Context: I began writing this novel in a half-asleep state, thinking it would go nowhere. However, the next day, I told my friend about it and asked if he would like to collaborate on it. To my surprise, he said yes—and also, to my surprise, he wanted to turn it into a comedy/brainrot. If you had read what I had originally written, the tone wouldn't have been leading into comedy. I wanted to discuss that it wasn't a good idea, and he agreed, but then he kept insisting we should add a bandit scene, ruining the tone, as bandits are rowdy. Additionally, he was writing the bandit scene; he did all that. Well, not really, as this 22-year-old man can't write. So he had me write down what he wanted. Seeing as how I was the one who asked for the collab, I was okay with the bandits, even if we diverged a little. What I wasn't okay with was that he didn't want to write it himself, nor did he want to take any valid criticism on it. We got into an argument, and I explained that I would write two versions of the story: my solo version and our collab version. He didn't want to and kept calling everything I wrote "mid," while again—mind you—he cannot write at all. He blocked me as well as our other friends because he was being a hypocrite, and we all called him out for it. After this happened in our group chat, I went onto the site (Webnovel) and posted my solo version. He did eventually unblock me, and I asked to do something so that we could let readers decide who writes "mid." I asked if he would write something and post it, to which he said no and kept saying I'm the bad writer, sending ragebait until our friends once again took my side. I sat there, watching him block everyone one by one once again. He has not unblocked me since. Below will be our collab version.
Collab:
The rain was heavy. Mist and fog wrapped around everything, and then—he came back to life.
Panting, dazed, and horrified, he sat up. His hands shot to his face.
"Where the hell am I?"
One second I was walking down the street, and now I'm here? What the hell's happening—and what is this pain?
He looked down and froze. His leg was twisted in on itself.
"Shit! What the fuck's wrong with my leg? Why is it broken? What the hell is happening to me?!"
Think, dammit, think. I can't see anything through this damn rain and fog. My leg hurts like hell too. Should I shout? Maybe someone could hear me?
"Hello!? Anybody there!?"
Then suddenly, a voice echoed through the fog.
"I can hear you! I just can't see you! Do you know what's happening!? I was at home cooking dinner for my kids—then all of a sudden, I was here!"
"I was going to ask the same thing! I was walking home, and then I just—ended up here! Also, for some damn reason, my leg's broken! What about you!? Did anything happen to you when you got here!?"
The woman—the only other person here with him—suddenly fell silent.
Why isn't she answering?
"Hello!? Are you still there?"
The young man couldn't finish his sentence. While he was shouting, a monstrous sound echoed from the direction of the woman—something not human. Something's wrong. Almost demonic, completely unknown to anything he had ever heard before.
Shit, shit, shit. That scared the shit out of me. What even was that?
This damn leg—fuck!
Then he froze.
Wait. My leg... it's not hurting anymore. What the hell?
He looked down—and saw it. His leg wasn't broken. It was straight and perfect, as if it had never been twisted at all.
As he slowly got up, that same monstrous sound echoed through the fog again.
Then—lightning struck. For a split second, the world lit up. Just enough for him to see it.
The monster.
"What the fuck—"
He bolted, heart pounding. His thoughts scrambled as his legs moved on instinct.
What the hell was that? That wasn't human. That wasn't anything I can define. That was a monster. Fuck—I don't want to die. I don't want to see that again. Please—just let me run fast enough to get away!
Then, something hit him. A sharp pressure in his chest—instant, cold, final.
He looked down.
No time to think. No time to understand.
He'd been stabbed—by something he couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Looking down at the object in his chest, his mind raced.
Am I going to die? Here? I don't even know where I am. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? My body—I can't move. This is it… isn't it?
The pain grew sharper, hotter. His knees gave way, and he collapsed into the cold mud beneath him. Tears mixed with the rain as he started to plead.
"Please… just let me go. Please… I don't want to die…"
But it was for nothing.
The monster reached him at last and let out a roar—inhuman, guttural, like a predator celebrating its hunt.
As the beast's shape lowered itself down, he saw it—a reptile-like monster with canine teeth, four tails, and long talons, some of which were now buried in his chest.
His vision blurred. He couldn't think anymore; everything was slipping away. Just before blacking out, he caught sight of silhouettes approaching through the fog. One of them, holding a torch, shouted.
"Hey, boss! I think I see an otherworlder over there—lying in the mud!"
Another voice replied.
"Do you think he's a threat?"
"No. He's covered in blood."
As they finally reached his body. The man in front crouched to inspect it—but then the sound of snapping twigs and heavy breathing broke through the silence. He turned, torch raised toward the sound.
The firelight caught on something slick. Then, a flash of talons.
"Get down!"
That was all he managed to say before the talons tore through his head and torso. Another struck a man in the arm and leg, dropping him instantly, while the others ducked in panic.
For a moment, everything was chaos. A few of them bolted, stumbling through the mud.