Chapter 23
As the sword sliced through the air and was then lifted precisely above his head, Theo's body arched into a half-bridge position—an almost impossible stance without extreme training—and the effect of this movement stirred an unseen pressure around him, making leaves and bits of earth whirl wildly.
When the strike failed to pierce the defense that seemed like flawless steel, Theo immediately retreated, drifting dozens of meters back above the ground, using the momentum to avoid any potential counterattack.
His feet touched the earth once again, springing lightly yet with control, displaying an extraordinary balance between strength, speed, and precision.
Though he had failed, the movement did nothing to weaken his resolve.
Instead, each backward step affirmed that Theo was not merely fighting—he was rewriting himself in the midst of a reality that refused to be controlled.
Silence wrapped the space around him, broken only by the sound of the wind and the heartbeat pounding inside Theo's chest.
'So that's why you returned.
To observe me from afar as if I were nothing but a disturbance in the world those companies created.'
Huuuuh!
"I'm only trying to correct the storyline, Cru.
To return everything to the main plot before it turns into an endless labyrinth.
But you… you stand in my way, as if you've forgotten who once built the foundation of this world.
Explain what your purpose is in stopping me."
"Watch your tone, Theo.You speak like a game maniac who still holds control, as if this world still obeys the creator it once had.
But here, you mean nothing.
Individuals like you are unworthy of staining the beauty of Flo Viva Mythology.
This world has surpassed you—and your arrival is merely a mistake that must be corrected."
The wind that had previously spiraled wildly now felt restrained around Theo, as though the world itself held its breath, waiting for the interaction between him and Cru.
Across Theo's line of sight, that figure emerged again.
Steady and cold.
His body stood perfectly straight, yet still like a manifestation refusing to take full shape in the real world.
Theo's eyes traced every movement, trying to decipher the meaning behind every small detail—the placement of Cru's hands, the rigid line of his shoulders, and the energy radiating from him in waves that forced anything nearby to feel it.
All of this created an uncanny sensation: the opponent before him was not merely an enemy entity, but a reflection of the rules and consequences of the world Theo once knew and helped create.
As questions stirred in Theo's mind, challenging Cru's reasons for opposing his attempt to repair the scenario, the air seemed to thicken, emphasizing a tension unseen yet unmistakably present.
Cru did not step closer, did not smirk, did not reveal anger or astonishment.There was only his presence—asserting his authority over the direction of the story.
The words that left that figure did not need to be whispered or written, for the aura surrounding him was enough to convey the meaning.
Theo was deemed useless, unworthy to exist in a world this intricate and beautiful.
That one label clung to every corner of Theo's awareness, stirring bitterness yet also igniting a desire to prove he could reshape the narrative already set.
Theo's thoughts spun rapidly, weighing every possible move, while feeling immense pressure radiating from Cru's existence.
He realized that facing the manifestation of an Administrator was not merely a matter of physical power or combat ability—it was a mental game, a test of courage against a reality that refused to be controlled.
Every passing second felt like a needle pricking his consciousness, reminding him that even the slightest failure could cost him the chance to rewrite the story.
So this is what you meant, Cru—a lesson?
A punishment, huh?
Because I failed to maintain the storyline?
Because I let this world shape itself without approval from its original source?
Tsuuuf!
Funny.
Even an author can be seen as the villain in someone else's creation.
The space around Theo suddenly felt heavy, like the air inside an ancient cave that pressed against every breath.
His eyes were closed, but his awareness leapt in every direction, trying to grasp the patterns hidden behind Cru's appearance.
The sword in his hand felt like an extension of instinct.
Its tip pointed straight—a symbol of resolve and defense—yet every passing second felt like a subtle judgment from the untouchable entity before him.
Theo held himself still, realizing this was not merely a physical confrontation or a show of strength, but a test of his ability to understand the world they created—along with the world that now demanded correction from him.
In his mind, visions of all the derailed scenarios replayed like a slow film.
Episodes that should have unfolded neatly were now scattered across the realm of imagination, and each deviation demanded consequences.
Theo felt like an architect watching his creation crumble—yet knowingly or not, his hands still held the tools to repair it.
His breath flowed long and deep, moving from chest to stomach and back again, attempting to calm the tension gripping every nerve.
This lesson—no matter how harsh—was part of the price he had to pay for failing to protect the scenario with vigilance.
Suddenly, Theo's awareness expanded, connecting every element within the battlefield—even those beyond his physical sight.
Cru was not merely a punishing entity, but a representation of an invisible law, a rule declaring that this world was not just a game he could command.
Every footstep, every brush of wind against a coat, even the glint of light on the sword's edge—all became a language whispering the harsh lesson.
Theo felt his body tremble slightly.
Not from fear, but from the realization that this mistake had real consequences in a world woven between reality and creation.
And finally, Theo kept his eyes closed, swallowing every painful truth, accepting the punishment in resolute silence—aware that this was the only path to repairing the story.
Vostraith Legacy, yes, a company known as a benefactor, convincing everyone that the world of dreams could be reshaped into reality.
Who would have thought that their generosity would turn into the strangest tragedy in the history of mankind?
I'm just a horror writer, not a designer of fantasy realms filled with systems and rules capable of erasing reality.
But look at me now—caught in the middle of this emptiness, in a world that no longer recognizes the boundary between fiction and truth.
Huuuuh!
Funny, isn't it? All this time I wrote about horror—about a world where the unclean were its permanent inhabitants, while the Almighty had taken on a new identity: the Cursed One.
Yet in the end, the "real" world proved to be far more terrifying than anything I ever wrote in Last Prayer.
Ninety-nine percent of the world vanished.
One percent remained—me, and perhaps scraps of absurdity still trying to convince themselves that I'm sane.
Sometimes I want to laugh, sometimes I want to write again—but this pen trembles, refusing to spill a reality that shapes itself.
Hosssh!
So this is the consequence, huh?
When a game tries to become God, and the writer becomes nothing but a victim dragged into a chapter he never planned.
Theo stood in the middle of a newly formed void, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
The once-familiar world had become a half-real, half-digital version of itself, like a handwritten chronicle suddenly come to life and moving on its own.
The shadows of buildings, trees, and nearby streets felt refined by a logic not entirely human, yet not merely the illusion of a game either.
To be continued…