Game Over  •  Act 2

The darkness dropped her, and Spark tossed a few panicked explosives in every direction. Dusty arcade games caught fire, and Spark caught a glimpse of a looming shadow over her before she hurled another firebomb into the door. The door blasted off its hinges and Spark fled, holding one arm clamped around her body as if to hold in her innards.

She collided with Vahaadi, and he hurried to catch her as she jabbered hysterically.

“Vah—apocrypha—gone—Vahaadi, it GOT me, it got me!” she shrieked, though a quick glance down at herself showed no visible harm.

“Spark, what? What are you talking about? Are you hurt? Lord Ifrit, you leave my sight for one moment—”

He paused to slash at an attacking gliar but kept one arm around his frenzied mistress.

“Vahaadi, it turned me inside out! I’m dying, I’m bleeding out!”

“Spark, you’re not! Get a hold of yourself!”

“The apocrypha’s gone!”

“Wha—Again?!”

“Vahaadi, it got me!” she flailed her hand toward the blasted door. Backlit by the fire within the room, a grotesque dark shape slithered around the top edge of the door frame and up toward a vent.

“What is that thing? No, it doesn’t matter—If the apocrypha’s gone, we can’t let it get away!” Vahaadi snapped, prying Spark off him. “You have to finish it!”

“But, I—”

“Hurry!”

Spark whimpered but pushed herself out of his grip to charge toward the vent, pelting it with explosives. Chunks of the wall and ceiling scattered away. The shadowy mass flinched, then plunged through the gap left by Spark’s faulty aim. She tore after it onto the second floor.

Spark couldn’t think of any snide puns to yell after her quarry—she was too terrified. She fired off explosives as the shadow darted from place to place around what looked to be a workroom. That strange glitching laughter pealed inside her mind.

“Stop MOVING!” she yelled, unleashing a blast larger than she’d meant. It pummeled through part of the ceiling and deep cracks radiated out from the point of impact overhead. Spark yelped and tried to dive out of the way, but she was too late—A heavy segment of wood and plaster crashed down, nailing her to the floor.

Her mass of hair cushioned her head against the rain of debris, but most of her body was crushed into stifling darkness. Her hips lay at a twisted angle, one arm pinned painfully beneath her. She wheezed, wriggling in vain.

Somewhere in the mess above her, she heard hurried footfalls and a muffled voice.

“Spark?!”

Spark coughed. “V-Vahaadi! Vahaadi, help!”

With a grinding sound, a gap opened, and Vahaadi appeared.

“Ah! There you are!”

He reached his hand down to her, and she grasped on. He braced his feet and pulled. Spark cried out. The pile of detritus shifted under his weight and more debris toppled down, exposing hissing pipes and popping electrical wires. Vahaadi released Spark and kicked the wires away.

Spark began to hyperventilate. She could hear the stomach-twisting sound of gliars scrabbling up through the walls, and for a moment, the fear of the shadow was replaced with the horrid mental image of a sea of rats devouring her alive.

“Vahaadi, hurry!” she pleaded, all the strength leaving her voice.

“Relax, I’ll get you out,” he said breathlessly. His eyes and hands darted over the rubble, evidently looking for some piece he could move—

But then he paused.

The urgency faded from his manner, and he looked at Spark with dawning revelation.

“No,” he said.

Spark stared at him.

He lowered himself to a crouch before his ensnared mistress and cupped her face in his hand. The chaos dimmed to an unnatural quiet, punctuated only by Spark’s own ragged heartbeat. Vahaadi’s voice sounded distant and echoed when he spoke.

“This isn’t how I pictured your death, but it’s strangely poetic. Trapped under your own expectations.”

His brow creased.

“Sorry, Spark. I am the bad guy.”

Spark’s mouth fell open, but Vahaadi melted to vapor before her eyes.

The din of the battle returned with a crash as the gliars poured into view, bringing a swath of caustic distortion that blackened and warped around them. Across the room, the liquid shadow slithered toward another vent. Mortal panic brimmed in Spark’s compressed chest. Betrayed, alone, trapped—she was going to die, and the Stranger would escape—

Spark’s attention caught on one of the hissing pipes nearby. Was the gas the frog-people piped through their buildings combustible? There was only one way to find out.

Spark gritted her teeth and swiped a desperate firebomb at the pipe.

If she was going down, she could at least try to take the Stranger with her.

The massive explosion rolled through the building with a cacophony that made all of Gladglub tremble.

Krissy’s body ached almost beyond her ability to bear it. Her vision swam as she coughed and slowly pushed herself out of wreckage.

The joke was on Serenadē—Spark did have an extra life, of a sort. The rekindling power she’d discovered in the Hive had spared her again by absorbing the fatal injury at the cost of her transformation. But as her eyes fell over the scene, she wished she’d died in the blast.

Utter ruin lay around her, veiled in clouds of ash. The once-cheery cartoonish expressions on every surface no longer smiled. Instead, they stared vacantly, dead.

And worst of all was the sight of Vahaadi, appearing like a phantom in the haze.

Krissy called upon anger to strengthen her as she staggered to her feet.

“What the fritz, Vahaadi?!” she said, her voice shrill. “I could have died!”

“You should have died!” Vahaad said. He was shaking, his breathing incensed.

Krissy’s face went slack with shock. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” he snarled quietly, as if even he didn’t want to hear himself say it.

Krissy gagged on her own words. “You…you really wanted me to die?! Vahaadi, how can you say that?”

He raised his arms as if to strike her, but instead raked his fingernails so deeply through his scalp that he drew blood. “Because—I’m—a—MONSTER!” he roared. Krissy shied from him, frightened by his wild hair and ferociously dilated pupils…and the tears standing in his eyes.  “Why can’t you understand?! I am not the hero you’ve made me out to be!”

His voice dropped to a growl, thick with rage and anguish. “I am not your ally. I am not your sidekick. I am not your friend.”

Krissy tried to muster her words, but only devastation would come.

Vahaadi gripped the lock on his collar, not looking at her.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get as far away from me as you can,” he whispered.

“I can’t leave you here,” Krissy finally managed through her constricted throat. “You’re a Stranger.”

At this, Vahaadi’s eyes rose to hers. “You have no idea.”

Krissy’s gaze flickered over him, then dropped mutely as hot tears crowded into her eyes. She blinked them back.

In that same choked silence, she stepped past him, headed toward the lorecircle. She didn’t know what else to do.

{Spark, what happened?} Elweyn asked at the sight of the soot-blasted and despondent teen when she and Vahaadi arrived in the Metapolis library.

“It, um…” Krissy muttered, smearing tears and ashes across her face with her hand. “It didn’t…go so well. Serenadē beat me to the apocrypha…nearly got me beaten to a pulp…but whatever it was, the distortion—it’s gone. I—I had to kill the Stranger.” Her voice broke. “Please Elweyn, can I go home?”

Elweyn scanned her, concern etched in her owl-like face.

{Of course, Spark, but…are you all right?}

“Yeah, it’s…fine.”

Vahaadi brushed Krissy with a guarded glance.

At a loss, Elweyn activated the lorecircle, and purple light unfurled around Krissy and Vahaadi.

Krissy picked her way down the steps in the Rosetta library, holding the rails to support herself. Her mind raced, but all she wanted was to get home, to fall into bed, to sleep, and to never wake up.

“Why didn’t you tell Elweyn what happened?” Vahaadi asked.

“Don’t talk to me.”

Vahaadi looked like he might retort, an inscrutable series of expressions flashing over his face, but he grimly inclined his head and dissipated from her sight.

A vengeful part of Krissy wished she’d hurled Vahaadi’s lamp right off one of the gumdrop mountains in Gladglub and left him to rot. But she’d already done the poor frog-people enough damage; leaving someone like Vahaadi in an innocent little toon-town world would make her no better than Serenadē.

Her heart sank even lower at the thought. That’s why Serenadē had brought Vahaadi here to Rosetta: because, just like all the other dangers she unleashed from their respective canons, she knew he was going to get people hurt.

Krissy should have let the loretreaders send Vahaadi back to the pit from the beginning, just like all the other distortions. He ought never to have been freed; she never should have had the chance to wish to be a superhero. She never should have had the chance to care for him the way she did.

And yet, she hadn’t told Elweyn about his betrayal. She didn’t feel she needed to. Everyone else had known all along that he was a monster.

I’m the only one he fooled.

I deserved this.

The black stain the shade had left on her heart radiated larger, bleeding through the skin on her chest as the curse took hold.

Krissy’s parents had not even noticed she’d snuck out. She managed to slip past them up to her room and promptly dropped into bed fully-dressed. She slept without dreams or nightmares, just a wretched emptiness.

