"Harder… just a bit more… yes—YES! Finally, it's in!"
I wiped the imaginary sweat on my face.
I'd been trying to get the damn charger to fit for ten minutes. Stupid upside-down USBs.
I wiped my hands and glanced around my quiet apartment.
Life was easy.
That's what I always said—and for most of it, that was true.
I never really struggled.
Good at sports? Check.
Top of the class? Naturally.
Devastatingly handsome? Please, I was a walking scandal waiting to happen.
Even my family was decent—upper-middle class, and a younger brother who, well... looked like he was adopted from a dumpster. I say that affectionately. He simply didn't inherit the divine jawline.
So yeah, life was on easy mode for me. But it was all too boring for me.
I didn't feel like I belonged here. The world didn't have the thrill. It didn't make my blood boil.
I couldn't even bond well with my family. I always felt distant.
So once I enrolled in my college. I started living alone.
So on a whim, just for laughs, I wrote a novel.
"Ascendent of Arcana."
It started as a petty revenge move against my childhood friend.
She once scoffed at me: "You? Creative? Hah. Don't kid yourself."
Naturally, I took that personally.
So I wrote a cliché-riddled fantasy story.
Magic academies, brooding MC, secret bloodlines, edgy villains—you know the drill.
But here's the twist: people loved it.
The book popped off. I got decent cash, a modest fanbase, and for once, praise for something beyond my glorious face.
I even made it to the final arc—1,000 chapters of chaotic brain rot later.
But then… the job offer came.
One of the top companies in the world offered me insanely good pay.
They wanted me before I'd even graduated.
I knew I had to wrap up the story.
I didn't want to abandon it—but I couldn't drag it out either.
So I made a choice.
A bold, artistic, genre-defying decision.
Just as the protagonist defeated one of the final bosses, I introduced something a thousand times stronger and destroyed the entire world.
Poetic, right?
Apparently not.
The comment section turned into a war zone.
I stared at the screen.
"…Motherf*kers," I muttered.
"How dare you insult me—EternalStreamer—the god of prose?"
Okay, maybe I was stretching it a little.
I admit—deep, deep down—beneath the layers of denial and Monster Energy—I knew.
The pacing? Nonexistent.
The grammar? A battlefield.
The characters? Cardboard soaked in melodrama.
I once unironically wrote: "Her tears exploded like firecrackers of heartbreak."
But still—it worked. People liked it. They stuck around. That had to count for something.
I was ready to move on.
And then I saw one last comment:
I'mthesupremelurkeri517:"I will kill the author fr."
Now, usually, I don't respond to comments.
Gotta maintain that mysterious, dignified author aura.
But my story was done. My career as an author was over. And this—this was too personal.
So I cracked my knuckles.
CrimsonTable:"I understand your concern. But who the fuck do you think you are, motherfker? I'll kill you before you touch me."
Click. Send.
I leaned back in my chair, satisfied.
Civil discourse, baby.
The screen flickered as a reply arrived soon.
"So be it, Author."
I didn't care about the useless story nor its review anymore.
I got up from my chair. Picked my coat hanging by the doorside and made my way out.
I had a date with my so-called girlfriend after all.
__
I took his keys and stepped out of my apartment.
I expected the usual sounds: cars honking, kids screaming, that old man feeding pigeons on the corner.
Even the stray cat that always stared at me like I owed it rent.
But right now?
Nothing.
No people. No noise. No movement.
The streets were empty. Completely abandoned.
No kids. No beggars. Not even a stray dog rummaging through trash.
...Okay, weird.
Maybe there was a holiday I forgot about?
Or maybe this was a prank show. Right. Giant prank. Hidden cameras everywhere.
Totally normal.
Totally fine.
But honestly?
I couldn't bring myself to care.
If the world ended right now, so be it.
It wasn't like I had anything going for me anyway. The world was just boring anyways.
And then—
"Oh… is that so?"
A voice.
From nowhere.
"You also said you'll kill me before I kill you right?"
"Let's test that, then."
I froze.
The hell?
I spun around. No one was there.
No shadows. No figures. Nothing.
Just this creeping chill crawling down my spine.
Was I finally losing it?
Maybe those comment sections had finally fried my brain.
I exhaled. Deep. Slow.
Yeah… that had to be it.
But then—
Something snapped inside me.
My body went stiff.
A sound—sharp, slicing—cut through the air.
Swish.
I looked up, instinctively.
And my blood ran cold.
A rock? No… not a rock. A meteor. Massive. Blazing. Tearing through the atmosphere like a divine wrecking ball.
"What the hell—" I muttered.
But I already knew.
If that thing hit the Earth?
There wouldn't be a city left.
Hell, not even a planet.
And more importantly—I wouldn't survive.
I had to run.
But where?
How the hell do you outrun a goddamn meteor?
I looked around.
Still nothing. No cars. No sirens. No people.
No screams. No chaos. No breaking news alerts.
Just silence.
Heavy, eerie silence.
The kind that screamed you're already dead and just don't know it yet.
I always said I wouldn't care if the world ended.
Turns out?
That was bullsh*t.
I did care.
Not about the world. Screw humanity. Let them burn.
But me? I wanted to live.
Maybe with a beautiful, loyal woman by my side. That'd be nice.
Even in the face of extinction, my brain was an idiot.
The meteor was almost here now.
The air burned.
My lungs felt tight. My skin itched.
Death was whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
I had just enough time for some last words.
I used them wisely.
"Fuck the world—"
BOOM.
Everything went white.
I should've died.
I did die.
At least, that's what should've happened.
But instead…
I was standing.
Alive.
Somehow.
In front of a creature that looked like someone tried to merge a fish and a bird, got drunk halfway through, and then rage-quit the process.
It grinned at me—or maybe that was a grimace—and let out this shrill, unholy laughter.
Then it spoke.
"So, are you ready to be sent into the world of your own novel, you dumb fucker?"