The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 163: Perfectly appropriate

It took basically all of Blake's remaining half mana pool to 'animate' one of the Maker constructs. Yet another 'presence' entered Blake's mind, though this one was far less intrusive. He grinned and looked at his constructs, still debating how many to use and exactly what to say.

He didn't want all his constructs destroyed. On the other hand, he didn't want to pull his punches in practice only to fail at the real thing. So he sighed, and stepped well out of the room before he activated the prompts. Then he selected all his permanent constructs with one piece of his attention, and the Maker with another. He had them target each other, and gave them all the same thought: destroy.

The Maker statue was larger and more solid—more like a four legged animal that could stand on two legs and fight like a kangaroo. And it wasn't built light enough to fly. It moved forward and started humming with some arcane sound, hands opening as it moved straight towards Blake's constructs.

His own creations—affectionately labeled a, b, c, d and e—leapt into action. They all charged precisely the same way, soon unable to actually reach their target at the same time and sort of jostling into a semi-circle. But they at least struck first.

The Psionic constructs slammed their fists into the Maker, cracking its skin just before it reached out and seized one by the throat. The thing's hand was clearly boiling with heat just as the first Blake had taken to fight the demon. Steam or smoke rose from his construct as all the others started bashing and burning the Maker from every direction.

Bits and pieces of construct crashed or hissed as they struck the ground. The Maker eventually tore off 'e's head and turned for another before its arm sloughed off. It swung the other but wobbled first and fell as a leg gave out. Blake's minions followed it, bashing and burning until it finally went still. Then they walked back into a line and stopped.

Blake whistled at the swift destruction. Lumiere came zipping inside, frown etched as he stared at the broken construct.

"You're as bad as the critter!" it announced with a sputter. "I must ask you not to destroy the Curator's property!"

"Apologies," Blake said, not at all sorry. His minions were effective but not at all coordinated and seemed to lack any self-preservation instinct. He looked at his Mental Partition and decided he needed a great deal of if/then commands to trigger to get them working properly. He supposed he could have one fight the rest to preserve any more statues.

He took another two full days of testing and battling with his minions to feel ready, checking in once with Ilya just to make sure she was OK. Nothing had changed, and though she seemed a little frustrated and impatient, he felt comfortable with the delay.

Having destroyed his two Psionic minions in his test, Blake re-made them with a few modifications. Firstly, they didn't really need to be humanoid. This time he made something more like Lumiere—a big orb with wings, little legs, and claws. One day he hoped he could make them fly without the wings, but for now that knowledge was beyond him.

The Arcanes were working well enough and he didn't want to destroy them just to streamline a little. So on the third day he'd regained his mana, had programmed countless commands into his Partition, and felt ready to go.

"Well, Lumiere," he said, "it's been real. You want to come along with us? I'm sure I could find use for a floating flashlight."

The construct went through a range of exaggerated emotions before returning to the frowny base. "Why do you keep calling me ‘Lumiere’? In any case, I am unable to leave the Maker's Hall. Good luck with your endeavors. Thank you again, Controller."

"Don't mention it," Blake said absently as he looked down the demonic...hole. He sent the constructs in first, following at a comfortable distance.

On the other end he found a room about as disgusting as expected—the same vaguely oozing walls, the same God awful stink. There seemed no discernible reason for this to be a room at all, in fact, as it seemed just to lead to another corridor beyond.

Something about that made Blake stop and inspect.

"Navi, can you look around this room? Do you see anything unusual?"

"No, master." The orb robot seemed to scan, or at least its eyes wobbled around as it spun in a circle.

"So there's nothing in here at all?" Blake said with surprise.

"Oh. No, Master, there's an inert demonic portal leading to one of the hell planes. Right on the wall there."

Blake blinked and stared at his familiar. "You wouldn't consider that unusual?"

Navi frowned. "No, Master. It's a demon tunnel. It seemed perfectly appropriate."

"There are demonic planes in this world?" Blake asked and pinched his nose.

"No, Master. Not in this world. But attached to it. There are a great many planes of existence, but I'm afraid I'm no expert, and couldn't name them all."

Blake mostly just stared, no idea what to do with that. He certainly intended to hear a great deal more about it, but for now he had more pressing issues to deal with. He led his constructs forward, soon hearing a kind of dull roar coming from the area ahead. He stopped to listen, trying and failing to make out the sound. Was it a river? Some kind of gusting wind?

When he finally emerged on the other side, his constructs were already waiting in their usual line, seemingly not yet feeling in danger. Blake walked beside them and stopped, eyes practically bulging when he saw what was causing the sound.

It was a waterfall. Of blood.

From some platform up above, the liquid poured over the edge in a steady but slow current. Steam rose from it as if it might be boiling, or at least very hot, and the whole cavernous area reeked of copper.

Blake clenched his teeth and looked down to where it was flowing, an open circular portal about the size of a swimming pool. Through it, Blake could see a river trailing out into what seemed an open air...plains.

"Is that...hell?" Blake whispered, and his familiar glanced and nodded happily.

"Yes, master, that is a two way portal. And quite active."

A two way portal…to hell. Great. Just super.

Blake decided it was time to get out of there, and since it seemed the only way, he ordered his constructs to lift him and get up wherever that blood was coming from. This they did, and in short order, plucking him up with reasonable finesse, floating him up over the waterfall and onto a wide platform with several doors, along with a kind of trench that carried the steaming blood.

Blake looked at the doors, not sure which to pick, before he heard a hissing growl from somewhere below. He glanced over the side, alarmed but not terribly surprised to find a red-skinned, demonic…spider-cat crawling up towards him from...well, hell.

"Kill it," Blake said out loud even before he mentally sent the order. "Kill it very dead." He stepped back and fought a shiver as his constructs leapt over the edge, and took to the air.