Pushing Back Inevitability 3 - LitRPG, Progression: Pushing Back Inevitability

By Tall Owl

The God of War from the world of Efra, Roki, sets his eyes on Earth and began the process of invasion. The dormant gods of our world stirred for the first time in millennia to call forth mortals to push back against the inevitable. Lawrence Able was a failed writer; still living at home with his parents, but once he accepted the god's offer to join, he changed his life around.

After a terrible battle with a powerful mage, Lawrence awakes in the town surrounded by the people he rescued from a life of slavery and torture. How will they react? How will the rest of Earth react to the knowledge that the doors connecting the two worlds weren't as closed as had been thought?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tall Owl
• Release date: Oct 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223769514

Book preview

Chapter 1

H e’s awake!

Dim light bleeds through the gaps in the ceiling. It's warm, and all the pain I had felt is gone. A bed is beneath me, and a large blanket had been laid over me, and a wet cloth clings to my forehead as I sit up. Someone tries to hold me back, but I push him aside. The blanket falls off of me, and I become aware that my armor was gone, as was my hoodie, and my jeans. Thankfully, whoever decided to strip saved my decency by keeping my underwear on.

Please, lay back down. I don’t know if you should be moving yet.

It was a woman’s voice. I glance up. An elderly woman with the first hints of white hair beginning to grow once more on her once-shaved scalp. I recognize her as one of the people who was in my father’s boat on the climb up to the island.

Ah, so that all wasn’t some fucked up fever dream.

Where am I?

You’re back in the fort. The woman says, We were looking over you.

It was a bit sketchy at first. The man cuts in.

He was one of the men who had been crawling around in the mud for fistfuls of berries. His black hair was beginning to come back in as well. Thin wrinkles hugged the corners of his black, almond eyes.

What do you mean?

The...uh, spike in your leg tore your femoral artery when we took it out. The man extends a hand, I’m Brendan Lee, I work at Monte View Hospital. Well, worked, I suppose.

Unconsciously, I run my finger over my thigh where the spike had been embedded. Rough bumps let me know of the scar there.

How long was I out?

Three days.

Three days? I try to push myself up, but once more the doctor holds me down.

I have to see my dad. Did you save him?

The doctor’s quiet, and the door behind him swings open.

Give the man some room to breathe, good God.

The general steps behind the doctor and places his hand on his shoulder.

You already know, don’t you? The general says.

Heh...I guess I do. I chuckle softly.

Your job’s not done, is it, soldier.

I swallow the bead forming in my throat and shake my head. There were still things I needed to do. The first of which was to lead these people to Earth and destroy this outpost. The second of which, was to find and rescue Dylan. I could only pray that it wasn’t too late for her. Only then, would I...would I...

I shake my head, my shoulders heave, and my eye burns as heavy tears begin to roll down my face and drop on the bunched-up blanket by my waist.

I’m...I’m sorry general.

He sets the amulet that had been around my mother’s neck on my lap. A warmth comes out of it as I let my grief overwhelm me. The others excuse themselves and leave me alone for my solace. I whisper a thousand, ‘I’m sorrys,’ to the amulet, and to the shadows clustered all around me. I don’t know how many hours I passed drowning in my sorrow, but when my reserves were finally spent, the dim light of early morning bleeding through the ever-foggy skies of Efra was significantly brighter.

There was a part of me that wanted to succumb to the grief. Why should I have to go through this? Why should I have to be the one to fight for a world that was never kind to me before? Why should I have to be the one to suffer?

MASTER. WHERE ARE YOU?

Mister? Are you okay?

Ah. That’s right, I don’t have time to sulk. Dylan might be in danger. If I let my grief take me, what would become of her? I push myself off the bed and look around. I need my clothes and my wand. At the very least. At the very least I can save her, right? That’s reason enough to keep moving. 

There was a bit of soreness from my shins while standing, and that was understandable. I run a finger over the scar, and another wave of regret floods through me. I should have gone on the attack sooner; if I had, then maybe....maybe. I walk to the nearest wall and slam my head into it. Dust falls from the rafters as the building shakes. I need some air. I look around for my clothes.

My jeans and hoodie lay in a pile of scrapped cloth near the bed. I pick up my jeans and examine them. Deep red blood stains the left leg...or what’s left of it. Both legs have been torn in hundreds of locations. They were well, well beyond saving. My hoodie was much the same; torn, burned, and bloodstained.

Echoes of the battle play out in my bed and my head swoons. I sit down on the edge of the bed, and let the feeling pass. A strange warmness radiates from the amulet around my neck, I pull it off and look at it. The purple, triangular stone embedded within the gold glowed. Glowed? It’s a familiar glow, though I can’t really place where I had seen it before. Although, I didn’t really mind. It was a comforting warmth, and a comforting glow, like a hug. Reynard would know what it is.

I glance at my wrist. Where is my Shard? It’s not with my tattered clothes, nor is it by the bed I had been laid on. I hold onto my wrist as I look around. My arm feels unbearably naked; even more than my bare chest and legs....where was anything of mine? My wand, my scale shirt, and eye patch? The room was empty. Ah, am I going to have to go out naked?

