The Shadowfang Alpha circled, its massive paws crushing stone as it bled from Ethan's desperate strike. The cavern echoed with roars, screams, and the sound of steel clashing against impenetrable hide.
Players scattered in chaos. Half their number already lay broken on the floor, crushed, torn apart, or simply gone swallowed whole by the beast's abyssal maw.
"Fall back!" a knight screamed, his shield trembling. "We can't fight this thing!"
But there was nowhere to run. The dungeon doors had sealed shut the moment the battle began.
Ethan stood at the edge of the carnage, the broken spear still in his hands. His chest burned, lungs screaming for air. Every muscle shook, but his eyes were sharp, focused not on the beast's terrifying bulk but on the glowing fragments of text flickering in his vision.
[Script Prediction: Party collapse imminent.]
[Script Prediction: 80% chance of total wipe in 5 minutes.]
It was like watching lines of his own novel—but these were no longer his words. The Labyrinth was writing itself. And yet, somehow, he had just proven it wasn't absolute.
The spear wound dripped black blood, hissing where it struck the stone.
The Shadowfang turned, its ember eyes locked solely on him now. Not the knights. Not the mages. Him.
Ethan gritted his teeth. "Of course. You know who I am, don't you? You can smell it—the author who dares to rewrite you."
The beast's lips curled, fangs glistening with gore.
It lunged.
[Script Prediction: Fatal strike – decapitation in 2 seconds.]
Ethan's body jolted into motion before his mind even finished processing the words. He threw himself sideways, rolling across the blood-slick floor just as the wolf's jaws snapped shut where his neck had been.
Stone shattered, dust choking the air. The pressure alone nearly crushed him. His ears rang.
But he was alive.
Gasps rose from the survivors.
"How is he"
"No way, no one moves like that"
Ethan pushed himself up, blood streaking down his temple. His hands shook as he tightened his grip on the broken spear. His body was weak. He had no armor, no stats worth mentioning. But the words the predictions they bent around him.
He wasn't fighting alone anymore. He was fighting with the script itself.
The Shadowfang snarled, its tail whipping like a living blade.
[Script Prediction: Tail sweep – rear line fatality in 3 seconds.]
Ethan's eyes widened. The mages behind him were still chanting, oblivious to death rushing toward them.
"MOVE!" Ethan roared, his voice cracking like thunder.
A few flinched and dove aside. The rest froze, confused.
The tail smashed through them, snapping bones like twigs. Screams cut short in the blood mist.
But the three who listened survived. Their wide eyes turned to Ethan.
"…he knew."
"He saw it coming."
"He's he's not guessing."
Ethan spat blood, his breath ragged. Finally. You're starting to understand.
The Shadowfang turned on him again, furious. Its hunger burned hotter, its steps shaking the ground as it prepared to leap.
Ethan's vision blurred with new predictions. Too many. They came like a torrent.
[Script Prediction: Bite – left shoulder crushed.]
[Script Prediction: Tail whip – spinal break.]
[Script Prediction: Devour skill – death confirmed.]
The words stacked, overlapping, suffocating. The beast wasn't giving him space to react.
He needed more than foresight. He needed
The broken spear glowed faintly in his hands. Not with magic, but with something else. Recognition. A thread between him and the story he had once written.
Ethan's lips curled. "So you remember me too, don't you?"
He lunged, not away from the wolf's maw but into it. The beast's jaws snapped shut, grazing his arm, tearing flesh. Pain ripped through him but his spear struck again, this time piercing the soft flesh of its eye.
The Shadowfang shrieked, thrashing violently.
[System Notice: Critical Weak Point Discovered.]
[System Notice: Prediction altered.]
[Future script deviation confirmed.]
The words scattered like broken glass. For the first time, the future wasn't a straight line—it was branching.
Ethan staggered back, half his arm shredded, blood pouring down his side. He swayed, barely standing.
But he smiled. A broken, bitter smile.
"I can change it," he whispered. "I don't have to follow your damn script anymore."
The surviving players stared at him like he was a monster.
"That's impossible…"
"He's fighting fate itself…"
The Shadowfang roared again, furious, blood dripping from its ruined eye. It was wounded, but far from dead.
And Ethan barely clinging to life tightened his grip. His body was broken. His weapon splintered. But he had something no one else did.
The ability to rewrite.
The battle was far from over. But for the first time, the story wasn't following its script.
It was following him.