SAVE POINT 56
Loading Shit's-About-To-Get-Real...99%
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Rosabella
Please.
I hate that word right now. I hate begging—begging Goran, especially. I hate groveling at the feet of the man who killed my parents—murdered them in cold blood. I hate gazing into his power-enflamed eyes and seeing how small I look there, reflected back in them.
Like I'm merely a prize in an arcade.
And he's just won it.
And I'm lost again in the self-pity and self-destruction that is sacrifice for those I love. Shit.
Goran's shoulders square with inflated ego that only makes him look larger above me in the cramped, dark tunnel. My stomach tumbles. Is it the situation or me?
I gag, grasping at my stomach and throat simultaneously—feeling the world shift and spin though I'm standing still. A cough rakes through my body like something alive is trying to escape from my throat—
Goran's arms encircle my shoulders, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in me not to kick him away. I have to look like I'm tame. Like I'll go with him. So he'll drop the kill switch, and my friends and The Game world will be okay—
"Rosie," the man murmurs warmly (thank God my hair's fallen over my bent face, and he can't see my icy stare and hard jaw) "I've got you, Rosie."
Yes, he does. Yes, he does, and I hate it. His love is all-but-smothering cage bars, trapping me where I don't want to be, and he doesn't even see it! He's a murder and he hasn't changed his ways! He's still willing to murder—the entire game world this time! —All in his convoluted quest for us to be together.
He's an enormous twister blowing through and crushing towns for the sake of a breeze 200 miles away. When does the damage stop?
And when can I stop having to give into him just so he doesn't do more harm?
...When can I stop being the lamb to slaughter?
I sway dangerously as my head spins again and, unfortunately, have to rely on Goran's body to remain upright. His fingers type quickly in the air, bringing up my health bar which I realize, with alarm, is draining quickly.
Too quickly.
Dwindling.
Is it the wound in my side? God, my head feels light, and my throat tight—
"It's okay, Rosie," Goran mutters, "I made a friend in New York who has health packs. I'll take you there—get you a pack and some fresh air—"
I cough again, hacking which shakes my body. Am I going to pass out? The dark hallway and Goran's face swim in front of my eyes. It feels like my knees are going to give out from under me—
"Hold on, Rosie," the man's voice echoes in my mind, and I'm vaguely aware of him pulling a pocket watch out of his pocket.
Grand Dragon? I call weakly in my head, searching blindly for some type of comfort that I currently can't find. Grand Dragon, are you there?
> Always.
Comes the deep-toned reply in my mind.
> Child, it's the darkness affecting you. Breathe.
But I can't. It feels like an impossible task to bring oxygen into my lungs.
Like, even when I try to focus, the breaths are short and shallow.
I gasp.
And, as I struggle, blinking—trying to keep above the black sea rising in my vision—the world blurs and shifts.
And Goran holds me upright on the sidewalk of a busy New York street.
And I recognize the sign flapping in the wind on the side of the brick building looming over our heads... It has a palm on it... and reads 'Psychic'...
"Come on, Rosabella," Goran starts to tug me down the street—
"Not today you son-of-a-bitch," Sparo growls, stepping out of a shadow where he'd been leaning against the building facade. His muscular arms are crossed adamantly over his chest, and he has an, overall, vibe of thoroughly...utterly...unapologetically...
Pissed.
"I thought Prickgada'd try to route him out of the code by changing the location schematics ever so slightly to avoid us..." Dormouse mutters to himself, also stepping out of the shadows.
"That's nerd lingo for, you're fucked," Sparo informs Goran, spitting on the ground at the man's feet after he's through with the word. "We have the numbers, and we have your girl. Now is the appropriate time for your oh-shit surrender."
Sparo locks eyes with me, and, even with the world tossing like ocean waves in my vision, I can see the softness there. The yearning to have me on the other side of this argument—on his side. Not in Goran's arms. In his.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
And I watch as, one by one, all of my friends step out of the woodwork.
Hope flutters in my chest.
There's Dormouse grinning at me from the front and Mimi stepping out behind him, her eyes wide and shocked. Joy lounges half covered in shadows from the stairwell against the looming building, clearly holding Prickgada captive with the woman's boney hands bound tighter than they probably need to be. And Rainer tosses me a little wave from where he stands next to Helladore's enormous, purple-scaled body.
They are all here.
Still alive.
Still okay.
They're all here to save me.
A shaky smile spreads on my lips.
But it's shattered.
By Goran's laugh.
I turn to see the man's head lulling back with the length of the grating noise. His fingers tighten on my bicep so fully that I flinch, trying to tug away, but I can't—especially not with my head reeling like this...
