Reborn to Devour: A Demonic LitRPG

I returned; not to the familiar sensations of hot sand or the reeking odor of burning rubber. Instead, I returned to the same pure white spaces that I was sent to by the Portal. Except, this time, there was not even a discernible sensation beneath my feet. It was perfectly smooth and chilly to the touch like an unheated tile floor in winter.

I took a few exploratory steps in multiple directions, however, there was no difference no matter where I walked. I could not find a single imperfection that I could use as a landmark to help me navigate this uniform space.

But, soon I felt a presence. Something mirthful tickled my ears and scampered just out of sight; a small silhouette that slipped away as soon as I spotted it.

“Gunner?” I called out for my previous guide into eternal whiteness.

“Not quite,” a covetous voice hissed through the silence.

The ground disappeared under my feet and the sensation of falling rose through my feet and into my stomach. Panic pricked at my brain as I tried to correct myself. Vertigo overtook me as the feelings of motion conflicted with the lack of visual or auditory changes.

My body came to a halt, seized by unseen forces. I was frozen into place, completely at the mercy of whatever brought me here. And they took great joy in that helplessness. I heard them skitter around and giggle at my vulnerability. There were more footsteps that intruded upon the area, deeper and lighter voices intermingled in the laughter.

“Show yourselves!” I ordered as I wriggled my body futilely to break free from this unnatural grasp.

“I apologize, but we cannot do that,” a playful voice said. They possessed an immature joy like a child who just pulled off a prank. “You see, our true forms are hidden for your own good. If we were to show you our appearances, it would rip through your brain like a bullet through a tissue box. You would come back, of course, but you would be altered.”

“We do not wish to be the ones who pop your death cherry,” another voice said seductively. Their voice wriggled into my ear like a tongue. “It’s so much more fun to watch.”

I was a bound frog primed for dissection by a group of giggling middle schoolers. Phantom sensations of a scalpel pressed against my exposed stomach. The impulses within my head screamed for me to do anything to escape. It ordered me to pull on the invisible forces until my muscles ripped and I gnawed off my limbs to bloody stumps and crawled away.

“Why have you summoned me?” I asked as calmly as I could. I reminded myself that, if I fell prey to those thoughts, I would serve as nothing more than entertainment to these beings.

“We have seen much of your performance so far,” a gravelly voice crashed down from above. “We saw your viscerally violent first duel. You denied an immortal creature death to inflict far greater pain.”

“We watched you bring a peaceful town to ruins,” the hissing voice complimented. “You ripped away what many would never experience here, safety.”

“And, most recently, we watched you turn the Tar Gardens into a pit of despair and slavery,” the sensual voice whispered possessively. “Instead of uselessly wasting away in constant, pointless pain, they are now exposed to entirely new and creative ways to be destroyed in body and soul. You are now the Pharaoh of the Black. Hail to you, Great Ramses.”

“As such, we wanted to say hello,” the playful voice giggled. “You can think of this as an interview of sorts. I’m kidding, you’ve never had one of those.”

I hung in a brief moment of silence. This brief pause allowed me to catch my breath and compose myself. I knew there was nothing else I could do but do as these demons asked of me.

“Are any of you the Aspect of Wrath?” I inquired. Perhaps my sponsor was amongst these figures.

A chorus of grating laughter scraped against my ears in response to my question. Hot blood trickled down the sides of my head.

“How stupid!” The playful voice taunted.

“You give a demon a compliment and they usurp a pillar of sin,” a new voice sneered, their voice dripping with derision. “Fools give themselves titles without permission and then expect to be respected. No, none of us are something as simple as wrath and neither are they.”

“Then who are you?” I asked. “Satan?”

More laughter assailed my head. I wanted nothing more than to be able to cover my ears and block the sounds out.

“Oh, Ishmael,” the seductive voice wriggled in annoyance. “You who had little or no money in your purse and nothing particular to interest you in society. You thought you would sail about a little to see the bloody part of the world. You have descended to a place that will let you be who you truly are. And yet, you still bring those boring Christian ideas with you.”

“Why were we ever relegated to a single, unyielding being?” The rumbling voice asked. “It is a fallacy that needs reeducation. Allow me to formally introduce myself to you.”

The white room disappeared. Odors of burning wood and insulation filled my noise while the warmth of a bonfire heated up my back. In my hands, I held a sledgehammer. My human fingers gripped tightly around the yellow handle.

Across from me, a man crawled on his back. His gray hoodie was covered in soot while his sweatpants were soaked with acrid piss. He held up his hand to try to ward me away.

My eyes widened in recognition of the scene. Behind me was a burning trailer sequestered deep in the countryside. Before me was the man that ruined everything that Miranda was working towards. This was the plug that hooked up her druggie friends, the one that started selling to her behind our backs.

Memories of rage and hatred rushed through my bloodstream. I hated this slimy fuck face; this merchant of death-in-a-pill. The weasel preferred selling to people that couldn’t pay in full so he could use them for his pleasure.

When I heard the news, I found his address, lit his trailer on fire, and smashed him with this hammer until he became Wiener-schnitzel. The way that his body squelched beneath the iron mass and his bones cracked like balsa wood excited me like a dog to a chew toy. I gave him a bleach bath and poured him down the toilet like wet shit. This was the last person I ever had the chance to kill. Only my father would have been a more satisfactory final kill.

“I am the flames of war,” the rumbling voice shook my scene. “I am the hook that digs into your mind and drives you to love and hatred. I am the sensation that causes your positive emotions to catapult you to the moon and your negative emotions to plummet you into despair. To feel me is to feel deeply. Without me, your life would be devoid of meaning. You may call me Passion, insufficient as it may be.”

