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This novel depicts the various unhealthy ways people cope with trauma, including but not limited to sadistic behavior, drinking, and drug use (none of which is glorified). Contains depictions of individuals suffering from PTSD presented in a respectful but real way. Cursing is prominent. Sexual content is strictly ‘fade to black’ with nothing explicit.
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Lyn felt the life seeping from her. Blood poured from several cuts all along her body, oozing out from under and in-between the gaps of her armor. The heroes had been fighting the Demonic Dragon for less than two minutes. It had backed off after this last exchange, giving them a chance to breathe and recover.
It was slowly regenerating, the wounds that dripped viscous lava, sizzling the ground, sealed over. New scales formed atop the fresh flesh. Scales that were as hard as adamantine and took considerable effort to smash. Scales that only their few artifact weapons could pierce, cut, slice or smash.
The heroes that had backed off moved to the door – a full on flight. “Cowards!” Lyn yelled. She stood on shaky feet and used her spear for support. “Stand and fight!” She turned, eyed the flash of red from the maw of the creature, and leapt aside as she moved with preternatural speed, leaving a trail of viscous blood as she took cover behind an outcropping of obsidian.
The torrent of lava was unleashed upon them, covering the whole football-field sized throne room. The rest of the heroes cleared out of the room, avoiding the damage, and running down the hallway leading away from the throne room – the combat area – in panic. Except for Lyn’s best friend. Misty stood in the doorway and shouted, “We can’t leave her!” But a hand grabbed her and pulled her away, screaming as she was carried off.
The Demonic Dragon roared, and a deep voice emanated from its maw. “There is no escape! I shall burn you like the rest.”
Lyn’s grip on her spear steadied as she took a deep breath, trying to ignore the blood loss. She had trained harder than any of them. She conquered the most Dungeons. She improved her body and built up her mana core purely out of spite. All to prove to the other heroes that she wasn’t useless!
There was a laugh that rolled out from the creature. It spoke in a loud roar, projecting its voice throughout its fortress so the fleeing heroes would hear. “You can run, but you will die!” The voice cackled. A deep, sonorous, and grinding growl that reverberated and shook the air as the creature moved forward ponderously.
Lyn dashed from behind cover, moving across the room as the Demonic Dragon swung an enormous claw at her. She ducked under the blow and stabbed forward, catching it with her spear-tip as the artifact weapon – Rus’os’glar – exploded with air, blowing off several scales as the leaf-shaped blade carved deeply into the hide. The creature roared and whipped its tail around along the floor – which Lyn easily vaulted, landing on a slick spot of her own blood as she went sprawling. The creature threw its mass down on her, and she kipped up – using its incoming body as a springboard – and pushed herself back before rolling to her feet.
No one knew how hard she had trained. Every time they had taken a small vacation or bit of downtime after clearing a Dungeon or felling a tyrant, she had been mercilessly improving herself. Weeks, months, years; the only down time she took was to recover from injury. A nonstop grind of self-improvement leading up to this moment. Training to be the best.
She smiled ruefully, knowing that she would probably die. But her death was a small price to pay to bring peace to the world. To stop evil forever. To break the cycle. Even if it killed her, she would destroy this thing. She dashed behind the creature and aimed at another cluster of scales, boring another hole with her weapon. A split-second later, the tail smashed into her, sending her crashing through a pillar of obsidian as she slammed into the wall. The sharp rock stabbed her through the torso, and she coughed up blood. Damnit body. Move! She forced herself off of the rocky outcropping and felt her knees buckle. Just a bit longer! She put her full weight on the spear as she stood up. Her vision was beginning to dim, and she slammed her fist into her thigh to keep from slipping into unconsciousness.
The slitted eyes stared at Lyn, emotionless save for hatred, rage, and pride. The crimson and black orbs bore a hole into their souls. A smirk was the only way Lyn could describe the expression. A smug confidence that exuded from every syllable and glare. “The Scout hero? Putting up the best fight? Ha!” It cackled with delight as it took a step forward that shook the whole room as dust cascaded from above, moving towards Lyn and raising a claw for a death blow.
She remembered the jeers from some of her classmates years ago when they first arrived and learned their hero classes. She was always given the last of the treasure and body enhancing items, because the Scout hero was supposedly one of the weakest. She made her own way in this world; and she would leave on her terms. Even if it kills me, I’m going to finish you. She muttered a spell, one that she had designed herself and practiced ruthlessly for weeks on end. An unblockable, unavoidable attack. “En ethiel an le / thalion min / govanno nanui / a malthen sui gweal / brad sui gilgalad / a dagnir nan govadhren.” The spell spurred her body to speed that made her untrackable. Untouchable.
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Like a bolt of lightning Lyn flashed forward. In an instant, she plunged the spear into the Demonic Dragon’s eye socket, piercing deep into the brain. The spear flared bright green for a moment before an enormous gust of air traveled along the shaft, empowered by Lyn pouring the rest of her mana into the weapon. The Demonic Dragon’s head exploded, and Lyn was covered in burning lava, feeling for a brief instant, the white-hot pain before her nerves died. The world was enveloped in white, and everything ceased.
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“Black hole sun / won’t you come / and wash away the rain?” The voice of Chris Cornel singing one of his signature tunes filtered out of the radio, as the sunlight slowly pierced through the windows. Lyn rolled over in bed, covering her head to drown out the light and the noise. Five more minutes…
What?! Lyn shot up in bed, her heart racing. How? She looked around and rubbed her eyes before blinking them open again. The exact same dingy, moldy walls she had lovingly decorated were exactly as she remembered them; grunge band stickers, Jackie Chan movie posters, and her roller-derby medals hanging up on the wall. It was as if she had woken up in a time capsule of her bedroom. The dark, warm colors of the room used to give her a sense of security. Instead, the hues screamed at her that she was not where she should be. She was home. Back on Earth.
She threw off the covers and gasped. No! No-no-no! Her body was smaller than before; she had lost inches of muscle mass and definition, and she clumsily stumbled as she put a hand up to the wall. Her skin was clearer, less scarred, no longer enhanced. Lyn stomped her feet several times as the old familiarity with her smaller physique rapidly returned, and she felt confident that the less-powerful frame could support her. Bolting out of her door, slamming it into the wall in the process, she dashed into the shared bathroom. Flipping on the lights she stared, slack-jawed, at her old face.
The face that she had before traveling to Ghomar. Before she had spent five long years building up her body constitution, enhancing her physical form, going through torturous pain to become capable of defeating the Demonic Dragon. Leaning forward and looking closely at her visage, she could not see the glint of prismatic sparkles in her iris that marked her as possessing a hero mana core. Her blue eyes were bright and clear.
“Why did you slam your door?” Her mom asked. The frumpy woman was dressed in a night gown. She stared daggers at Lyn with a grim expression, “You think you own this house?”
Lyn wheeled on her, “Mom?” A rush of emotions roiled through her. She had never expected to see her mother again. Seeing her brought back all the memories from years ago. The abuse, the beatings, the starving hunger as her father drowned in booze enough to forget that he was assaulting his wife and child daily. It shook her to her core. She was glad to have left this all behind…and now she was back.
“You better hope you didn’t damage the wall. If you did, your father will hear about it!”
What can he do to me? Lyn could kick his ass, she was the Scout hero after all, and had spent years…Fuck me. The realization crashed into her once more. She turned to the mirror again and pulled off her shirt, examining her whole torso for the stab wound she had received during a sparring session in their first year of training. The wound that almost killed her on accident. It was completely missing. In fact, she was missing the scar on her waist where she had been lightly impaled after screwing up a grind at the dilapidated skate park pre-summon. Her skin was flawless. Unmarred.
“It’s too early for this shit,” her mom muttered as she went back to her bedroom and shut the door.
Lyn’s heart raced. She ran back to her room and rifled through her bedside table, pulling out her phone. Tapping the screen, she felt a chill of new horror wash over her.
[January 28th, 2026, 6:46 a.m.]
The exact same day that they had been summoned. Wednesday. Her block schedule had her in P.E. at their tiny High School, and the summoning happened when she was on the field with the rest of their senior class – all twenty of them. Did everyone else come back? She had to know. She needed to know.
She tried to unlock her phone and couldn’t remember the numbers. Thankfully, it had facial recognition, and unlocked with a happy message scrolling down the screen. ‘Good morning! Want to hear a joke?’ Fuck off! She flicked away the morning reminder and scrolled to her favorites, calling Misty. The call rang several times before going to voicemail. Makes sense. She ran out. She’s alive still. When they had first arrived in Ghomar, they were told that if they died in their efforts, they would be returned home. I must have died. That’s why I’m back. Yeah, that has to be what happened.
That thought floored her and she stood, rooted to the ground as the flood of memories washed over her. Years of repressed recollections rushed out in a roiling river that drowned her in sorrow. She had watched people – her classmates – die. She had seen them crushed to death, blown up, cut apart, ripped in half, eaten alive. Her hands shook and she sat on her bed, clutching her arm as panic rose in her chest. Her breath quickened and she felt herself hyperventilating. All of the horrible shit she had shoved down into the depths of her psyche, let loose to ravage her thoughts in an all-encompassing deluge of trauma.
With trembling fingers, she tried to scroll through her phone – but then the memories from pre-summon hit her. I barely knew them. Despite their small class size, Lyn only really knew Misty from pre-summon. The rest she had grown closer to in Ghomar. I don’t…I don’t have their numbers. She flicked through – finger still shaking – just to confirm. She had none of their numbers.
I need to know. I need to know. She couldn’t be the only one. She died, nothing else explained why she came back. The others had died. They had to be here. Ten people had died on Ghomar. That meant they should be here. That firmed her resolve, and helped her push back the flood of memory.
She would go to school and see if anyone else showed up.