SAVE POINT 80
Loading Test & Dungeon Level &...Jslkdfkiodis123...Oh, Tech Malfunction, Sorry...XX%
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Rosabella
The red laser line wavers at the toes of my boots, beginning up my ankles...
Knees...
Legs...
Torso.
I hold my breath—close my eyes so that the office-like room fades into blackness as the laser slithers up my torso, flashing brilliantly in my pupils—
I wince, readying myself for the worst—
But the pulsing fist of pressurized worry in my chest holds me tight in its grip, squeezing. It won't let me go. Failing this test means a hacked and bloody death on the carpet right over there. I'd just witnessed it. My body trembles. I can't—I won't fucking end up like that—
And, yet, I might not have a choice. My throat is so dry. I crack one eye open to see—
Beep.
A giant, red 'x' floats in front of the wall of digital code. The scarlet glow from it lights Joy's horrified face as she whips around, her pink hair flying around her—
***Subject Failed***
"No," Joy yells, pulling against the guards now attempting to restrain her, "No! There has to be some mistake!"
But we both know that isn't true. My eyes lock with her frantic ones as the girl thrashes in the guards' hold.
Their test is right. I'm riddled with darkness. It's why we're even here. And, now, I'm going to die for it. My throat tightens with tears I can't seem to cry. It's like my body is in too much shock to react.
As the guard next to me grips the sword at his belt. The blade swishes like the promise of pain in the air—so close to my face.
This is it.
All I've done—all I've fought for. Ends here.
Worse, I don't feel like fighting this time. Because I've fought time and time again—there's no more fight in me, no more spark. Just acceptance. I can accept this. I take the deepest breath I can manage, though it's shaky. And I stare at the bare, blue carpet before closing my eyes.
My last view will be this threadbare carpet?
My feet?
At least I won't see the sword or that terrifying guard's face—
"Stop!"
Joy's voice.
My eyes flash open to see the girl—now fully restrained by two teams of guards—but her face...her expression is...
Desperate.
"Please!" she begs. Something about her eyes hits me straight in the chest like a missile, "She's the Game Maker—you can check her title. Take me instead of her! I demand a swap. Your people here used to understand barters. Let her go free. Take my life instead."
A rustle of whispers courses through the room. Guards stare at me, now, unabashed from every angle...even the others behind me in line stare.
And the sword raised above my head wobbles. I watch indecision cross the wielder's face.
Finally, he lowers the blade. All breath rushes out of me.
Another guard tugs me out of the red-tape box on the floor while the first punches in some code over my shoulder. At his keystrokes in the air, my title pops up for all to see:
GAME MAKER ROSABELLA
More exclamations and murmurs race through the room as the guards look, confused and wondering, at each other.
"I wasn't lying. Accept the trade," Joy hisses at the man in front.
I shake my head at the pink-haired girl, but her glare silences me from further protest. She's intent on doing this. She said I was the only one who could fix The Game World...she must be pretty convinced of it if she's willing to sacrifice her own life—
"We shall let The Game decide if this trade is permissible!" the assassin in front yells, sending his arms wide above his head. His fingers work at the code again.
Ask The Game?
These people seem like worshipers of the code. My entire fate—whether I live or die—is in the hands of...technology?
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
My stomach clenches.
My mind spins.
The man's intent on the neon, spinning numbers in front of him. His fingers fly, hitting through several options as his eyebrows crease with concentration on the task.
What do I do? Just...wait? Just stand here? Or should I distract? Attack?
I glance helplessly over at Joy, but the pink-haired girl looks equally powerless. Strands of her pink hair are plastered to her forehead above uneasy eyes...like she's a caged lion.
My breaths don't come as easily now. I try to gulp in air—gulp down saliva. What is taking so long? And, yet, I want it to take forever. As long as I don't have to hear them convict one of us to die. My knees are weak. How long can I stand here? How long can I hold it together without breaking down—
Spfttttt!
Lightening sparks.
Something fizzles. Smoke trails from where the man's fingers type, and the neon numbers go black.
Dark.
Wiped clean from the air.
The man tries to type again, but it's clear from the frustration on his face that something's wrong. He runs an aggravated hand through his red, ruffled hair. "Grand Dragon!" he swears.
"What's wrong?" I ask—a whisper—but it doesn't seem that he wants to answer me. At least, not directly. He turns to two guards at his shoulder, murmuring a command. They both nod, their eyes flickering to my face before they charge in my direction with efficient directness. Their iron fingers grab my biceps.
I fight it, I do.
I heave my weight against their hold, "Hey! Tell me what's going on!"