"You think you can use that woman as leverage against me?" Goran nods to Prickgada who, suddenly, looks incredibly uncomfortable as she tugs on the rope bonds on her wrists. Her lips twinge into an annoyed frown. "I have what I came for," the man continues, "Prickgada, you'll be fine; you have the cheat code. The rest of them don't. You've forced my hand. Now, I'm going to destroy all of you—"
He whips the kill switch out from behind his head, waving it in the air. His thumb is so close to flicking it—
"No!" I bat at him.
I use every last bit of my strength to face him—to plead—
"Please! Don't do this!" I beg, my voice cracking, "For—for me! For anyone...please!"
I don't know if it's how completely terrible I feel or the thought of losing my friends, but tears overwhelm me suddenly. Like the urge to kick. To scream. To protest. Like the five-year-old Goran aways expects me to be. It wasn't supposed to be like this! I just felt like I had a place...maybe a home! Among these people! With all of them...with Sparo! I was finally feeling safe—finally understanding my past. Finally! And, now, he's going to wipe it all away? Kill? Again?! This is murder! This is—
"Rosie, this is for your own good," Goran speaks down to me again, his voice lined in patronizing patience, "You can't stop me. I've wanted to do this for years. Once The Game world's gone, you'll have to stay with me. There'll be no other choice. My brother, Ford, was a fool. Love doesn't make people stay just force. Only ever force—"
"No!" I scream back, sobs muffling the word, "No! It can be different. I'll make it different—"
"I told you! I've made up my mind!" Goran grabs me by ear. Pain rips through the tender flesh there. I cry out, but I can't stop fighting. I'll never stop fighting!
He holds up the kill switch dramatically again, his eyes dark and ready. His finger hovering so close again—
This is my last chance!
"I'll stay!" I scream, "I'll stay with you just like you want! Just like you want just—just please don't kill my friends—"
But Goran sighs—not a good sigh. His face creases with weariness, "No, Rosie. It's over."
And his finger moves to flip the lever.
HONK!
A taxicab runs the curb.
Thwack!
Something thuds.
I pitch forward.
Smoke stings at my eyes and mouth as my palms hit the grainy concrete of the sidewalk. My palms sting and I look up, dazed and weak...
To see Goran's body.
Laying near the yellow cab tires.
Shock pulses the image, expanding and contracting it, as purple wings beat overhead, spraying strands of my brown hair into my face. Stunned, I watch as the enormous purple dragon dives down from the sky, sunlight streaming over the points of her scales and her leathery skin in a way that's almost blinding.
And her massive jaws unhinge.
And she swallows Goran's body in two gut-wrenching, slurping bites.
Helladore burps, a halo of fire exiting her black lips, "Well, he was just too much. I understand dramatic but ho-ly cow!" the dragon crows.
And I swallow.
Oh shit.
...Oh my God, that just happened...
And the cab driver—a stout guy with his hair wrapped in a turban—gets out of the cab, slamming the door and grumbling a million profanities.
And my eyes dart to the kill switch which totters in the middle of the street. I lean, snatching it off the asphalt, catching it and my breath at the same time. It's cold metal feels comforting against my fingers.
Like clutching tangible safety.
For once.
"Hey, who'd I hit? Some nutjob was in the middle of the street!" the cab driver yells, jabbing a finger at my chest like this is all my fault.
My mouth droops open. What do I tell him—? What could I possibly say—
"I didn't see anything," Joy calls from the back, sidling up with swinging hips and brushing her pink locks out of her face with a smooth hand. "There definitely wasn't a guy there."
The Middle Eastern man shrugs like it's no skin of his nose. He turns around stiltedly, moving towards his cab as his creased brow wrinkles. "Weird day," he says shortly.
Sparo leans into my blurring vision, "Rosabella—Rosabella, you okay?" His voice sounds far away and muffled even though I can feel his hand on my arm.
My limbs sway a little as I try to regain my balance.
"I—I think so.," I slur.
Except I'm not. The reality comes crashing down on my head like the dizziness as the world flickers—black dots fizzling and spitting in my vision even as a blue box pops into view.
***Level Passed!***
***Fighting for Friends: Strength +10, Endurance +5, Agility +5, Empathy +5 -2, Determination +5***
GAME MAKER ROSABELLA Strength +10 - 55/100 Endurance +5 - 40/100 Agility +5 - 31/100 Intelligence - 50/100 Emotional Intelligence - 70/100 Empathy +5 -2 - 42/100 Determination +5 - 90/100 Prophesy - 100/100 Creator - 90/100
And I cough, bringing a hand up to my lips, and, when I bring it back down again, black blood stains my fingers.
What the—?
And my knees give out as people shout around me.