Phase Lost

I transmigrated through a wall covered in blood-red rules and found my missing sister.

But she said, “Big brother, run! I wrote this world, but now it’s trying to kill you!”

Here, memories are currency, fate is a draft, and everyone’s joys and sorrows are nothing more than editable paragraphs.

And as the [Observer], every second I stay alive consumes what little [Coauthor] authority she has left.

Pixelated mayflies are disintegrating reality, while tendrils of text reach for us from the void.

On the pages drifting down from the sky, a cold note reads: “This character lacks emotional impact. Consider adding a tragic conflict.”

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and snatched up the pen.

“Give me the pen. I’ll write this chapter myself.”