But the guards are silent as they tow me back to the dungeon...right behind Joy.
They throw us in the center of the room, unchained.
"What is going on?!" Joy hisses, rearing quickly from where she'd fallen, palms flat and pink hair in her face on the cobblestone. Her eyes rim with fire.
But the guards remain silent as they lead the rest of the prisoners from the line in behind us, chaining them securely.
And shut the door.
And there's just silence again.
And a lot of questioning faces.
"You saved us!" the woman with the bulging eyes exclaims, nearly sobbing; her hands are pressed so tightly together in prayer that they're bone-white, "Thank you, Game Maker."
Joy whirls on me, "You did that—?"
"I didn't do anything," I shout. My loud words reverberate off the concrete walls, bouncing back into my face like a rude reminder that I can't do anything. Physically. Mentally. I'm just as helpless as everyone else here. I mean, I have creator magic, but, from what I'd seen of the yellow dragon's stats it's disabled in this prison.
...Still, I guess I could try. I plop myself down in a corner, facing a wall. I don't want to have to answer the questions in everyone's eyes. I just want to—have a minute. Just one minute to think. To see if there's any answers I do have. But it feels like a hungry hand reaching in an empty bag: you can wish to grab an apple as much as you want, but you already know there's nothing there. Still, I close my eyes.
I reach for the creator magic—
...
Nothing.
There's nothing there.
Fuck this. They did disable it.
My fingers curl around a piece of loose stone, chucking it at the dungeon wall. I try to swallow the tears overwhelming every part of me, but it feels like too big of a task. "Joy," I sputter, turning to search for the girl, "this is it. One of us dies here—"
"Hey—" she reaches a black-gloved hand out towards me, shifting her seated position so she's closer and can rest it on my knee, "I had a good run, you know?"
Her words don't help the flood that wants to unleash behind my eyes.
No.
No, I don't want to hear her tell me she's had a good run. I don't want for her to accept things—accept death—like I almost had before that sword didn't come down. I wish I never came here—
> There's no hope.
Whispers the voice that I'd nearly forgotten about. That one that's my voice—a dark voice. In my head.
> Give up while you still can. Accept death with open arms. Look around you. These people are already dead.
"No," I vow solemnly.
And I watch the pink-haired girl look up at me in surprise.
"No," I repeat again, louder, "I'm not letting you die. I'm not letting anyone in here die."
"Bless you," gushes the woman in the corner, clutching at a little girl with scared-orb eyes, "Grand Dragon, bless you."
The little girl is staring at me. And her gaze reminds me of something. It reminds me...of me.
Of the innocence and the fear that both clutched at me during childhood as Goran and I ran from place to place. I'd been hungry then. And scared. And too small to understand. But, somewhere along the line, fate had given me a chance. Life had given me a chance. And I'd been able to take it. I'd been able to grow stronger and bigger and learn. And, while sometimes I didn't like what I'd learned, I'd had that chance. Life and breath had given me that change. That girl deserves the same.
I get to my feet, water drenching the knees of my body armor as I push to stand and, then, crouch in front of the dark-haired girl. Her cubby cheeks are smudged with dirt and the curls of her brown hair fall into her face.
"What's your name?" I whisper.
The little girl shakes her head back and forth, 'no'.
"Sheela. Her name's Sheela. She doesn't talk much," admits the mother, her fingers kneading the little child's shoulders, "The darkness has taken that from her." The woman's lined hands pull back the little girl's thick hair so I can see a black rash that consumes the back of her neck.
My jaw hardens.
No. The Darken rash?
The darkness has a child—would turn a child?
"I'm scared," tears well up in the woman's eyes. Her forehead is lined with stress and exhaustion—like she's one crack away from melting down.
"Here," my fingers work at the Velcro and belts holding the top of my body armor on. I wiggle out of it, feeling the damp air of the dungeon bite into my skin which is, now, only covered by a sports bra. I offer the body armor to the woman, "It's probably too big, but use it to cover up the rash. It might buy you some time."
The woman nods, silent tears running down her face this time. "Thank you," she mouths.
I nod. And I crouch down again, my eyes level with the little girl's. I reach out to touch her shoulder. "Shella, no matter what," I tell her, "I'm going to save you, you understand? No matter what, I'm coming back to free all of you."
> Now, that sounds like the Game Maker from the prophesy.
My head shoots up to make eye contact with the owner of the ringing voice in my mind—the yellow dragon, Aria.
She lowers her head, behind the metal mesh, blinking her pink, almond-shaped eyes in respect at me.
And I smile back. "Yeah," I say, feeling a jolt of determination course through my limbs, "Maybe it does."