I pat my stomach. What was, for most of my life, my source of shame now felt flat, and rigid. The hair that had been with me since my early teens was still there, however. Maybe I should shave when I get back? I’ll think about it later.

I hear you’re awake.

Another familiar voice calls just before the door opens up again.

Nyt walks in and I cross my arms over my chest. The Ir’s eyes travel down to the amulet hanging around my neck. Bandages cover most of her body, and her right arm is in a makeshift sling. Ah, that was my fault as well.

Chapter 2

I s walking around a good idea?

Better than laying about. I answer, Where are my clothes? My wand?

Your medium broke, and we washed your armor. It is currently hanging out in front of the house.

How could she be talking so freely with someone who was responsible for so much death? To someone responsible for the injuries she sustained? If only I had acted sooner. If only I weren’t so hesitant, if only...Ah. Nyt is just pretending to be friendly, to spare your feelings, Lawrence. How pitiful.

Thank you. I’ll get them.

Her eyes never leave my chest. I suppose she doesn’t even want to look me in the eyes. Can I blame her? How many of her comrades died because of my mistake? Sure we won in the end, but at what cost? I feel my father’s cold, cold hands on the back of my neck once more, and a shiver runs up my spine.

Where did you get that? She asks, motioning to the amulet.

Ah, it was around my mother’s neck.

She winces.

Why? Do you know what it is?

I don’t think you’re going to like it.

What do you mean?

It’s a spirit stone.

Spirit stone?

The Ir nods.

You place it on the person before they die, and it captures their soul.

That’s....why?

It takes a moment for me to realize the implications, and I pull it off of my neck.

Normally, it’s used for when the elderly are about to pass so that their children would be able to say goodbye, no matter where in the world they are.

So...my mother is in here?

The Ir nods.

But...

But?

The spirits within can only last a month before they go mad and they turn into Shades.

Shades...ah, no wonder the glow on this stone was so familiar.

Like the ones in the kris I had?

Kris?

That wavy dagger I had?

She mouths a soundless, ‘ah,’ and nods her head.

Yes, she’ll become one of those if she’s not released. The Ir states plainly.

A month? How long had she been in there? A couple of weeks?

How do I release her?

Typically, you would have to be the one to urge the spirit on.

I understand, I say as I take a deep, shuttering breath.

Do you want to wait until we’re on Earth to do it?

I think it over for a moment. Mark had all but cut them out of his life, and she had no family that kept in contact with her. Would he want to say goodbye? Would he even care that she’s gone?

I recommend doing it here, Nyt says after some length. Your father passed here as well, her words sting a little, And the Keeper of the Bridge can lead the lost souls back home.

The Keeper of the Bridge?

She that maintains the divide between The Living world and the World of the Dead. There they’ll be ushered to your world to rejoin their ancestors.

Are you sure? Aren’t the gods of this world dead?

She winces in pain at my words.

Efra’s not dead. She says in a low whisper, Once Roki’s gone, we’ll be able to...

I’m sorry, I assumed...

She takes a deep breath.

It’s alright. She says in a hurried whisper, We’ll win, and we’ll be able to bring the gods back.

How could she be so confident?

Especially since we have you.

What’s that supposed to mean? My first inclination is that she’s being sarcastic.

You killed an apostle and slew an army of nearly 2000 strong in almost the blink of an eye. Do you not know how incredible that is? Can all of Earth’s Apostles do that?

All I really remember from the fight was the white-hot rage and the catharsis I felt after splitting the apostle like a dried log. I don’t know if I can take credit for my actions there, but the fact remains that the apostle and his entire army were dead, and I had done it.

But my inaction lead to the deaths of hundreds of our people.

Your inaction? No. Your naivete, yes. You put your trust in people who never showed, but that’s not your fault, is it?

She’s right. It’s not my fault that they chose to abandon me, but it was my fault for putting my trust in someone else. It’s a mistake I vow in that instance to never make again.

So they never did come?

She shakes her head.

Even after I had been missing for nearly four days...

She shakes her head again.

Were they caught up in something? Were they dead? I suppose I shouldn’t blame them just yet. I unclench my fist.

I want you to know, Lawrence. No Efran here blames you for the deaths on our side, in fact, we are all grateful.

How could you be?

What do you think was all of our fates if you hadn’t come?

I don’t know.

You went to the fifth island, right? The one full of poison? That would be one of them. We would be worked to death, used in experiments for the Poisoners, or cut up and used as food. Without your intervention, we were already dead.

For a moment I do not respond. How conditioned have I been to always view everything in the worst possible way? Certainly, many died during the battle, but many lived and will continue to live for the remainder of their lives free. And to those who died, I had given them a fighting chance at surviving. How long would it have taken to see this if it weren’t for her words?

Thank you. I manage to mutter out after some time.

"You’re thanking me? Didn’t you just hear what I had just said?"

I did, but it helped straighten my mind out some.

What does that mean?

I suppose it's an expression that doesn’t translate well to Efran.

Helped clarify some things.

