My fingers darted between the keycaps, each keystroke flowing in a seamless rhythm without so much as a pause. A slight grin twitched beneath my unkempt mustache, lending my otherwise motionless face a strange stillness.
"…And she appeared just like that? A Death Dragon? Are you serious?" I muttered while typing, voice low but full of fire.
"It completely contradicts the buildup the author set up for that apocalyptic Void Fracture. Did everyone forget this was the fracture that supposedly wiped out every dragon in the damn world? And now one just poofs into existence? Out of nowhere? And she's got enough juice to go toe-to-toe with the MC?"
I leaned back into my creaking chair, the wood whining under my weight. Grabbing the half-finished bottle of flat Coke from the cluttered table, I downed what was left in one swig, scrunched my face in disgust, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before diving right back into my keyboard warpath.
"Okay, fine, I'll give credit where it's due," I said, tone dipped in sarcasm. "The author did a decent job sprinkling her foreshadowing from Chapter 6. 'A monster fighting for the liberation of her kind'—wow, how original. How emotionally profound."
My face twisted into a smug smirk. "And it took two hundred and fifty goddamn chapters to get her to show up… and now what? The MC and his party are struggling to fight—what was it again? Oh yeah—Death Goblin Band! Hah!"
My eyeballs throbbed, a dull pressure swelling behind my sockets. Something warm trickled from my nose, increasing my annoyance again.
I thought it was just snot and lazily wiped it with a balled-up tissue. My first mistake.
Meanwhile, the keys beneath my fingers began to crack, the plastic straining beneath my increasingly erratic typing. My second mistake. I should've found the wrongness around me and stopped what I was doing.
"So let me get this straight," I snorted.
"The MC's squad's about to get their asses kicked by her random side crew, and we're just expected to accept that? Then what? How the hell is the author gonna make the MC beat her later without slapping on that sweet, sweet plot armor?" I wiped my nose again, more annoyed than concerned.
"Didn't the author already confirm she's the final boss and dies by the MC's hands?"
I frowned, the itch in my nose growing unbearable. Why the hell did the author make her meet the MC this early? With that cliché backstory no less. I groaned.
"In my opinion? Since the author can't make the apocalyptic-difficulty Void Fracture feel terrifying enough, they had to pull some crap to distract us—and what better than a mysterious, edgy villainess who looks like she walked off a goddamn fantasy runway?" I laughed to myself.
"Seriously, is the author planning to start a fashion show inside the story now? LOL. Honestly, aside from her looks, she's as broken as the author. Not in a cool way either. Just broken."
My fingers hovered above the Enter key.
Then paused. Then twitched.
My lips curled slowly as I dove back in, jabbing at the keyboard with renewed, vicious rhythm.
"Another useless character from a useless, word-vomiting bitch who thinks tossing in another broken character will magically seal the plothole she tore open with her own ass..."
Click.
Post sent.
With a lazy stretch, I slammed my laptop shut and spun my chair toward the bed. I didn't even bother getting up—just flipped sideways, rolled across the saggy mattress, and landed on my back with a groan. The cracked ceiling stared down at me, leaking slightly from the last storm.
I clicked my tongue.
"Fucker wants rent on time but won't fix the damn roof…"
[You are enjoying a lot, right?]
I blinked.
"Enjoying what? The leaking roof, you bitch? Wait… Who the hell spoke just now?"
I shot up from the bed. Dizziness hit like a sucker punch. The room blurred. My legs wobbled. Then the space around me began to warp—folding, stretching, distorting into a horizonless white expanse. My breath caught.
I shook my head violently. What the hell was going on?
[Calling others names… leaving toxic comments on others' hard work. You're definitely enjoying yourself. How about I give you a gift?]
My nose itched again—worse than before. This time, the sensation burned. I brought a hand up and swiped under my nostrils, pulling back to see red. Oh god—my palm was stained with fresh blood!
What the—?!
[How about I give you a gift?]
"No need. Really," I croaked, panic gripping tighter.
[You can't reject my gift. No one can… really.]
At first, I clung to the idea that this was some kind of hallucination. Too much caffeine, too much screen time, maybe that expired soda. But the moment my senses realigned, I knew.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a joke.
This—this goddamn place—was real.
The white void stretched endlessly in every direction, eerie and cold despite having no temperature at all. But it wasn't the blankness that made my skin crawl. It was the voice.
That damn voice. It didn't come from one direction—it came from every direction.
Sometimes it whispered from behind my shoulder. Other times, it rang out just to my right ear. Sometimes from beneath my feet.
And once, it echoed from inside my skull.
Worse, it sounded like me.
Exactly like me… feminine.
Wait… feminine?
Every fiber of my body buzzed with rising dread. My muscles tightened. Knees trembled. My teeth chattered from a fear I couldn't name.
Yet the voice—unshaken and bizarrely chipper—continued.
Like it was enjoying this. Like it had waited for this moment.
[So… what do you want? Judging by your delightful little comments, you seem pretty disgusted with my writing, hmm? Then how about this: why don't you continue the rest of the plot instead of me?]
"It's okay, really…" I muttered, instinctively stepping back, only to feel the ground vanish beneath my feet.
My balance wavered. Ankles trembled. My arms flailed through empty air, searching for anything—anything—to grip.
[Not okay, really. And since you seemed especially offended that her name is the same as yours… Why not be her? From now on, you'll be her. Sounds fair?]
"Her?" I choked out, coughing as the world tilted again. My lungs felt full of cold steam. Every breath heavier. Slower. Off. And each second, my legs grew weaker, like my bones were being rewritten.
[Yes! It's settled then! You're Zane now. No, not the Zane here… the Zane there. You'll love it! So much plot. So much drama. So many delightful choices.]
"W-w-what a-are y-ou s-saying—"
[Oh? Are you crying? Touched by my generosity? No need to kneel on the floor like that, silly. If you're gonna kneel, at least do it between my legs, haha!]
"YOU—BITCH—!"
That was the last thing I managed to roar, my words laced with fury, but something about that final syllable felt… off.…Too light. Too high. Too pitched.
Wait.
Why the hell did my voice just echo in a feminine pitch?
And why the hell did my chest suddenly feel heavy? No. No no no… this can't be.
What the actual fuck?!
"No… why the actual fuck am I in my reflection, Zane?"
Wait...what?