Rare

Mythical Arcticfly.

She had all the levels.

All.

Of.

Them.

She would grind adventures for hours, every day after school. She didn't care about anything but that little badge. Every 10 levels she got, she would get an extra heart, making adventures even easier. She would never play them with other people so she could kill every phantom herself and get all the experience. She did every "side quest" she could find. She recycled every prize she got. In fact, she recycled every item she had except her "betas," and "rares." She had 3 of every color of headdress, about 20 rare spikes, and about 6 of every beta in her den. She had tiki masks, and beards of every color.

But she never traded them. She wore some of the "more attractive," rares, like the spike and headdress, but only to raise her status. Sometimes she would lure other people into her den, only to trick them into getting their "rares" stolen. She preyed on the little kids, The little kids didn't understand how scamming worked.

It was so easy. People would look up to her, saying, "I want to be like her one day."

None of them knew she was really a monster.

She could always get away with scamming. She was that good at it. And the more she did it, the rarer she became. She posted videos about all her "legitimate betas" and how she was "preserving the history of Jamaa with these fantastic items."

Nobody suspected it was her.

It didn't matter. Nobody knew her username, and she had tons of fans who would cosplay Mythical Arcticfly. Since no one knew her name, she couldn't do "mailtimes," but she didn't care. Scamming was a good enough reward for her. She got on Epic Dens constantly, even though she put no effort into making her den nice. She had the crystal palace den, crammed full of betas slung about the floor, with no apparent pattern or artistic style applied. She didn't care what it looked like, as long as people knew she had a lot of betas.

She never talked to anyone. She didn't want anyone to suspect who she really was.

She cleared her entire buddy list and she never responded to Jam-a-grams, no matter how nice they were. She never traded a single item away.

She kept scamming. She kept tricking them. She went after the newbies, who had no idea what their items were worth. Her collection grew and grew, and she could never be satisfied. It was like feeding a giant monster who would grow and grow with each feeding, and the more it grew, the more it needed to eat. One time a kind person went up to her and asked her politely, "Mythical, I noticed you have about 37 Mira statues, may I have one?"

She thought for a bit, and then walked slowly up to him. He looked her in the eyes. She had stabbed him in the chest.

"You don't deserve a single beta you own, you ****ing *****."

He dropped dead. Mythical took every one of his betas and rares and recycled everything else that wasn't worth her time. She threw his sad corpse into the water and never looked back.

"Stupid ****ing noobs." she mumbled.

Years went by, and her hunger for rares never died down. She had stopped posting videos. She even stopped adventuring. She would sit on her huge throne, fashioned from hundreds of betas mashed together with blood, sweat, and tears from the people she preyed on for their rares. She would just gaze upon her possessions, with an angry glare in her eyes.

She wanted more.

She was tired of scamming. It was too mundane for her. Now she just randomized a few names, and killed whoever popped up at the top of the list. If they didn't have any good stuff, she didn't regret killing them anyway. Her attacks were quick and sneaky, and she left no trace. It didn't matter if they didn't have what she was looking for anymore.

She just wanted to be the best. She had all the levels, all the rares, all the fame, and all the power. To display her dominance, she was going to kill the Alphas. All of them.

It was easy for her. They didn't stand a chance against her. Not even they had as many betas as she did.

She ruled Jamaa.

It was hers.

She tore down all the buildings, salvaging any rares she could. She tore down dens and houses, by the millions. If someone didn't comply, she would slit their neck.

She forced thousands of enslaved animals to build her a better castle in the center of Jamaa. If someone did so much as touch one of her betas, she would hang them from the gallows.

There was only one "server," renamed Mythical Arcticfly. It had once been named Aldan, but its good days were over.

Everything was over.

An elderly arctic wolf adjusted his spectacles and then shut the huge, dusty book. "Children, this is what greed will do to people. Don't push people away from you just because they may not be as rare. I used to be obsessed with the idea of betas and rares... Until I realized they aren't as important as what people make them out to be. You don't need betas to be a good person.

You don't need all the levels. That says nothing about a person.

Just be who you are. Be you. There is nothing rarer than you. There is only one you. You are the rarest person in Jamaa." He placed the torn book back on the shelf, and went back to his desk.

There is only one you. Who will you be?