The colors streaked and the scene fell away to be replaced by a new one. I could feel cloth sheets clump in my fingers as soft hands slid in and filled the gaps underneath. A specific chemical scent of Victoria’s Secret perfume made my nostrils flare out in recognition. A familiar tightness gripped me and soft moans penetrated my ears.

I was back in high school. I went to her house because her parents were having a date night and she had to watch her little brother. We bought the shit stain some pizza and let him stare at the television while we slipped into her room.

“I am the Whore of Babylon, drunk on the blood of saints,” the seductive voice whispered in my ear. “I am the heat that you feel in your loins when you encounter a beautiful person; the feeling you get when you drop down a tall roller coaster or are thrown from a plane. I am Helen; the rush of pleasure that razed the city of Troy. Without me, Passion would be directionless. I am adrenaline. I am obsession. I am Ecstasy.”

Sensations were ripped away from me and I was plopped down on a couch. My fingers ran against the rough, brightly colored upholstery. Cartoons that I had not seen in years played before my eyes. Commercials airing ads for now-discontinued novelty toys reminded me of the times I wanted that shit. A small bowl of potato chips sat on the coffee table while the smell of cooking meatloaf sailed in from the kitchen.

A pit formed in my stomach. Indescribable loss filled my mind. Things after this were never as carefree or easy. Even when things got difficult with my father, I still possessed hope about my future away from all of it.

“I am the simpler times,” the playful voice introduced. “I am the moment where everything was perfect; where all your needs were met and your stresses were minimal. Why can I never be replicated? As much as you reach out to me, I can never be recovered. I am the bitter old man. I am the midlife crisis. I am the fear of the unknown future. Stay in me forever and remain safe and stagnant. Call me Nostalgia.”

The scene moved to place me in a classroom. I leaned up against a wall and talked to my friends. Words of the latest trends left their lips as they compared their updated styles from summer break. I knew that they were looking down on me and my shitty clothes.

That’s why the first bit of pocket money Charles gave me went to a new look. I wouldn’t be the poor bitch any longer.

“I am the base craving,” the hissing voice said. “I am the supermodel, the nice car, and the jewelry. I am the hoard in the billionaire’s bank account and the resources that inspire invasions. But, I am not always so grand. You may find me as some stolen baby formula hidden inside a jacket or the boots taken from the feet of a dead soldier. I am an insatiable hunger. I am what allows you to be able to dream. I am Want.”

My lip raised in distaste at the location of the next scene.

A sped up version of my daily schedule played out in front of my eyes. I sat down in my favorite seat in the cafeteria, surrounded by Boss Raymond’s gang. I moved to my preferred spot in the yard and did my regular exercises. I washed myself in my chosen shower and brushed my teeth the same way as always before going to bed at the same time.

“A prisoner like you had little chance to meet me in my fullest splendor,” the sneering voice introduced. “I am the king atop his throne who wants the horizon. I am the man who goes to the same deli and orders the same sandwich every day for lunch. I am the possessive lover and abusive parent. Routine and paranoia are spawned from me. I am the chains that bind your mind and allow you to steer the direction of the world. I am the last hope to prevent you from feeling as though you are tumbling uncontrollably into oblivion. I am Control.”

“And together, we make up the Follies of Mankind,” they said in unison.

The senses of the scene returned to the muted white space I began in. What this confirmed to me was that these were not demons who were formerly human. The beings that ensnared me in this place were forces that existed beyond the confines of this realm and of this game. It was entirely possible I was speaking to its creators.

“What do such powerful forces wish from me?” I asked.

“Look at him,” Control snidely spoke of me. “A short introduction was all it took for him to tuck his tail between his legs.”

“Our wants are simple,” Want said with a chuckle. “We are looking for someone that will fulfill our quest. Someone like you shows the promise to give us what we desire.”

“You have gotten to this point faster than most,” Nostalgia complimented. “You see how afraid so many are of what comes next. But you, you took it head on and reached this place in near record time like some hero.”

“Quest?” I asked as Ecstasy snapped at me. A new box immediately popped up in my eyes.

Quest!

The Beast who Devoured the Blood-Red Moon:

The esteemed demons that inhabit the upper echelons of the playground believe themselves to be the ones that will bring out the bleeding night of apocalypse. Yet, we are still here. Why aren’t they pulling the trigger? Isn’t that disappointing? Aren’t you bored? Do it yourself. Eat the Last Moon yourself and crash the kingdoms.

Reward: The Love of the Unknowable.

“It’s not as difficult as it sounds,” Passion growled. “All you need to do is continue on as you have been. If you reach the pinnacle, we ask that you do as we suggest.”

I maintained my steely expression. Even if such a task turned out to be as easy as the Follies suggested, it was always the simplest task that stole the most from you. Charles ordered me to do work that led to the end of my life. A simple request to love Miranda in sickness and health turned out to be far more difficult to do than I ever imagined. This would be no different. To accept blindly was to be the idiot they believed me to be.

“And if I choose not to?” I asked. “Will there be a punishment?”

“How brazen of you to say that so openly. But, that, in itself, would be entertaining,” Ecstasy cackled.

The binds that held me loosened and I began to fall again back first. I could feel their presence fall away from me. Horrific scents of the Tar Garden’s came back to me. I could feel sand shift between my fingers and toes.

“Now, show us what you will do next,” the faint chorus of voices bade me farewell.