"Ok", Allen screamed, "you got me", taking in a deep breath, "now what?"
Shaking it head in confusion the moster seemed to think about it's answer, "Now I get payed", and it closed its eyes only to snap them back open with a malicious gleam.
"The great Allen", it squeezed him, "finally in my grasp", its other hand reached and tore the broken wing from it's socket, "and now you can't run away again", laughing maniacally as Allen screamed in pain.
"Why are you doing this?" He cried in anguish, "what have I ever done to you Meroa?".
"I" the beast emphasized the word with a deep breath, "am not" it screamed "that stupid fucking shithead cunt", every word breathed hard before she tore off his right leg, "never speak that name to me", her rage was dimmed by the pain raking his body at the abuse, the game seemed to know exactly how a torn limb should feel like and Allen didn't want to consider how the developers registered that particular feeling.
When he woke up again they were flying in patterns, now held inside the monster's hand he could see ships firing all kinds of weapons at the monster including patches of the liquid doom he once dealt with.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Magic projectiles, fire, lightning, ice and even graviton orbs were hitting her on all sides, apparently using her torturing him to sneak into range and not letting her get out of range by an assortment of battlefield control spells, it was beautifully orchestrated and he wished he could be with them as their potshots tarnished and annoyed their gargantuan nemesis.
Apparently the real Player now in control of the body he made for Meroa after hacking it was not as good as the one hired to catch him, not using any of the interface features that could let it devastate all of its adversaries in a single command it instead just smashed them with its huge body and sometimes capped a ship with a hard blast of wind that they now seemed to weather.
Though effective it could never beat the thousands of Players arrayed against it, and as his brain scanned the battlefield hi noticed shiny dots glistening in the horizon, getting bigger with every second.
She roared, and bashed, and smashed to no avail, and soon another armada reached the battlefield, thousands upon thousands of tiny aircraft, each manufatured by his own machines to accomodate the aerial corps of the Kobold Empire, when she finally noticed them it was far too late and bullets were wreaking havoc on every scale facing the new armada.
Taking his chance at her distraction, Allen pulled out a forklift from his strage and used its NPC to force open the hand holding him, slipping into the waiting embrace of the cold waves he let the simulation swallow him while drifting into unconciousness again.