“You know what you have to do now, don’t you?” Oscar says. “You know what this means.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I can fix it. I can make it work.”

“You didn’t kill the leader of the Bannerets—Tanya’s brother—because you lost your memory.” Oscar says. “They hadn’t wiped it, yet. You know the real reason. It’s because of what you saw. In that room.”

It’s like he’s reading my thoughts. Traveling with me, down the dark tunnel of my mind.

“You’ve been shackled with this chain for a long time, Kit.” Oscar says. “It’s your story. It’s who you are. You’ll never be free—”

I scramble for my revolvers.

Oscar pivots, and his boot hits me across the face, knocking me sideways on the ground. I press my palms into the dirt, push myself up onto my knees, only to feel the barrels of both the Black Guns pressing down into my skull.

Somehow, I’m hyperventilating, my whole virtual body shaking.

“I made a mistake.” Oscar says. “I see that, now. Just...look at you.”

“I thought it was gonna be a fair fight?” I say. “I thought we were going to play.”

“It was.” Oscar says. I can feel the gunmetal trembling in his hands. “But I can’t take the chance. I need to free you from this.”

He laughs, a harsh noise that sounds almost like a bark. “Goodbye, old friend.” He whispers, as if he’s putting me to sleep.

I feel the slight vibration of his fingers beginning to clench in the triggerwell.

Something kicks in, like adrenaline. A determined spark of energy. My teeth click together.

I unfurl, furling in the air behind Oscar, just as his shots go off. I rotate in the air, leg lashing out, going for a sidekick to Oscar’s head.

Oscar ducks, like it’s a premonition. He swivels while I’m still in the air, aiming at me.

I furl again, putting some distance between us, but also forcing him to turn toward me, again. He’s standing near my fallen revolvers, puppy-guarding them.

I activate my Action Skill as soon as I’ve reappeared, reaching for the hilt of my sword at the same time. I had a feeling about this before, but now I know for sure. I remember. I can use the Dart to manipulate the time-slow ability of my Action Skill. I can adjust the speed, control how much of the time-slow I use at once, distributing it in disparate bursts if I need to. The only thing I can’t control is how long it takes for the time-slow to regenerate.

As I draw the sword, light flashes in my peripheral, sunlight glinting off of the half-drawn blade.

Oscar fires off a black bullet from each of the guns, a lingering bout of flame bursting from each barrel.

I side-step, moving into a low crouch. While I’m doing this, I turn my body, aligning the flat of my half-drawn blade.

I avoid one of the bullets entirely with the sidestep. The second bullet I manage to line up correctly, and it glances off the blade of my sword, sparking painfully.

I weave and duck, causing the next bullet to miss. By this point my sword is free. And the next bullet is on an unavoidable trajectory for my chest.

I slow time down to an excruciating crawl. Every second of energy I put into the sword-swing feels like wading through cement, but at the last second I manage to line it up, causing the bullet to ricochet off the blade, grazing my cheek.

I slide—letting time speed up again, to conserve Action—and swipe toward Oscar. He unfurls. I roll, snatching up the revolvers. I sheathe the sword, furling over to the roof of a building a ways away so I can get a lay of the land.

It takes me about a second to spot Oscar, once again standing sideways on the tower. He gives me a friendly wave.

I unfurl, refurling in the air across from him. I alter gravity, creating my own sort of gravity well that pulls me down against the tower, standing the side of it. It feels perfectly natural, though it does require some focus.

We both have our guns up, at the ready, arms extended.

“This is actually pretty fun.” Oscar says, grinning. Then, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

I clamp down on the triggers, firing as fast as I can. I slow time down—way down—and watch as bullets collide, ricocheting, deflecting, altering each other’s paths. It’s a ballistic dance.

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Suddenly, I’m out of bullets. I unfurl, reappearing on the flat top of the tower. It will be an easier environment for reloading, gravity-wise.

I fumble for the ammo pouch strapped to my belt. Just as I have it, Oscar appears in front of me, evaporating in reverse.

His boot hits me in the chest, knocking me backward into a fall. The pouch spills open, shells flying. I slow time way down. The rounds hover, glittering like satellites. I adjust my revolvers as I fall backward, sliding as many of the airborne rounds as I can into the cylinders.

I lock the cylinder wheels shut just as Oscar has his guns on me, just in time to deflect the incoming bullets with my own.

We unfurl and refurl, over and over, trying to get a one-up on each other, occasionally firing off shots that bounce off each other.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash near the base of the tower, and the entire structure begins to shake.

I teleport away from Oscar so I can take a second to see what’s going on. I see dust and flying debris at the base of the tower, along with the flailing wings of the black dragon. One of the Bannerets is on top of it, gripping the hilt of a giant sword that’s currently impaled in the back of the dragon’s skull.

RIP.

