SAVE POINT 23

Loading One Messed-Up Dragon...Helladore Boss Level...50%

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Rosabella

"Hording the Darken for fun???" I choke out.

This does not look fun.

This looks morbid.

I peer down over the crater in the valley, clawed into the earth probably with the purple beast's own talons.

...As the Darken stumble and twitch, moaning and braying even in the harsh sunlight.

"Yeah," Sparo shrugs again, "Not trying to brag, but we dragons are an intelligent breed. We fight boredom more than anything else. Some cope with it different than others. This is the equivalent of a human catching a fly and toying with it—"

"No, this is fucked up," Joy spits, her eyes steaming, "This is not self-defense. Those are people down there—Gamers just like you and me—who have been driven mad by the darkness. This is wrong."

I nod my head in agreement, although I secretly wonder if the pink-haired girl would feel differently about it if she wasn't turning half-zombie herself. I throw her a supportive smile, but her face only darkens with an unscrubbable shadow.

"Someone has to do something," she lectures, reaching for her sword and moving to the edge of the hill with steel in her eyes, "I'm going down there—"

"No, you're not," Sparo rebukes her shortly, grabbing the girl's arm even as she throws off his hold, "She is."

...And he's pointing at me, the sun streaming around his dark-skinned silhouette.

And I feel the burn of the group's stares and expectations.

And the fact that I'm potentially going to be facing that dragon and a zombie horde.

Gulp.

"There has to be another way," Dormouse steps forward—God bless the kid—his jaw trembling for me and his eyes darting beneath waves of his dark hair to the Darken army below us, "There are way too many of them—"

"There are only two ways to do this," Sparo throws back quickly, his voice losing all the playfulness it's held. "One," he shoots a finger outward, "you kill the dragon and get the magic, or, two, you challenge the dragon. Dragons are extremely loyal regarding deals. If you win the challenge, they have to give you what is owed. It's dragon code."

"Challenging the dragon sounds like a bad idea," I say swallowing.

But Sparo only looks at me. His eyes are intense and determined.

...And I realize that there's no way around this one...

"...How bad do you want that magic?" he asks instead, raising an eyebrow.

I shake out my trembling hands with a huff, "Fine, I'll do it if that's what it takes."

The nerves under my skin are jumping around.

Leaping with fiery fear.

But I have no choice in the matter; I have to face this.

I have to face this, or my decision to come back to The Game is all but null and void...and I'd fail the legacy of my parents...fail them in protecting this game world they'd loved.

And I can't do that.

I won't.

I raise my chin higher, "What do I do?"

Sparo's lips turn up into a smile, "Thatta girl. Walk to the edge of the hill and scream across the valley that you challenge the dragon. Use her name: Helladore."

Scream?

I blink at him.

I open my mouth to protest but think better of it. So, I shut my jaw. I grit my teeth. And, clutching my fingernails into the palms of my hands, I let my boots take me...

One step.

Two steps.

Three...

Through the tall grass—

"Does anyone else feel like this is a really bad idea?" Rainer asks, his voice wobbling with worry behind me, but I'm already out of earshot.

My heart hammers inside my chest, decimating my eardrums with the force.

My throat is so dry that I have to swallow three times before I think I can speak.

Scream, I remind myself quickly. I have to scream so she can hear me.

"Helladore!" I try.

But the wind carries my feeble shout away.

Annoyed, I muster all the courage I can find.

I am Game Maker Rosabella.

I will honor my parents.

I will MAKE the dragon hear me—

"Helladore!" I bellow, louder than I've ever screamed before, "My name is Game Maker Rosabella! I want your creator magic! I challenge you for it!"

The huge, purple beast's head raises.

Her beady eyes train on me as her nostrils flare, catching my scent in the wind.

And she roars, screeching into the sunny sky, as the reverberations of the noise slam into my ears. I clutch at my head. Her talons rake at the rock and earth below her, creating trickles of landslides around her.

> You, a mere human, challenge me?! A dragon?!

She laughs maniacally in my head.

She's right.

She's so right—this is stupid.

I turn around, casting a distressed look at Sparo.

"Challenge her!" he shouts, moving towards me and pointing at the purple beast, "Backing down is weakness! You have to challenge her to get the magic; it's the only way."

And, for some reason, I trust him.

The tension in his face.

The ardency in his eyes.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I believe him.

"Okay," I whisper.

I whip around to face the cackling dragon.

The valley separates us, but she is still an intimidating sight, even from this far away. The massive coils of her neck and limbs shine royal violet, glinting like a million mirrors, reflecting my terror back at me. Piercing spikes jut upwards from the crown of her skull in a darker indigo, magnifying her grotesque, bulging eyes and the tongue slithering out between the bars of her teeth.

Whatever the challenge, I can't lose it. If I lose, I'm toast.

100% dead.

Deader than dead. Maybe even Darken.

The world spins with dizzying speed—

Oh God, this was the wrong decision—

I'm going to get myself killed—for nothing!

"Rosabella, focus!" Sparo calls to me.

Right.

I bring in a shuttering breath.

"I challenge you for the creator magic!" I shout again. The wind catches my hair, twirling stray strands into disarray around my face.

The dragon hisses, her teeth snapping.

> I accept your challenge, child.

The condescending flare in her confirmation makes my skin crawl.

> You will amuse me.

She cackles, looping her purple head up into the sky.

> Not many things give me enjoyment nowadays. If I am not amused, you will not receive the magic. ...And you will die.

She says it so off-handedly...like an unimportant afterthought.

Except it's very fucking important to me.

Panic spreads in my chest, filtering to the ends of my fingers.

Worse than a wildfire.

My shallow breaths can't provide me with enough oxygen.

Amuse her?

What is she talking about?!

"Sparo," I call desperately, my head careening into hyperventilation, "I can't tell jokes, I can't even sing! I'm no good at anything that—"

"What are you doing talking to me?" he yells back, "Tell it to the dragon—"

I panic.

I turn back to the dragon.

"What do you want?!" I yell, "What do you want from me????"

The creature throws its head back in a chuckling laugh.

> Oooohhh, this is already better than the lunch I had planned. Kill all the Darken, dear. If you single-handedly kill every last one before they kill you, I will give you the creator magic, but only then. ...And beware. They're hungry.

She hisses the last word in a threat.

As my entire body freezes looking down at the swarm of zombies.

Kill them?

Every last...?

I can't even process it.

"You accept," Sparo's suddenly at my elbow, his head nodding—his hands grasping both of my shoulders and shaking me. "She accepts!" he calls over his shoulder into the wind.

> I need to hear it from your lips, human.

The dragon tells me in my mind.

But my lips aren't currently functioning.

They may never reach that state again.

Kill all the—

Just me, kill all the—

I shake my head vehemently 'no', over and over.

I press my protesting hands against Sparo's chest as he tries to lean into my face. I try to get his hands off me—

"No," I whisper, "No, I won't. I can't!" I'm on the verge of tears. Terror rims my voice.

He squints at me, "I thought you were a Game Maker—"

"I'm just a girl!" I tell him, my face falling apart—I can feel it—"I'm just a girl! I was just trying to help, but I can't—"

He turns away.

Has he given up trying to persuade me? Decided to finally leave me alone?

Tears wet my cheeks as the breeze blows by, making the liquid there feel icy.

This is a fool's errand, and he knows it—

This is suicide—

But the dark-skinned man turns back around.

And his hands cradle a...

A sleek, black machine gun?

***Opportunity Unlocked: A Gift from a Dragon***

Will you accept?

My eyes grow wide at the sight of the weapon and the words in mid-air.

But not wider than Sparo's smug smile. "See, now this is the wisdom of a dragon," he crows. "...Actually, this might be the first time ever I've used the magic for someone other than myself...would you ponder that..."

But I'm not.

I'm pondering the weapon in his hands.

My eyes flash between it and the sea of Darken below.

He grabs one shoulder again, offering me the gun and his solid stare to hold onto. "You can do this, I promise," he says.

And his eyes look genuine again.

And I want to believe him.

I really do.

I accept the gun from him.

The weight of it shakes in my hands.

***New Weapon Unlocked: Machine Gun Accepted, Strength +5, Intelligence +1***

"Rosabella, you okay?"

I turn to find Callen walking towards us through the tall grass, his eyes stormy and his brow wrinkled in concern, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Well, that's a lie, I tell myself. Because I have to fucking do everything myself.

I'm the only Game Master here.

I'm the only one who CAN do this. I have to earn the magic.

I turn around.

Past Callen's concerned eyes.

Past Sparo.

To the dragon on the ridge.

"I accept!" I scream into the wind.

And neon letters appear, bouncing between the dragon and I, over the valley of death and Darken:

***Covenant Sealed***

My fingers tighten around the metal of the gun.

"How many bullets do I have for this thing?" I ask Sparo as Callen watches wide-eyed.

He grins back, the smile going from his white teeth all the way up to his eyes, "Enough to get the job done."

"Good," I say. I'm going to put these poor Darken out of their misery and win back the magic that can save my parents' world.

"This is messed up!" Joy shouts at me as I begin down the steep slope. The soles of my boots slide in the deep mud and thick grass.

"I agree!" I spit back, biting my lip.

I've never agreed more.

I trip down the remaining slope, nearly falling at the end. The thin, fabric part of my body armor on my calf slices open on the jagged rocks I move by, making ripping sound. It's all I can hear besides the swaying of the grass...each of my own breaths...and the moaning.

...Of the undead.

Like the saddest sound I've ever heard layered from a million lips.

They haven't seen me yet, but I know that'll only last for another minute or so. Dormouse warned me about how quick they are, and I remember from that day...

From the Darken latching onto me—

Its teeth snapping in my face—

I try to push the memory down, shivering. I clutch the gun tighter.

Think tactical, I tell myself. Pretend you're back on your computer in New York playing a video game. Where is the best vantage point for a fight like this?

I look around and instantly realize my mistake.

High ground.

What was I thinking coming down the slope?! High ground is ALWAYS the best when dealing with a horde like this. I'm already letting fear cloud my judgement. I need to turn around—

But I've been seen.

Spotted.

A raspy growl rattles right in front of me.

And my eyes latch onto the empty eyes of a Darken.

Only a foot away.

It's mouth leaking saliva and blood—

It's bony fingers reaching for me—

With a shriek, a jump backwards—towards the slope behind me—

But the shriek was a bad move too.

Because, as my ankles and boots become ensnared in the underbrush, the entire Darken horde hears.

And turns.

And I only have me.

And the gun.

And the dragon laughing like the worst clanging of bells overhead.

Death bells.