The air became static. Not just with power—but with expectation. As if the very plotline of existence was holding its breath.
The child—The Template—stood at the center of the battlefield. His small figure bathed in a glow not powered by chakra, reiatsu, ki, or cursed energy. It was something purer. Primordial. He didn't channel the multiverse—he was its draft.
He tilted his head toward Naruto. "You were one of the first," he said, voice high and soft, but echoing with the weight of ages. "Your creator tested many ideas with you."
Naruto took a hesitant step forward, his breath uneven. "What… are you supposed to be?"
"I'm the idea before the idea. The one never published. The prototype of what would become all heroes. I fought with a wooden sword, threw glowing punches, and had a fox spirit and alien brother in the same pitch document."
Goku blinked. "That… sounds broken."
"It was," the child replied. "I was scrapped. Buried. Forgotten."
Behind him, the three invaders remained kneeling.
"We followed him," one of them said, "because he was the origin. Every rejected fusion. Every dropped draft. They all lead back to him."
"And now he wants balance," said another.
"Not destruction. Correction."
Madara, who had remained silent since the scar opened, finally descended from the rooftop, his presence now unmistakably cold. "So you seek to overwrite reality with what? A child's pitch?"
The Template's eyes met his—and for the first time, even Madara Uchiha felt something alien: uncertainty.
"I don't want to overwrite anything," the child said. "I want to make sure no one ever gets erased again."
Julius stepped forward, the grimoire hovering at his back trembling. "That's not peace. That's a paradox. No erasure means no evolution. Every draft needs editing."
The Template's smile faded. "But not deletion. No memory should be dust. Even mistakes deserve a page."
The sky began to peel—layer by layer, like an onion made of timelines.
And far above, eyes opened.
They weren't gods.
They weren't readers.
They were Editors.
Cosmic observers in robes stitched from narrative threads, holding quills of anti-ink. Their faces were voided. Not faceless—redacted.
They didn't speak.
They only watched.
Until the lead Editor crossed something out.
Instantly, a flash of white erased an entire mountain behind the battlefield.
The Template staggered.
Julius's eyes widened. "They're trying to remove the setting."
Gojo reacted first, opening a new domain—a floating panel-shaped shelter that held the key fighters: Naruto, Goku, Ichigo, Madara, Julius.
Inside, the world paused. Literally.
Gojo looked at them, his tone unusually serious. "Outside of here, the narrative is under assault. These editors… they're trying to rewrite everything, starting with the multiversal constants. If they succeed, this convergence realm won't just break—it'll be unwritten."
Ichigo stood up. "Then we stop them."
"How?" Naruto asked, fists clenched. "We can't punch editors."
Julius turned, flipping to a glowing page.
"We don't fight them directly. We author-lock."
Madara narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"It's a forbidden chronospell," Julius said. "If we embed our character arcs so deeply into the foundation of this realm, they can't be removed without collapsing the structure. We turn ourselves into pillars of canon."
Goku grinned. "That sounds cool."
"It isn't," Julius said. "Because if any of us breaks character, even once… we unravel."
Naruto smirked. "Then we make sure we don't."
The domain shattered outward.
Outside, the Editors had begun stitching white voids into reality.
The Template stood defiant, holding back the void with sheer memory. "This world matters! These people! These stories!"
An Editor raised their quill.
A giant white blade of erasure fell toward the child.
Then—
A red and blue streak blurred past.
The erasure stopped mid-air, caught by a new hand.
Superman stood between the void and the child.
"I'm late," he said, glancing at the Template, "but I couldn't ignore a good story."
Behind him, more icons arrived.
Luffy, Deku, Tanjiro, Asta, Edward Elric, Yusuke Urameshi—even old legends like Kenshin and Inuyasha stepped through restored fractures.
Not summoned.
Remembered.
The Editors paused.
Because now, the multiverse didn't stand as fragments.
It stood as one story.
Julius's voice echoed through the sky.
"Chrono Spell: Unwritten Chain of Lore!"
A clock formed above them all, ticking backward—and then forward again. All the arcs. All the character growth. All the pain. All the triumph.
They were now lore-locked.
The first Editor tried to strike again.
This time, Madara stepped forward—and instead of chakra, he used quotes.
Lines spoken across time.
"I am the storm," he said. "Not because I crave war… but because peace was always a lie."
The attack deflected.
And as the others began speaking their truths, even the Editors faltered.
Because even they could not erase what was already written in the hearts of readers.
The battle turned.
Not with blades.
But with character.
And the Template… smiled.
"I was just the beginning," he whispered. "But all of you? You're the proof that imagination never dies."
The clock ticked once more.
And the void retreated.