The next day passed for Krissy in a shadowy blur of class and routine. Vahaadi did not appear or speak to her. Other than the lamp in her backpack, there was no evidence that he existed at all. She’d grown so used to his ever-present company that the absence was somehow more painful than his treachery.

She headed home on foot, out of habit. Ever since meeting Vahaadi, she’d chosen to walk to and from school instead of taking the bus so that they could talk on the way. A listless haze was her only companion now, and she almost didn’t notice the car that pulled up beside her until Eden Jacobs clambered out of the driver’s seat.

“Hey, we need to talk,” she said.

The rest of the Haughty Hive, sans Beverly, joined Eden on the sidewalk, forming a half circle. Krissy sized them up warily. She had never been jumped before, but this was about how it had always looked in her head.

“If you’re looking for a beat-down, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m not in the mood,” Krissy said, trying to sound intimidating. She just sounded tired, already resigned to going home bloody and humiliated.

“No, we’re not here to fight. Heavens, no,” said Femme Fatalons Claire, scandalized.

“Heard ya had a chat with B yesterday,” said Eden.

I-Woke-Up-Like-This Meredith tucked her chin into her chest. “We want to explain what happened with Beverly and Amelia,” she said. “Let’s sit in the car. It’s warmer there.”

“I’m not getting in your car,” Krissy glowered.

“We’re not going to hurt ya, honest. This’s all been a big misunderstanding. I think ya can at least hear us out.”

Krissy’s self-preservation wilted. Numbly, she allowed Claire to shepherd her into the back seat. The other girls piled in, and Eden cranked up the heater. All the girls turned to Krissy.

Meredith took a deep breath. “You’re new here, so you don’t know. There’s this stupid site where students from Prep High post all their gossip. It’s…the worst. Some official from the state even tried to shut it down because people started getting hurt. Bad. And one of them was Peach.”

Peach. Krissy squinted, remembering the other girl that had been involved in the showdown with Beverly. Eden had been holding her back as she cried.

Meredith continued. “Someone on that site just reamed her out, saying she was fat, saying that half her brain was removed as a kid, that she has gross fetishes—like, anything you can think of. Poor Peach tried to ‘fix’ all these things this person was saying was wrong with her, but it just made it all worse. We only kind of knew her at the time, so we had no idea how bad it was, until B found her sobbing and throwing up and bleeding in the bathroom. She’d overdosed on weight loss pills.”

“She almost died,” Claire said, her pretty features sharp with anger. “She spent four weeks in the hospital, all because some animal decided to make fun of her.”

The memory of Peach restrained and crying shifted in Krissy’s mind to a horrible scene of her bleeding out on a dirty bathroom floor. Krissy looked at the four girls in horrified disbelief, hoping to see some sign that they were lying to her. Their expressions were grim.

Teacher’s Pet Odette glanced at the others, then took up the story. “A few weeks ago, I found a phone someone left in the gym. I opened it up to figure out who to return it to, and we saw that whoever it was had logged in on that site. She’d been the one posting all that stuff. You probably get where this is going, but…yeah. Turns out it was Amelia.”

“And all along she’d been playing nice to Peach’s face,” Eden growled. “We saw it all in her texts. ‘Maybe if you’d change people would like you,’ or ‘maybe you shouldn’t eat so much.’ Amelia was the one who told Peach to start taking those weight loss pills. When B found out, oh, she lost it. We all did, to be fair, but B’s always been a bit overzealous. We shouldn’t have made a scene at school, but we couldn’t let Amelia do any more damage. Peach thought Amelia was her friend.”

Krissy lowered her head into her hands. In a soft, empty voice, she said, “I know what that feels like.” She released a long sigh. “I’m such an idiot. I’m…I’m sorry.”

The five girls sat in silence for a moment. Eden turned back around in the driver’s seat and started the engine, glancing at Krissy in the rearview mirror.

“What’s your address, sweet pea? I’ll take ya home.”

Krissy arrived at her house, feeling roasted by the heat of Eden’s car, but internally frigid. She plodded up to her room, closed the door, and sank against it, folding herself on the floor.

She’d been wrong about Beverly being the villain. She’d been wrong about Vahaadi being her friend. How had she been so stupid?

It’s no wonder he’s not your friend, said the voice inside her head. You’re a moron. All this time, it’s been so obvious, but did you notice? No. Because you’re too dumb.

Something’s wrong with me, Krissy thought weakly, but the thought was drowned out by the other voice.

