The ground beneath us trembled—not like an earthquake, but like a massive sheet of paper being torn slowly.
"Do not look down," Malachi whispered, his voice harsh, as if his throat were full of sand. "Gravity here is just a suggestion. If you believe you will fall, you will."
We were crossing the Bridge of Broken Lines, made of giant black letters floating in the void. The path was unstable, shifting under each step. My violet hand pulsed, reacting to the raw energy of this unfinished world.
The air was cold, metallic, tasting like old coins. From below, muffled gasps rose from the void—souls of stories never finished, characters erased in the first drafts.
"Malachi, your arm!" I shouted, pointing.
He stopped. His right arm was peeling—not flesh, but layers of faded paper drifting into the void. He was scattering. The ink in his veins faded from black to pale grey.
"Time…" Malachi wheezed, leaning against a giant 'W' floating in the void. "The Author is deleting the margins faster than I expected. Loomis isn't just after us… he wants to erase the entire chapter to purge the… infection you represent."
Suddenly, the grey sky split. No rain fell. Instead, colossal white erasers appeared—giant, blind entities with rubbery blade-like arms, wiping away everything they touched.
"Advanced Reapers!" Malachi cried. "Zero, use the Void! Strike the space between us and them—do not hit the creatures directly!"
I felt the hunger in my wrist surge. My violet hand shot upward.
Flashback… Silas's voice whispered in my mind:
"Do not erase the world, my son… rewrite it with Nothing. The Void is the only clean page they left us."
I unleashed the power. The violet mist erupted, striking the air. The Reapers weren't killed, but the distance between us and them vanished. Reality folded like crumpled paper. We landed on the other side of the bridge, while the Reapers fell into the gap I had left.
I collapsed to my knees, pain ripping through my shoulder. My right hand was now fully translucent to the elbow. I could see the faint sketch of my bones beneath the skin.
"You did it," Malachi said, crawling toward me, now a faint shadow of a person. "Look…"
At the end of the path stood a well. Black liquid glowed with faint golden light. The Prime Ink.
Before we could step closer, everything froze. The air became solid as stone.
From behind the well, Loomis appeared. He stood in a flawless blue suit, holding his ruby magnifying glass now glowing red.
"You're late for your redaction," he said, his voice echoing in the void, pressing on our minds. "This ink does not belong to you. It belongs to the Author, and I am here to reclaim the stolen tools."
He leveled his lens at Malachi.
"And you, Malachi… your shelf life expired long ago. It's time to become nothing but white space."