Ah, you’re welcome then. It’s a hurdle that most good commanders have to clear; moving past the ‘what-ifs,' and the, 'if-I-had-dones,’ as my mentor had called them. You’ll wrestle with them more in the future.

No, I won’t. I don’t plan on leading any more people like this. I have to get stronger so that if I come across another situation like this, I won’t have to stay hiding behind the walls. Strong enough so that I could confidently take on an army by myself. Strong enough so that I could take on the whole world without risking another person’s life. Strong enough to kill a god, at the very least. That is the second vow I make to myself that day. I hold the amulet up in my grasp.

Could you pass me my shirt and eye patch?

I’ll do you one better. I’ll get all of your stuff together now.

All of my stuff?

Chapter 3

Ionly had my wand , and what clothes I wore. Most of my things were lost in the woods at the bottom of the cliff I had leapt from. What did she mean by, ‘all of my things.’ Before I could say anything, she leaves. I pace around for a moment until Nyt comes back, carrying my shirt and eye patch, and a pair of dark trousers that seemed like they’d fit, and a pair of boots that were a little too big. She passes them to me. As I slip them on, a couple others walk in as well, carrying a variety of things.  

It’s not much but it’s the least we can do.

The first of these was a large deerman, who’s fur had tints of white at the edges. He passes me a small draw bag while I’m finishing the buckles on the leather boots. A little bit of weight sags the bottom of the drawstring bag, so I pull it open and dump its contents in my hand. A white ring with black inscriptions around its band, and a necklace with three long white slats hung on a leather chord with similar looking runes inscribed on each slat.

Thank you. I say.

I push the ring onto my finger, and immediately feel a wave of energy and a better sense of the mana in the air all around me, if only a little. I put the necklace on, and my mind is a little clearer. A buff to magic and intelligence, maybe? Maybe something else?

They’re made of the bones and sinew of the apostle. The deerman states proudly with a broad smile.

I fight the urge to tear them off of me. I thank him, and he bows his head and moves aside for the next person. This one is a young Ir carrying a tan sash. At least this one can’t be made of the bones of the apostle. She helped me tie it around the waist. I feel my legs strengthen a little.

This is made of the hide of the apostle. The older deerman states, just as proudly. Made by my apprentice there. He motions to the grinning Ir.

I try to stop the oncoming grimace.

Thank you...

You’re welcome! The Ir states cheerfully.

I feel macabre. The Ir moves out of the way and the next person comes. A young man who was in the pens on the ground. He looks to be about 15 or 16, with shaggy black hair, and tanned skin. He should be finishing up high school, not locked up in here.

Took him in under my wings. Has some talent.

He places two large items in my lap. I recognize them at once by their patterns; the feathery design of the sails on the skiffs.

I remember you saying you wanted to make something out of them. Nyt says, So I suggested these.

THE FIRST OF THESE items was a large cloak. It hung across my neck comfortably with a scarf like piece that was held together with a simple clasp. When fully unfurled, it falls down to the back of my knees. The second of them was a large backpack, that had just as much space, if not more, than the bag I had lost on the cliffs.

Thank you. I say.

You’re welcome, man. Least I can do, you know?

You live in Arville?

I do. Man, I can’t wait to see my mom and dad again.

Thank you guys, really.

That’s not it.

The elderly deerman says before pushing the door open, and reaching outside for a brief moment. He pulls back in two more things; the staff that the apostle had carried, and a dagger in a wooden sheathe. The first of which he carried by a piece of cloth wrapped around its center.  

First he hands me the dagger. Its light, and familiar and feels good in my hand. The handle is simple, but the sheathe is exquisite. It bares the image of a man striking a dark figure with a sword and pushing it back.

This is made from the shards of the broken sword you used. All we could recover of it.

You didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t an important sword. I answer.

Not an important sword? It killed an apostle. It’s a shame we couldn’t recover more of it.

I slide it out of its sheathe. It sings beautifully as it slides against the dark wood. The metal is black and reflective, as if I were looking at a mirror.

It’s beautiful.

Name it. Nyt says.

Oh. That’d be cringy.

I don’t think I will.

All good blades need a name! The large deerman slaps my shoulder.

I’ll think about it.

He laughs, and passes me the staff.

Grab it by the — oh, gods dammit.

As soon as I grip it, I feel a vast void within me...no, not within me, all around me. It pulls and tears at me like a thousand thousand thorns as if my entire body was being torn apart. With it, goes a part of my conciousness. I feel myself in everything — in everyone all around me. Is this mana? Can mana be this intense?

Grab it by the cloth, boy! That’s a root of a World Tree you’re holding!

I slip my hand down until I feel the rough burlap brush against my hand. As soon as I no longer touch the wood directly the feeling fades and I feel myself snap back into reality. I take a deep breath. I now understand how the apostle was able to use magic so quickly and so precisely, but now more questions swim into my mind. How does one continually experience that, and not lose your mind? Even now I wasn’t sure if I was me, or the chair in the corner of the room, or the lamp in the room over or if I were the children listening into our conversation beyond the door to the outside, or the countless