What isn’t wrong with you?

Mom…Dad…I need help…

As if they care. If they really loved you, they wouldn’t have made you move out to the armpit of Wyoming. They wouldn’t work so long and just not care about how often you’re out. They’re probably glad you’re always sneaking off. They don’t want anything to do with you.

Krissy wrapped her arms around her knees and watched with apathy as blackness spread up her fingertips.

Elweyn’s dark eyes roved over the atlas, watching for any trace of the signature of Mr. Sabo’s oculus, Gambit. The other oculi had begun to function properly again with only a quiet moment of interference here and there, and for that, Elweyn was relieved—but all signs of Mr. Sabo remained profoundly absent.

Her attention caught on a tiny glimmer, and Elweyn felt a rush of hope that soon withered into confusion. She’d thought, for just a moment, that the small speck glowed red, indicating Gambit. But, no…it was orange.

Flicker?

Elweyn stared at it. Then she glanced toward the Earth canon mapped onto the atlas. A second orange speck glittered there. She looked back at the first, then again at the second. Two Flickers: one in the Earth canon, and one in Gladglub.

Perhaps the fatigue of the long nights repairing the oculi was taking its toll on Elweyn’s eyes. She kneaded her forehead with her paw and squinted again. Two orange flecks stared back at her.

Elweyn’s ears flattened.

A tendril of violet light wafted from Elweyn’s oculi and swirled around the orange speck mapped in Gladglub. Surely, she wouldn’t receive an answer if she contacted?

{Spark?} Elweyn attempted.

A high, somewhat garbled voice responded with Spark’s unmistakable flair. “Aaaaand we’re on the air with Elweyn, resident meowl of the Metapolis Library. Congratulations, Elweyn, you’re caller number one!”

{Spark,} Elweyn said, perplexed, {what are you doing in Gladglub?}

“Oh, you know. Just enjoying the sights. Having a blast.” Spark snort-giggled at herself.

A muffled explosion sounded through the connection, followed by screams, and Spark laughed again. Elweyn lurched to her feet.

{Return to the lorecircle this instant!}

“Awww, killjoy! All right, all right, I’m coming. Keep your feathers on.”

The connection closed.  Elweyn stalked across her desk as she waited, her head low and her tail whipping in an apprehensive fury. How had Spark even managed to get back to Gladglub without her noticing? The impassioned lecture she was preparing in her mind halted as Elweyn’s gaze again drifted over the orange fleck in the Earth canon. What would happen if she tried contacting that instance of Flicker?

But, just then, the Metapolis lorecircle shone, indicating an oculus awaiting transport. Elweyn engaged the portal, and Spark appeared in a blaze of light, striking a ridiculous pose.

“Ta-daaaaaa!”

Elweyn growled in her chest, about to give Spark the worst reprimand of her teen life, but stopped short.

It wasn’t Spark.

It looked like Spark. It sounded like Spark. It had the same outrageous ponytail, the same pixie proportions, the same over-sized grin. But its eyes betrayed a predatory mania.

{Hello…Spark…} Elweyn said carefully. {Where’s Vahaadi?}

“Vahaadiya wanna know? Hahaha!” The apparition’s voice crackled as it doubled over laughing at its own joke. Its eyes never blinked.

It straightened and beamed around at the library.

“Boy, feather-duster, you sure have lots of cool things—chronicles!” The word “things” was replaced suddenly by “chronicles,” like a sloppy audio censor. “Say, do you need me to go fight any bad guys?”

Its hands ignited. Elweyn tensed, and the apparition seemed to notice. Its smile widened, and Elweyn realized at that moment what she was dealing with.

{Ygrrds, you’re the shade,} she breathed in horror.

“Aw man, you guessed it! Now I guess I get to be the bad guy!”

Elweyn’s chest seized with panic as the shade unleashed a fireball directly at her. She dove aside and the explosive crashed into a shelf of chronicles. The lights of several canons charted in the atlas winked out, their portals destroyed.

{No!} Elweyn cried, her telepathic voice accompanied for once by an audible shriek.

“Uh-oh, my hand slipped! Bummer. I bet these are hard to replace, aren’t they?”

The shade leered and hurled a firebomb at another collection of artifacts.

Elweyn lunged in its path, conjuring up the lingering wisps of energy from her oculus’s last transport in a desperate bid to save the library. The shade vanished in the light of the lorecircle just as the explosive tore through Elweyn’s small body.