Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

“Stay here,” Benedict commanded, glancing back at his horde of imps. He’d lost count of how many he’d summoned over the previous month, and getting an accurate count was almost impossible due to the little minions’ inability to stand still for more than a millisecond. However, he did know that there were at least a few dozen.

It had, after all, been a busy few weeks, most of which was characterized by travel, but also included quite a few encounters with people who saw a lone traveler as a juicy target. He’d disabused most of them from that notion, even managing to use them as fuel for his summons.

Benedict just didn’t understand people. Most of them were so selfish – and ambitious – that they couldn’t turn down an opportunity to prey on their fellow man. It had happened so often that he’d begun to worry that the apocalypse had fundamentally changed everyone for the worst.

Or maybe they’d always been like that.

His own story supported that idea. He’d spent most of his younger years being bullied, and the only thing that had changed that was isolation. He’d chosen a job that didn’t require him to be around the people that had, for most of his life, made his existence a living hell. Even then, he’d had a few run-ins that supported the notion that people, at their core, were just horrible.

And he hadn’t experienced much in the wake of the World Tree’s influence that changed his opinion.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. He had made a friend in Oscar, and his interactions with Elijah had been positive as well. Neither of them had tried to exploit him. They hadn’t attempted to bully him, either. Maybe because they knew it wouldn’t work, but he preferred to believe that they were just among the few good people left in the world.

But Benedict was tired of being alone. He wanted company that his imps just couldn’t provide. So, when he had laid eyes on the settlement in the distance, he’d decided to give it a chance. To date, his experiences in such towns weren’t great, but he still held out hope that this one would be different. He needed that, if only to keep him from tipping over the edge.

He knew just how close he was to giving up, and though he believed that eventuality was inevitable, he instinctively turned away from it. He was still human. He still wanted companionship. And he wouldn’t give up on that desire until he was certain that seeking it was a fruitless endeavor.

“Do not let yourselves be seen. Don’t destroy anything. And if I call, do not dally.”

“Master is no fun!”

“Just a little fire?”

“Or a big one? That city looks…flammable.”

On and on they went until Benedict shut them up by half-shouting, “Enough. Obey me, you little cretins, or I will sacrifice you for replacements.”

The small creatures were only minions, meaning that they were not real – at least not as Benedict considered the term. Instead, they were mere collections of meat and magic, without sapience and only featuring the barest ability for independent thought. However, they did have enough consciousness – or perhaps an instinct for self-preservation – that his threat was an effective one.

Like all creatures, real or conjured, they wanted to remain among the living.

The origin of that desire and their nature made for an interesting philosophical question, but at present, it was not one that interested Benedict. They were throwaway minions, and he intended to treat them as such.

Thankfully, the imps had progressed to the point where they had gained a new ability. Benedict didn’t know what it was called, and any attempts to get the creatures to reveal the name were met with confusion. So, he’d taken to calling it Camouflage. With it, they could hide themselves from all but the most studious observation.

For himself, he’d gained a new spell as well: