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Save Point 24

SAVE POINT 24

Loading Helladore Darken Boss Fight...100%

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Rosabella

SHIT.

I kick my feet free of the entrapping grass and roots holding my boots captive. I hear the brush snap.

And the growls of the Darken.

They're too close to me!

My heartbeat rams in my ears—

An undead hand grabs for my sleeve—

"Uhh!" I haul myself upward, the grass sticky against the palm of my hand as I lean on the slope, trying to edge up the ridge, but it's too steep to keep an even footing. I trip, falling hard on my hip on the firm ground. I watch my health bar appear over my head, like a bad reminder of the stamina I don't have against this horde.

The Darken are closing in—

Forming an impenetrable semi-circle around me filled with snapping jaws and rotting flesh, reaching for me—

> Run, run! But they will find you, dear!

Helladore's roar rattles gleefully in my head. I'm getting terrible flashbacks from the silver dragon's taunting—is it just me or have I heard this before?

> They're fastest when hungry!

She goads. I grit my teeth, tightening my trigger finger on the heavy gun in my grasp.

It's kill or be killed time.

...Otherwise, known as machine gun time.

I swallow.

I squeeze my eyes together for the briefest second, praying that I'm making the right choice here in killing these things. ...Honestly, it's not much of a choice at all, I remind myself. It's the only option. I've been shoved in the corner of kill these things or let them eat me, and I'm certainly not THAT courteous.

I pull a shallow breath into my lungs.

I squint into the scope of the gun, wondering if lining this up is anything like a video game...

And I make the decision.

I pull the trigger—

The solid, metal end of the gun rams repeatedly into my shoulder as bullets explode from the tip. The pain of it tears at the soft flesh there.

Rat-tat-tat

Rat-tat-tat

The inflamed sound of it is deafening, making my ears smart, ring and pop as the weapon jumps in my determined grip. I wrap my fingers more fiercely around the cold metal.

I bite my lip.

I bite down any of my doubt.

And I aim.

I mow their asses down.

I've only ever done this before in video games, but I watch the impact of the bullets, thudding into thick, Darken flesh—through their torn clothing, sinking into skin and bone.

I watch the surprise on the zombie's faces.

As blood splatters.

As they fall.

Into a scrambling pile of reaching arms and dying moans, still trying to claw at me even as their bodies grow cold.

Filth and flesh spray across my face and hands.

Warm.

Sticky.

Disgusting.

I want to vomit, but I can't stop.

There's more of them.

More Darken.

Climbing over the bodies of the fallen to get at their meal.

Me.

I turn the gun—so leaden in my weak fingers that it nearly feels like I already have a bruise on my arm from supporting it. And I rip the trigger back again with as much strength as I can muster—

Rat-tat-tat

Rat-tat-tat

I can barely hear the incendiary sound of it, now, from being so close.

Only the ringing: sharp, high-pitched screaming in my ears.

Only the thudding movement of the thing: spearing my shoulder over and over again with the kickback.

Only the way I'm struggling—gritting my teeth and using all my vigor—just to hold on.

"Rrraaaaghhhh!" I scream, digging deeper into my own strength than I thought was possible.

Gone is the purple dragon crowing in my head, flapping her giant wings in excitement, kicking up a wind and the dust around me.

Gone is Sparo on the crest of the hill, shading his eyes to watch.

Gone are the Game Wardens, huddling nearby, peering down from the tall grass above.

All I see are the Darken.

The ones keeping me from getting the creator magic I need.

An enemy.

Any enemy.

Just an oppressor to latch onto in this moment—something to pour my pain and fury at the injustice of my life into, so I don't have to bear it for another second.

And I do.

I unleash my rage—channel it into the fight.

—My anger at Goran; the utter betrayal there.

—My outrage at my parent's death.

—The way I secretly despise the Game Wardens.

—And my disbelief of how I, also, might love them.

...My desperation to find love...acceptance...

All coming out in a volley of bullets, spraying into the diseased flesh of the stumbling dead.

But the tears come unexpectantly.

And I can no longer see as I heave the gun to move my fire up and down the rows.

Only feel.

Only struggle to see the jumbling silhouettes of the Darkens' rotting flesh—

The gun clicks.

Short.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It stops.

I jam my finger against the trigger in shock, but it won't budge.

No—

I'm out of bullets?

This can't be happening—

"I need more bullets!" I scream hoarsely at the ridge where Sparo watches from above, feeling sweat drip down my face. I hastily wipe at it and the tears away from my eyes.

I watch the dark-skinned man's face crease with concern. His hands pump frantically in the air, "The magic hasn't reloaded yet! I can't make anything till the magic reloads; damn this shit—"

"ArghhhhH!" I swing at a Darken who's far too close.

Its freezing hands wrap around my arm.

Its bulging eyes lean in towards my face—

"Get off!" I shriek, brandishing the machine gun as a bludgeon and hitting the thing bluntly in the skull.

It melts to my feet, blood spurting from the head wound.

...But an advanced club isn't going to save me from the rest of this swarm. There's too many more, and the gun is too heavy to lift repeatedly. My arms are already shaking from the effort; I'm too exhausted.

There's only one choice here.

...Again.

I drop the heavy gun in the grass.

And I pull out my mother's sword with a swish of metal; it glints savagely in the overhead sunlight.

Now, for the hard part. ...I haven't really chopped anyone's body to bits before...

I swallow.

I take a tenuous step forward with my arm outstretched in this barren crater of the earth.

Towards the zombies.

I hold my breath—

Resist the urge to close my eyes and—

Slash.

The metal hits flesh with a sickening jolt.

And body parts fall.

Blood squirts.

The monsters scream.

I stare, in horror, at my own bloody hands, wrapped around the hilt.

"Keep going!" Sparo screeches, "The magic is almost there! Just a few more seconds!"

Seconds.

I can do seconds.

I twirl around.

I face the closest undead monster, tightening my fingers over the sword's handle and trying to steady my breathing: ready to slash.

...But, somewhere along the line, I miscalculated which Darken was the closest.

Because pain rips through my shoulder as teeth meet with the base of my neck. I watch my health bar pop up, blinking furiously in my view.

Low.

It's too low.

> Oh! This is dramatic, little girl. What a show! I'm practically on the edge of my seat—

The dragon bellows in my mind, but I'm barely listening. Everything feels muted. Slow... Slow motion? I feel liquid run down the skin of my neck.

Zombie spit?

I reach up and look down—to find my fingertips slick with red.

My blood...

I scream with fury and bring the sword sideways, slicing the Darken who'd bit me in half. His body sloshes to the dirt and grass as more moans fill my ears.

The rest of them.

I put a hand to the tender flesh of the bite at my neck, bringing my palm back to my face to gauge the blood loss. The answer? Too much.

I steady my boots in the dirt underfoot for the next round of Darken, bracing myself—

"Rosabella! Here!"

I whip around.

As something slides towards me, down on the bank.

From Sparo's anxious hands.

And it's not machine gun bullets.

...But it kinda looks like a grenade launcher from one of my video games...

Is it? I've never seen one in real life...

I pick the heavy weapon up, marveling at the intricate details of the thing.

"Three rounds—you have three shots," Sparo shouts from the top of the ridge, "I'm not a fairy godmother, there's limits for 25 points worth of creator magic. It's the best I can do!"

I nod.

He doesn't need to tell me twice.

I line the thing up with the largest Darken group.

I pray.

And squeeze—

Metal rockets into my shoulder. Shattering pain explodes in the bone there.

There's a whiz as the shot flies through the air...and, then—

Then, a thunderous explosion.

Parts of Darken fly.

The earth shakes.

I stumble backwards.

I try to put my hands over my ears, but I'm holding too much gun.

Smoke and dirt sting at my eyes.

...But there are still silhouettes lumbering towards me through the fumes—

I scramble to my feet.

Do or die, I tell myself. This is do or die.

I line the weapon up and get ready to fire again, wincing this time before the release—

Trigger.

...

Explosion.

The world rocks.

My ears ring.

Everything hurts.

My body.

My head.

If this would all just stop!

The screams of the zombies fill my ears. Shards of their bodies litter the ground—

One more.

Sparo said there was one more...

I drag myself upward.

I look for any survivors. I can barely make out the valley anymore. Thick smoke rises in tendrils from the explosion sights.

But there's one more group.

I feel numb as I line up the shot.

Just this last one, and I'm free. Just one more pull.

Pain rips through my shoulder when I take the shot. I scream out, unable to keep the ripping pain in anymore.

> And fireworks for the end! What a finale!

Helladore cries mirthfully in my head.

I drop the empty gun.

I press my hands firmly to both ears, bringing my knees to my chest.

"Shut up!" I cry into the destruction that I have caused.

The death.

All around me.

That I brought...

Something I made.

Because I had to.

Helladore's crater is a hole of slaughter now—dirt and smoke mixed with still bodies twisted, desiccated and decimated, in this unholy place. Grime smears over the gaping faces of the dead Darken. Limbs lay strew about, blood seeping into the dry dirt like the earth is hungry for a vengeance that it couldn't take for itself.

And me.

Just its actor.

Its angel of death.

Doing the will of a dragon amused by this absolute horror that my life's become.

Tears smart in my eyes. My throat is raw.

And I can't move. I can't move away from the carnage I've caused all around me. I sit there. In the grass. The coppery stench of blood pulling at my nostrils. And I watch the horizon clear. ...Hear the beat of the dragon's wings over me...

And, when the smoke does clear, I realize that I'm the only thing left standing in this lifeless crater.

Just me.

Surrounded by death.

The one survivor.

The one survivor that I needed to be.

And it's enough of a realization for me to shove myself to my feet; I have to use the handle of the grenade launcher as a crutch to help me upwards because my health is so low. My vision blurs red as I trace the slapping tail of the dragon with my eyes; its scales are just visible amidst the smoke trailing into the sky.

"I did it," I call feebly, "I did what you asked."

I stumble forward.

If I stand much longer, I'll pass out.

I know it.

I'll slump to the ground like all the stiff zombies around me and be counted among the dead.

The dragon's laugh sputters to life between my ears.

> Oh my, what excitement! That was THRILLING, child! Take the magic. You've earned it.

And relief courses through my otherwise unfeeling body.

As a star falls from the sky.

Warmness emanates over me.

Washing away the grime and soot of the scene around me.

Lifting me to a care-free feeling.

That everything is right.

That everything's as it should be.

I feel...

Happy...

The glowing orb comes to rest right in front of my eyes, bobbing. I cup my dirty hands to reach for it.

And the star soaks into my skin with the whisper of two ocean waves meeting each other.

...As the last bit of strength leaks out of me.

I fall to my knees.

As my stats box pops up in front of my eyes.

***Level Passed!***

GAME MAKER ROSABELLA Strength +15 - 30/100 Endurance +5 - 25/100 Agility +2 - 24/100 Intelligence +2 - 48/100 Emotional Intelligence - 50/100 Empathy -3 - 39/100 Determination +3 - 75/100 Prophesy - 15/100 Creator +50 - 75/100

It's the last thing I remember as I crumble to the ground, and everything goes black.