Following a trail of cosmic ink through a void of nothingness is, surprisingly, very boring.
New Seattle drifted at a steady five knots (or whatever unit a floating city uses). The Space Needle's 5G antenna hummed, pushing the city along the glowing blue ley line that The Editor had inadvertently created when he snipped the Author's signature out of reality.
"Are we there yet?" Ignis groaned.
The dragon-man was lying on the roof of the Meow & Bow, staring up at the purple static of the Void Ocean. He was eating a bag of "Conceptual Chips" they had scavenged from a passing thought bubble.
"They taste like... potato," Ignis complained. "But also like disappointment. I think these chips were a bad idea that got deleted."
"We get it, Ignis," Elara-Zero shouted from the tower. "Stop eating the navigational hazards."
Elara Vance stood at the helm (a rusted ship's wheel bolted to the observation deck). She watched the Blue Ink Trail. It wasn't just a line; it was a tear in the fabric of the non-existence, leaking raw creative potential.
"The ink is getting thicker," Elara noted. "And... chunkier."
"Chunkier?" Aldren Vance asked. The Vampire Lord adjusted his tricorn hat. "Please do not use that word. It reminds me of the chaotic soup incident."
"Look," Elara pointed.
Ahead of them, the ink trail didn't end. It widened. It flowed into a massive, swirling nebula.
But this nebula wasn't made of gas or dust. It was made of Paper.
Billions of crumpled balls of paper floated in a chaotic orbit around a central, dark gravity well. Some were small, like napkin scribbles. Others were massive, the size of asteroids—entire manuscripts balled up and thrown away in a fit of writer's block.
"The Draft Graveyard," Elara whispered.
"It's huge," Jen said, joining them on the deck. "There must be millions of abandoned ideas here."
"Billions," Zero corrected. "For every story that gets published, a thousand are scrapped. This is where they go. The Island of Misfit Plots."
"It's spooky," Rex Chord noted, tuning his guitar. "I'm picking up weird frequencies. Sad trombone noises. Minor keys. The sound of a writer sighing heavily at 3 AM."
"We have to go in," Elara said. "The ink trail goes straight into the center. That's where the Editor sent the Signature."
"Steer us in," Aldren commanded. "But keep a weather eye on the horizon. I sense... cringey tropes."
The Sea of Crumpled Paper
New Seattle pushed into the debris field.
THUD. CRUNCH.
Giant balls of paper bounced off the city's shields (which Zero had rigged using the 5G tower and a lot of duct tape).
"Identify that debris!" Elara shouted as a massive manuscript slammed into a skyscraper.
Zero scanned it. "It appears to be... a High Fantasy novel where the magic system is based on cheese."
"Cheese magic?" Ignis perked up. "Turn the ship around! I want to read it!"
"It was deleted for a reason!" Elara yelled. "Keep going!"
As they went deeper, the atmosphere changed. The violet void turned a sepia tone. Shadows lengthened. And things started moving in the paper clouds.
"Contact!" Li Wusheng shouted from the bow. "Three targets! Approaching fast!"
Emerging from behind a moon-sized ball of paper were three ships.
But they weren't the clean, corporate ships of The Publisher. These were Fan-Fiction Frigates. They were cobbled together from mismatched parts—a starship engine on a pirate hull, with dragon wings and laser turrets. They looked cool, but structurally unsound.
"They are hailing us," Zero said.
"Put it on screen."
The monitor flickered. A face appeared.
It was a man with long, flowing white hair, a katana, a trench coat, and one red eye. He was leaning against a wall in a way that suggested he practiced it in a mirror for hours.
"Halt," the man whispered. His voice was raspy, like he gargled gravel. "I am Dante Darkblade. I am a half-demon, half-angel, half-wolf assassin. And I demand you surrender your angst."
"That's three halves," Jen noted. "The math doesn't work."
