Location Unknown

XYLER DASCHUND

Amongst the rubble of the burnt down shack, we found Jennifer's phone. I bent down, careful of my nakedness, that my manhood didn't slip out of the seaweed string that Molly had made for me. My clothes were unfortunately a part of the straw ashes having been torn to shreds by my beastly transformation.

    I shook off the ashes from the phone and passed it to Molly. I stared slightly off-centre from her and I found that over her shoulder, by the banks, Jennifer's body still lay there. Decomposing. A glassy look in her eye, much like the glass particles around her which were unexplained. It hadn't been a figment of my dreams.

    "Jennifer is dead." My tone is one of both misery and relief. Relief that my mind hadn't been playing tricks on me or all of us, misery because her body was a part of this earth now. This earth had been scathed by my illusions.

    Molly told me, "Yes, I realised this morning." She held up the phone and turned her functioning ear to me. "What's this for? I thought we were only to fly away now that you have your powers again." The love shack had stopped bouncing around, but no one had come out.

    "We need to tell Ben the bad news. It's the least we can do. So we have to call him. I'll fly you as high as I can and then you call him."

    "What about this place? Are you just going to leave it until it blankets the entire nation?"

    "I cannot beat it. It is the bigger part of me that I am fighting here. My creativity, my imagination, my dreams. Everything that it takes to form the basis of a game. We are the real NPCs here. We're being picked off one by one. It's the game of life. And it's one helluva tough game to beat."

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Up in the clouds, I tried to stay as quiet as possible, but I had to flap my wings to stay in stasis. Molly's phone conversation with Ben ended. She had told him, in her north-of-England accent, that Jennifer had died. To me, she shouts from the back of my neck in which she sits uncomfortably.

    "He didn't take it too well. But he wants to meet us in Philadelphia. Let's go get Valery and we can get out of here."

It sounded awfully like a mouse that was choking on its cheese from directly behind. Speaking of mice, the cloud above seemed to resemble a cat's face. I couldn't shake off Ned as if he were still here or existed to begin with.

That cocaine made up the fluffiness and fullness of that cloud. But Ned didn't take cocaine; it was only heroin. I can't imagine a talking cat having an overdose in a toilet let only pick up needles and spoons.

But I did imagine it or it was inferred that the ginger furball had done it prior to the rendering of the dreamscape. Not overdosed, but heated the heroin so it could get runny and actually measured how much he was taking of the kingpin's product, keeping tabs on his own health like the good little drug runner he was. He's also a user, and yes, I am talking in-game language now. Runners and users. Aren't we all when it comes to games? The ultimate addiction.

I could see the rowboats we had used to get across river streams, berthed by the banks, and the ruins of the pavilion with one particular orange pumpkin being mostly intact at the edge of the banquet table; ashen but visible.

The squirming bubble wall wasn't far away from up here. The docks where we had parted with Valery were even closer. I leaned forward, flapping my wings to my sides once or twice. I perched on a huge tree overlooking the strait of water where that alligator had last been lurking.

Valery was still without legs, hunched over the unmoving alligator with a spear sticking out of its head. He was accompanied by a man in a suit who stood and held the spear into the scaly creature's head.

Molly slid off my spine and made her way over to them. They conversed for a minute and then Valery moved away from the alligator. He blew a bubble around the stubs of his knees. The bubble hung on for a while as Valery strained.

Slowly, the bloody rags around his knee area started to unravel. White bones materialised out of thin air, piecing themselves together into the foundations. It was as if a derrick was moving quickly with crates. It was executed with a professional hand. Pink muscles wound around each other with the final layer of tissue and skin blanketing the new legs and constricting against the muscles.

Except the skin wasn't what I was expecting. They were scales; murky green and cleaned by the waters that lapped at the beach. Hardened by its creator. He had chosen to wear crocodile skin boots. He had chosen to wear the skin of his enemy, his hunter. To show that he was superior, that he was the apex predator now, lurking above water.

Gifted with the power to heal anything and everything. He was truly a god now. A god living among men, destined to physically change the fabric of reality under his jurisdiction.

I felt a quiet rage inside me. I knew better than to breathe fire. Valery had the ability to change. I could create. He had mastered his power; complete mastery unless there was something hidden. I had created an abomination that had taken away his legs, killed Jennifer and injured Molly. He willed his legs into existence. I have my will taken by my demons and forced upon this world.

I am merely the pastor to speak of Valery's miracles. I could imagine that in the near future. His right-hand man, treated like dirt in comparison. I remained unflappable with these thoughts running through my head. There's not much emotion you can tell on a dragon's face anyways.

I heard Molly yelling below me.

"This is Early! He's a clone of my son apparently!" She pointed at the man in the suit. She sensed my confusion. Maybe you can tell what a dragon is feeling. "We'll explain on the way there!"

The three passengers boarded the red, fire-breathing plane and waited for departure.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝙎 𝙄𝙉 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