinking? Did he think him insane? Blake didn’t know, and in that moment didn’t want to. He could have popped into his mind and taken a peek. But he resisted. Please guess, he thought. It can’t be me. It won’t work. It might be watching.

“Heads.”

If he picks it right, I help them. If he picks it wrong, I kill them all.

It was a gambler’s dream. The highest stakes imaginable. Blake’s hand trembled over the coin. He met the general’s eyes, feeling a moment of calm now that it was decided, whatever it was. He almost laughed as he thought of roboGod watching his little farce. That perfect being of Order. All his efforts to create this game. Decided by a coin flip. All his nonsense for absolutely nothing.

The sound of traffic. Rolling waves. Sand blowing in the desert. Nothing and everything all at once. Should he say something, maybe? Something before the…conclusion?

“I admire you, general,” he said honestly. “You aren’t like the others.” He looked at Annie standing not far away, her vacant eyes watching him with no interest. “And I’m sorry, Annie. I should have…” he shook his head. “You were a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I’m sorry I failed.”

Chinua was looking increasingly…concerned. As well he might be! It raised him in Blake’s estimations. But that concern was like some scent on the air, and his other key people were looking around as if unconsciously disturbed. Time was up. Blake took in a sharp breath, then pulled up his hand, and looked at the coin.

Heads. It was heads.

He surprised himself with a broken sobbing sound, his trembling hand moving to his mouth. He laughed, and showed it to Chinua.

The tall soldier looked at the coin, then back at Blake like he was out of his mind. He supposed he was. But wasn’t that the right thing in an insane world? A synthetic world made by an alien? A universe so random and crazy that they were all here, in this moment, beyond all possible reason? A coin flip had just determined the fate of mankind!

“It’s heads,” he confirmed again quietly, looking at the face with tear-blurred vision. “And why shouldn’t it be.”

He turned the coin over, just to make sure it still had tails. The possibility entered his mind that roboGod could change it mid-flip. That he could alter their perception, just as he altered their emotions, desires, and who knew what else. Maybe he could even make Blake hear whatever he wanted, regardless of what Chinua said.

But he didn’t think so. He’d changed his mind so many times. He’d sprung the tactic early. Their robotic god would have had to have been paying attention and reacted so quickly. Unless it was completely and utterly omniscient and all powerful. But Blake didn’t think so.

No. The flip was pure chance. Unmanipulated. True.

He took a long, deep breath and let it out slow. Chinua was saying something but he’d missed it in his distraction. Didn’t matter now. They were proper allies because of the coin. Sworn brothers, to the end. There was no more reason for tricks or foolishness.

Except his ‘Unnamed’ plan, of course. His option if the proverbial tits went proverbially up.

White noise. Endless waves. Whale sounds.

“Let me worry about that other planar lord, mon capitain.” He smiled and clapped a hand on the man’s strong shoulders, which made him flinch. “You and your people handle this one, hmm? I’ll deal with that whole side. If that’s alright with you.”

Chinua stared quite a long time.

“If…you think you can do that. Are you feeling well?”

The way Chinua said it gave Blake the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. He supposed he was behaving full on loony tunes. Even for him. And was he ‘feeling well’? Yes, he most certainly was. In a single moment he’d been allowed to go from villain to hero.

Before the end, perhaps he’d even make Mason proud.

“Never better.” He commanded the flying disc construct he liked riding into battle and floated above the wall. “I’ll leave you those gate defenders. Risk them as you like. I have more where that came from!”

Oh yes, he did. Many others. He’d had months of peace. On top of exploring the minds of most of humanity, he’d spent his days creating construct after construct, assigning their mana maintenance to the huge, nearly limitless city guard. All of which were now his to command.

One of his Mental Partitions activated his ‘hidden’ reserve. It had been easy to make them invisible to the city’s controllers with a specific trait during creation. Two hundred of his most powerful, and recently made Primordials awoke to his consciousness, and rose from their secret locations.

Each was probably as powerful as a weaker player. Something about the fact that they’d been a coin flip away from killing everyone made him smile. A single reversal. A twist of fate. What a way to live!

“Run along, Navi. Go find out what we’re dealing with, please. ”

He cycled through his powers and spells, commanding all his hidden constructs to the gate. His familiar warped towards the planar lord as its identification magic hummed to life.

It was all ‘personal score’ now all the time. Blake was going to go all out, and kick the shit out of these things. He was going to use every trick, every power, with full, blunt force trauma. And he was going to look fucking good doing it.

He’d earn himself a seat in paradise. Or robo-purgatory. And if humanity failed and died, he’d at least have one good chance to convince Mason to save himself, too.

And if that failed, well…he’d Mind Rend the idiot into oblivion. When his brain was mushy enough, he’d mentally command him to live.

He called those Plan D and E.