"I am beyond math!" Dante screamed. "I am the Ultimate Protagonist! My power level is infinite! My tragic backstory is so tragic it makes onions cry!"
"He's a Mary Sue," Elara realized. "An Overpowered Self-Insert character that got scrapped."
"Surrender!" Dante shouted. "Or face the wrath of my katana, Soul-Drinker, which I forged from the tears of my dead parents!"
"Okay, that's just excessive," Aldren sneered.
"Fire warning shots!" Elara ordered.
Jen manned the T-Shirt Cannon. THWUMP.
A balled-up T-shirt hit Dante's ship.
"You dare attack me?" Dante laughed. "I teleport behind you!"
ZIP.
Dante didn't teleport. He just kind of... glitched. He appeared on the deck of the Space Needle, but he was stuck halfway through the floor.
"My leg!" Dante yelled. "The collision detection in this draft is terrible!"
"He's buggy," Zero said. "He's an Alpha Build."
Suddenly, the other two ships launched boarding parties.
Figures swarmed onto New Seattle. But they weren't random enemies.
They were Draft Versions.
Elara froze. Standing on the observation deck was a woman. She looked like Elara, but... wrong.
She wore a bikini made of chainmail. She held two swords. Her hair was blowing in a wind that didn't exist.
"I am Elara the Slayer!" the woman shouted. "I have no personality, only cleavage and violence!"
"Oh god," Elara gagged. "Is that... was that my first draft?"
"It gets worse," Aldren whispered.
Landing next to Elara the Slayer was a vampire. He was wearing a leather jacket, sunglasses (at night), and he was smoking a cigarette.
"I'm Aldren," the vampire grunted. "I hate the world. I hate myself. I listen to My Chemical Romance unironically."
"He is an Edgelord!" our Aldren shrieked. "Look at his posture! It is terrible! Stand up straight, you disgrace to the undead!"
"Whatever, dad," Edgy-Aldren muttered.
And then, Li Wusheng's doppelganger landed.
He wasn't a monk. He was a cyborg ninja zombie. He had four arms, glowing red eyes, and he spoke in binary.
"01001101," the Ninja-Zombie-Monk beeped.
"That is just gibberish!" Li Wusheng shouted. "You are trying too hard to be cool! Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication!"
"Defend the ship!" Elara yelled, drawing her broken baguette handle (which she was now using as a blunt instrument).
The Battle of Bad Writing
The fight was a mess of tropes.
Elara the Slayer spun around like a top, screaming war cries. "DEATH! BLOOD! SEXY POSING!"
Our Elara dodged. "Put on a sweater! You're going to catch a cold!"
She tripped her doppelganger. Elara the Slayer fell, but because she was poorly written, she bounced right back up without an animation frame.
"I have plot armor!" the Slayer yelled.
"Zero! Delete her!" Elara shouted.
"I can't!" Zero yelled from the console. "She's not digital! She's made of bad ideas! You have to defeat her narratively!"
"Narratively?"
Elara looked at the Chainmail Bikini warrior.
"Hey!" Elara shouted. "What's your motivation? Why do you fight?"
The Slayer froze. "I... I fight because... the plot requires it?"
"But what do you want?" Elara pressed. "Do you have hobbies? Do you like knitting? Do you have a favorite color other than 'Blood Red'?"
The Slayer blinked. Her swords lowered. "I... I think I like... teal?"
"Teal is a nice color," Elara said gently. "You don't have to be a slayer. You can be a... teal enthusiast."
The Slayer looked at her swords. "These are heavy. And this bikini chafes."
She dropped the swords. "I'm going to go find a sweater."
She vanished in a puff of logic.
"It works!" Elara yelled. "Critique them! Expose their shallow character arcs!"
Aldren heard her. He turned to Edgy-Aldren.
"You!" Aldren shouted. "Why are you smoking? You do not have lungs! It is performative!"
Edgy-Aldren scoffed. "It looks cool. You wouldn't get it, old man."
"I am six hundred years old," Aldren snapped. "And I know that true darkness comes from within, not from a leather jacket you bought at the mall! You are trying to compensate for a lack of genuine emotional vulnerability!"
Edgy-Aldren flinched. "Stop psychoanalyzing me!"
"Who hurt you?" Aldren asked. "Was it the author? Did they make you gritty just to sell copies?"
Edgy-Aldren started to cry black mascara tears. "I just wanted to be loved!"
He dissolved into a puddle of angst.
Li Wusheng faced the Ninja-Zombie-Monk.
"You have too many gimmicks," Li stated. "Ninja. Zombie. Cyborg. Pick a lane."
"01001..." the monster beeped aggressively.
"No," Li interrupted. "You are over-designed. A true warrior needs only his spirit. You are compensating for a weak narrative foundation with excessive coolness."
Li poked the monster on the forehead.
"Be less."
The monster looked at its four arms. It looked at its laser eyes. It realized it was ridiculous.
It exploded into a cloud of spare parts.
"We're clear!" Elara shouted.
But Dante Darkblade (the half-demon-angel-wolf) was still stuck in the floor of the Space Needle.
"I shall not be defeated by criticism!" Dante roared. "I have a dark side you haven't even seen! I transform!"
He began to glow. He grew wings. He grew horns. He grew a tail. He grew... another head?
"I am Dante the Ultimate!" he screamed. "I have every power! I can control time! I can fly! I can cook 5-minute rice in 4 minutes!"
"He's bloating!" Zero warned. "He's adding so many powers he's going to crash the sector!"
Ignis walked over. He was holding the bag of Conceptual Chips.
"Hey," Ignis said. "Are you gonna eat that?"
Dante paused. "Eat what? My power?"
"No," Ignis pointed to Dante's glowing energy aura. "That. It looks like cotton candy."
"This is spiritual pressure!" Dante yelled. "It destroys the weak!"
Ignis shrugged. "Looks like sugar to me."
Ignis leaned down and... inhaled.
He sucked the glowing aura right off Dante's body.
"Hey!" Dante shrieked as his wings withered. "My power level! It's dropping! It's under 9000!"
Ignis burped. A cloud of sparkles came out. "Tastes like vanilla and ego."
Dante, stripped of his Mary Sue powers, was just a guy in a trench coat stuck in the floor.
"Well," Dante whispered. "This is awkward."
"Get off my ship," Elara said, kicking him.
Dante popped out of the floor and fell into the void. "I'll be baaaaaack... in the reboot!"
The Landing
With the First Drafts defeated, New Seattle pushed through the debris field.
The center of the Graveyard wasn't a black hole. It was a planet.
A planet made entirely of ballpoint pen ink, crumpled paper, and coffee stains.
"There it is," Elara said, looking at the massive paper world. "The Draft World."
"The trail leads down," Zero tracked the blue ink. "To that valley. It looks like... a giant desk?"
"It is a desk," Aldren realized. "The landscape. That mountain is a stapler. That river is spilled coffee."
"Taking us down," Elara said.
New Seattle descended. The thrusters (espresso machine) flared. The city touched down on the surface of the paper planet with a soft crinkle.
"We're grounded," Zero reported. "Engine is cooling."
Elara walked to the edge of the city. She looked out at the landscape. It was a wasteland of discarded ideas.
And there, in the distance, nestled in the shadow of the Giant Stapler Mountain, was a fortress.
It wasn't made of stone. It was made of Books. Thousands of hardcover books stacked together to form walls, towers, and gates.
And flying above the fortress was a flag.
The flag didn't have a symbol. It had a status.
[WRITER'S BLOCK: ACTIVE]
"That's it," Elara said. "The Author's fortress."
"It looks... imposing," Jen said. "And dusty."
"And quiet," Li added. "I sense no Qi. I sense only... procrastination."
"Let's go knock on the door," Elara said. "And ask for our universe back."