The tower isn’t just shaking, though. It’s beginning to tilt. Slow at first, almost imperceptibly, like a slight swaying. Then, the laws of physics seem to take over, and the tower is in free fall. It’s going to crash into the city.

Somewhere, I hear Oscar laughing. I run sideways along the edge of the tower, looking for him.

There’s a whoosh of pressure behind me. Arms wrap around me, clamping my torso, trapping me. His laughter is my ear, so loud I can feel it popping; unless it’s just the pressure from falling.

We’re on the lower side. The tower, as well as gravity itself, is pushing us inexorably downwards, crushing us. We’re upside down, though what’s down feels like up. The cityscape is rushing up toward us, an upside-down city falling out of the sky.

I try to un-furl, but I can feel Oscar using his Dart to stop me, like a reverse-furling. Or something.

I strain against the pressure, trying to bust through it.

The city is incoming, seconds away.

Just when the rooftops are close enough to reach out and touch, I feel the pressure give. Both Oscar and I disappear, reappearing on a flat rooftop several blocks away—as far away as I can take us before he stops me again.

The force of the entire weight of the tower transfers, even after the teleportations, and we’re sent sprawling, rolling. Mid-roll, I can feel the ground quaking, like a nuke just went off. A blast of air propels me forward, sending me airborne, roiling in a thick storm of dust and dirt and rocks and bits of wood.

Still flying, rolling and bouncing on the roof, I make out a form I’m apparently gaining on, tossed toward in the fog of debris. It’s Oscar, bouncing across the rooftop in much the same way I am.

I lash out with my fist, hitting him in the back, in the middle of his spine. My body slams into his. I grab the cord of his Dart necklace at the back of his neck, fingers latching tight around it. I feel resistance, as it seems Oscar is pulling on the front of the necklace, trying to keep me from getting a better hold. There’s a loud roar of sound that feels incredibly close, and I realize it’s me, screaming.

Seconds pass as our bodies spin, airborne. At some point we must have rolled over the lip of the roof and are now flying free.

I’m on top of Oscar, pulling on the cord with both hands, my knee pressed into his back. The dust is so thick I can’t see more than a couple feet in any direction.

A slanted, shingled roof appears like a ghostly apparition. We slam into and through the roofing. Somewhere in the impact, I hear the snap of Oscar’s cord. Somewhere in the midst of flying bits of wood and clay, I see Oscar’s Black Dart, knocked flying.

Oscar’s hand reaches out, fingers just barely brushing it, pushing it out of reach as it falls.

We’re in freefall in the inside of what appears to be a giant storage shed.

Oscar spins his body, struggling, trying to grab my Dart. I bring up my hands, deflecting his lunges, struggling against him.

We’re falling fast, and not just toward the ground. There’s a splintered length of wood jutting out of a thick support beam that appears to have been damaged by the towerfall. Oscar is unaware of it, completely focused on scrabbling for the Dart.

I wrap one hand around the Dart, protecting it. With my other hand, I grip Oscar by the shoulder, adjusting him underneath me, despite his struggles. I aim for the javelin-like hunk of wood.

There’s a glint in Oscar’s eyes, as if he can tell I’m up to something. He stops struggling and grabs me, fingers digging into my shoulders. Now I can’t avoid the javelin without rotating Oscar’s body as well. It’s all or none. Fine by me. I just hold on even tighter.

There’s a sickening squelch as the javelin pierces us both through the abdomen, abruptly halting our fall, like puppets yanked by their strings.

The pain is there, but it’s more of a discomfort, really. The simworld’s attempt to communicate injury without going overboard. It’s unpleasant, but mostly in the same way a dream can be unpleasant. More of an attempt to simulate trauma than the real thing.

Oscar is a few feet below me on the javelin, arms and legs dangling away from his body, like a doll being lifted by a crane. It looks like he’s just out of reach.

We’re both panting and heaving. Occasionally wincing. The ground is still trembling slightly. I can hear various structures around the city crashing and crumbling, knocking into each other. The support beam we’re attached to wobbles and sways precariously.

“Look…” Oscar says, between gasps. “Look what you did…”

I reach down and grab the shaft of the javelin with both hands. I pull, grunting. I can feel it sliding and scraping as it travels through me, catching on my intestines.

Oscar starts laughing. Not a maniacal, insane laugh. More like the kind of laugh that reminds me of staying up late with friends, being tired and hysterical.

I grit my teeth and continue pulling, facilitating my slow descent toward Oscar.

“This was...your idea...remember?” Oscar says, through the strained smile on his face.

“Which— which part?” I say, between grunts, focusing on my slow progress along the javelin.

“Playing…Rithium…”

Quite suddenly, his eyes go dead.

I can see my gun in Oscar’s holster. I fumble for it, managing to pinch the handle with two of my fingers and get it out. As soon it’s in my hand, it shimmers white, just like before.

I have it. It’s done.

Now I can de-spawn. Now it’s okay to—

But I can already feel my avatar dying, as everything starts to go black.