The world stood still.
The golden sky crackled with silence. The Angels hovered above like divine reapers, their faces unreadable, their runed wings pulsing with quiet destruction. The Author's pen stopped midair, pausing over the page. His calm gaze lingered on Aiden as if studying a character in a book who had just defied the script.
Aiden's chest rose and fell slowly. Dust from the ruined ground swirled around his boots. The scent of scorched stone and cracked magic stung his nose. But his eyes—blue like lightning before a storm, were no longer sleepy or confused.
He understood now.
"You're... the one who's been doing this," Aiden said, voice low but growing steadier. "The one who made me suffer... again and again."
Lucius, standing at his side, gave the faintest smirk, his pale face weary but satisfied. "Took you long enough."
Aiden turned to him. Lucius, despite everything, looked more human than before. His white robe, now torn and dust-streaked, fluttered slightly in the shifting winds. His black, messy hair shadowed part of his face, and the dark eye patches beneath his hollow gaze spoke volumes of sleepless nights and eternal plotting. He didn't look like a villain. Not anymore.
He looked like someone who had seen the truth.
"I'm with him," Aiden said at last, facing the Author directly. "I'm done playing this rigged game."
For a moment, The Author said nothing. The floating pen resumed its circular motion, now scribbling faster—sharper. Then he sighed, shutting the book with an echoing thud that sent a gust across the field.
"You're with him," he repeated. His voice had lost its gentle charm; now it sounded tired. Annoyed. "I gave you power. Purpose. A story people cared about. And you want to rebel?"
"You gave me pain!" Aiden shouted, fists clenching. "You made me fight monsters since I was sixteen! You made me lose my family, my world, everything that mattered—and you smiled through all of it!"
A long silence followed. Even the Angels paused their silent orbit in the air.
Then The Author chuckled. It was a cold, empty sound.
"You think this is new to me?" he said, his voice smooth again. "Dozens of characters have cried to me. Screamed at me. And guess what? I'm still the best-selling author in every realm that matters." He raised his hands. "Your suffering... is profitable."
Aiden's hands trembled. Something was rising in him—not just anger, but a memory. A vision pulled from deep within.
Flashback.
The world burned. Aiden stood in the center of a shattered city, barely thirteen, holding his mother's hand.
But her hand slipped.
He turned and saw her being pulled away—by something. A shadow made of jagged limbs and fangs. A Shade unlike any he had seen since—drenched in unnatural black fire. It didn't kill her cleanly. It tore her apart, piece by piece, while whispering lines like dialogue.
Like it was reading from a script.
The skies bled then, too.
And all he could do was run.
Run as the screams of his people were eaten by silence.
He gasped, clutching his chest. His eyes burned as the memory faded.
Lucius gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I saw it too. I've had my own versions."
Aiden looked up, tears barely restrained. "We can't let him keep writing this."
Lucius gave a nod. "Then let's make this the final chapter."
They both turned to face the Author.
The Author, in turn, looked utterly unfazed. "You're both idiots," he muttered. "Lucius, you of all people should know. You broke the script, yes. But you never broke the rules. I wrote those rules."
He raised a hand. The pen hovered above the closed book, crackling with energy now. The sky above rumbled like a giant waking.
"I'm taking a break," the Author said. "A little vacation from your rebellion. Let you think about what you're really doing. Play your little 'heroes rising' arc."
He smiled—smug, cold, invincible.
"But when I come back," he added, "I'll erase your story line by line. I'll make you beg for the suffering you once had."
With a single twist of his finger, golden runes appeared beneath Lucius and Aiden.
"What are you doing?" Aiden asked.
"Letting you play your part," The Author replied.
The ground shattered.
And they fell.
Teleportation.
Aiden's vision blurred. He was tumbling through script lines—actual floating words—until they ripped apart like broken code.
Then, he landed.
Hard.
The sound of crunching stone echoed around him. He looked up.
And froze.
The sky above was bleeding. Literally.
Thick rivers of crimson snaked across the air like veins in a shattered dome, pulsing slowly like a living thing. A crimson moon loomed over the horizon, cracked and weeping red mist that dripped onto the blackened landscape.
This place felt wrong.
No stars. No sound. Even the wind was silent.
Lucius landed beside him with a groan, pushing himself up with one hand. His robe was torn at the shoulder now, revealing a strange mark on his collarbone—an unwritten symbol.
"This is..." Lucius breathed, looking around. "The Place of Unwritten Ends."
"The what?"
Lucius looked more serious than ever. "He sends us here when characters go too far off script. Most of them don't survive. It's a place beyond the plot."
Aiden scanned the area. The land was broken. Twisted spires rose from the ground like the bones of ancient titans. No birds. No life. Just darkness and bleeding sky.
Far in the distance, on the jagged cliffs, Aiden thought he saw movement. Something tall. Watching them.
Lucius stood up, brushing the dust off. "He thinks this will stop us."
"It won't," Aiden said, his voice firmer than it had ever been. "This time... I'm writing the end."
The two of them, now rebels against fate itself, began walking forward through the nightmare realm.
Behind them, a new set of glowing runes appeared on the ground for just a second.
[ CHAPTER IN PROGRESS: "WHEN CHARACTERS TURN ON THE AUTHOR" ]
[ LOCATION: THE UNWRITTEN ]
And above, in the bleeding sky, the crimson moon continued to weep.