The Scribe's words hung in the air like blades.
Stabilize or abandon.
I hadn't answered yet. My fists trembled at my sides, System windows still glowing. The City of Manuscripts shifted restlessly, paragraphs rewriting themselves in the streets. Half-finished citizens stared with hollow eyes, their very existence hinging on my choice.
Before I could speak, the air cracked.
Literally.
A red line slashed through the space above us, bleeding ink like an open wound. The Scribe flinched, parchment-face wrinkling.
"No…" he whispered. "They've already noticed."
The red line widened, peeling reality open. From the gash, a figure stepped through.
At first, it looked human. Tall, draped in robes of crimson silk. But in its hand it held not a weapon, but a massive pen. Its nib dripped scarlet ink, each droplet sizzling when it hit the ground.
Its face was smooth, blank parchment—until words scrawled themselves across it in real time.
"Editor's Agent: Red Pen."
The air thickened. My System pulsed violently.
[Warning: Detection confirmed.]
[Editor's Agent manifested.]
[Objective: Survive Assessment.]
"Assessment?" I hissed.
The Scribe fell to his knees, parchment trembling. "Archivist Candidate… the Editors send an Agent to test you. If you fail—"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
The Red Pen raised its massive nib and pointed directly at me. Words crawled across its parchment-face.
"This draft is unstable. Corrections required."
The world blurred.
One moment I was standing in the middle of the City, the next—the ground beneath me warped into an arena. Paragraphs twisted into walls. Sentences formed stands. And in the center, I stood alone.
The Scribe was gone. The citizens gone. Only me… and the Agent.
My chest heaved. "Assessment, huh? Fine. Let's see what counts as passing."
The Red Pen moved.
Not fast—instant. One blink and it was in front of me, pen raised. The nib slashed downward, leaving a trail of glowing red ink.
I threw myself aside. The ink hissed where it struck the ground, erasing the cobblestones into blank white space.
"Erase attacks…" I muttered. If that touched me, I wouldn't just die. I'd be edited out.
The System flashed.
[Annotation Available.]
[Paradox: 5.]
My hand twitched toward the window. But I remembered the corpse in the tutorial. Paradox overload. Every annotation brought me closer.
The Agent turned its blank parchment-face toward me. New words scrawled across it:
"You are a mistake."
Rage flared in me. I clenched my fist, Verdant Impact flickering to life. I lunged, striking at its torso.
The blow connected—green energy bursting. But the Agent didn't even flinch. My fist hit parchment, soft and unyielding, like punching paper that refused to tear.
Its pen lashed back. I barely ducked, the ink grazing my shoulder. My flesh burned—not from heat, but from absence. A piece of me was simply gone, erased.
Pain ripped through me.
[HP -20%. Warning: Structural integrity compromised.]
I staggered back, panic rising. My normal attacks were useless. Annotations were risky. What else—
A new window opened.
[Draft Fusion Suggestion.]
Fuse Paradox Fist (Beta) + Null Annotation Fragment.
Paradox Fist already cost paradox. Null Annotation was unstable. Combining them could break me.
The Agent raised its pen again. I didn't have time to argue.
"Fuse it!"
Light seared my vision.
[New Skill Acquired: Reality Rewrite (Prototype).]
Strike that forces one rejected narrative to become true for one instant. Costs heavy paradox. Risk of overload extreme.
My veins burned with raw paradox. The System screamed warnings. The Agent lunged.
I didn't hesitate. I swung my glowing fist at its chest.
"REWRITE!"
Impact.
The Agent's body froze. Words scrawled wildly across its parchment-face, changing too fast to read. For one impossible second, its sentence rewrote:
"The Candidate defeats the Agent."
And just like that—
The Red Pen shattered into strips of parchment, dissolving into crimson ink that hissed into nothing.
The arena collapsed. The city returned around me.
The Scribe was still kneeling, trembling. He looked up at me, words crawling across his face. "You… you survived."
I fell to my knees, gasping. My entire body shook, paradox burning in my blood like fire. My System windows flickered violently.
[Reality Rewrite successful.]
[Paradox +5.]
[Current Paradox: 10.]
[Status: Critical. Overload risk imminent.]
Ten.
The number pulsed in my vision. The corpse in the tutorial had died from paradox overload. Was this the threshold? Or worse?
I clutched my chest, forcing myself to breathe.
The Scribe whispered, voice quivering. "The Editors sent their Agent… and you defied them. That is not supposed to be possible."
I laughed bitterly. "Yeah… join the club. I'm not supposed to be here either."
Above, the sky cracked faintly. An eye blinked once, watching.
I glared back. My chest still burned, but my voice was steady.
"You want to assess me? Fine. Write all the corrections you want. I'm not a mistake."
The System chimed.
[Archivist Candidate Status Updated.]
Survived first Editor's Assessment.
Title Earned: Paradox Survivor.
Hidden Function Unlocked: Narrative Theft.
I froze. Narrative Theft?
The window expanded.
[Narrative Theft: You may steal traits, skills, or fragments of story from defeated entities.]
[Stolen: Red Pen Fragment.]
Ability: Erase Line. Create a slash of red ink that deletes minor objects or unstable enemies. Costs paradox.
I stared at the new skill, chest tightening. Each reward pulled me deeper. Each victory came with heavier risk.
And yet… a grim smile crept onto my face.
If the Editors thought I was just another candidate to erase, they were wrong.
I wasn't going to be deleted.
I was going to rewrite the Archive.
To be continued…