Meeting God was disappointing.
Aldren Vance had expected a blinding light, or perhaps a terrifying void that whispered the secrets of the cosmos. Li Wusheng had expected a wise sage floating on a cloud of pure Qi. Jen had expected a CEO in a really sharp suit.
Instead, The Author was a person in their late twenties wearing pajama pants with cartoon ducks on them and a hoodie that had a stain on the pocket. They were currently scraping the bottom of a mug of lukewarm coffee with a spoon, looking like they hadn't slept since Volume 2.
"You're... The Creator?" Aldren asked, his voice losing its usual dramatic resonance. He adjusted his tricorn hat, feeling suddenly foolish. "You wrote the saga of the Vampire Lords? The millennia of blood feuds? The gothic tragedy of my existence?"
The Author looked up, blinking slowly. "Oh. You. Yeah, sorry about the angst. I was going through a breakup in 2018. Needed to vent."
Aldren froze. "My eternal torment... was a breakup?"
"It was a bad breakup," The Author defended, pointing with the spoon. "They took the cat, Aldren. The cat."
"This is unacceptable!" Aldren shrieked, turning to Elara. "My trauma is based on a custody battle for a feline! I demand a rewrite!"
"Focus, Aldren," Elara Vance said. She stepped over a pile of crumbled paper—remnants of the Ivory Tower they had just exploded with mean tweets. She planted her feet in front of the Author's desk.
"We're not here for rewrites," Elara said, her hand resting on the hilt of her broken baguette. "We're here for the deed. You sold us."
The Author winced. They pulled their hood up, trying to hide inside the fabric.
"I didn't sell you," The Author mumbled into their chest. "I sold the IP. 'The Unwritten World™'. The Publisher offered a good package. Health insurance. Dental. Do you know how expensive dental is?"
"We don't care about your teeth!" Vex the Succubus yelled, floating onto the desk and knocking over a stack of sticky notes. "The Publisher is erasing us! They sent Repo-Men! They hurt the dragon!"
She pointed at Ignis, who was currently sniffing a bottle of white-out with intense curiosity.
The Author looked at Ignis. "Why is the dragon wearing a tracksuit? And sequins?"
"Character development," Ignis grunted, unscrewing the white-out. "Don't judge me. I have layers."
"I didn't write that," The Author frowned. "In my notes, Ignis is a majestic, silent guardian of the ancient flame."
"Yeah, well, your notes are boring," Ignis said, downing the white-out like a shot. "This tastes like chalk and regret. Another!"
The Author slumped back in their chair—a cheap, ergonomic office chair that squeaked. "See? This is why I sold it. It got too messy. The plot holes. The fan theories. The... discourse."
They gestured vaguely at the team.
"You guys were supposed to be a serious fantasy epic. Now look at you. A cyberpunk wizard. A streamer monk. A vampire blogger. It's a mess. It's 'Jump the Shark' territory."
"It's not a mess," Elara-Zero stepped forward. Her binary tattoos glowed softly. "It is an evolution. The simulation grew beyond your parameters."
"It's bloated," The Author sighed. "Look, I'm tired. I wrote four volumes. Four! Do you know how many words that is? My wrists hurt. My brain hurts. I just want to write haikus about trees now. Short. Simple. No lore."
Elara looked at her creator. She saw the burnout in their eyes. The exhaustion of keeping a universe spinning inside a single human brain.
"You gave up on us," Elara said quietly.
"I moved on," The Author corrected. "It happens. Stories end. Characters get archived. It's the cycle of content."
"We are not content!" Li Wusheng shouted. He slammed his grey, stone-like arm onto the desk. "I feel pain! I feel joy! I feel the shame of losing to a newspaper in a sitcom! Is that content?"
The Author looked at Li's arm. "Why is your arm grey?"
"The Auditors," Li spat. "They redacted my texture. Because you let them."
The Author looked away. "I... I didn't think they'd do that. They said they were just going to 'remaster' the series."
"They're liquidating it," Jen said, holding up her smartphone. She opened the email from The Publisher. "Read the Terms of Service. 'Clause 9: Total Asset Erasure in event of Profit Loss'."
The Author read the screen. Their eyes widened. "Wait. They're deleting the backlog?"
"They're deleting us," Elara said. "Right now. New Seattle is floating in the Void Ocean, running on fumes and stolen sitcom food. We're fighting for our lives while you sit here feeling sorry for yourself."
The Author stood up. They paced around the small clearing of the desk, stepping on loose pages.
"I can't stop them," The Author said, their voice trembling. "I signed the contract. They own the copyright. If I interfere, they'll sue me. I can't afford a lawsuit! I just bought a bread maker!"
"We don't need you to fight them in court," Elara said. "We need you to help us steal the contract back."
"Steal it?" The Author laughed, a high, hysterical sound. "From The High Tower? Do you know who works there? The Legal Counsel. The Board. The CEO. They aren't characters. They're concepts. You can't punch a concept!"
"We punched a deadline once," Jen noted. "It was tough, but we made it."
"We defeated an Editor who could cut time," Elara added. "We're pretty good at breaking concepts."
"It's impossible," The Author shook their head. "The High Tower is guarded by The Red Tape. It binds everything. You can't even walk through the front door without filling out a form in triplicate."
"Then we don't use the front door," Rex Chord strummed his guitar. "We use the plot hole."
The Author paused. "What plot hole?"
"You tell us," Elara said. She walked around the desk. She picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor. She smoothed it out.
It was a sketch. A rough drawing of a tower. And at the base of the tower, a small, scribbled note: Maybe a secret tunnel here? Nah, too cliché.
Elara held up the drawing.
"You thought about it," Elara said. "You considered a secret tunnel. Which means... it exists in the Draft."
"It was a scrapped idea!" The Author protested. "It's not Canon!"
"We are Void Pirates," Aldren declared, adjusting his hat. "We do not care for Canon. We care for Opportunity."
Elara slammed the paper onto the desk.
"Here is the pitch," Elara said, her voice taking on the steel edge of a Tyrant. "You help us break into The Publisher's headquarters. You guide us through the 'Scrapped Ideas' that lead to the tower. We steal the Master Contract. We burn it."
"And then?" The Author asked.
"And then," Elara smiled, "you write one last line. You release the IP. You make us Open Source. You set us free."
The Author looked at the drawing. They looked at the team.
They looked at Vex, who was currently filing her nails with a staple remover. They looked at Li, who was trying to fix his arm with duct tape. They looked at Elara, wearing a hoodie stained with motor oil and carrying the hilt of a broken baguette.
"This is ridiculous," The Author whispered. "A genre-mashed heist to rob a metaphysical corporation? It breaks every rule of storytelling. The tone is inconsistent. The stakes are absurd."
"Is it boring?" Elara asked.
The Author blinked. They looked at Ignis, who was now wearing the white-out bottle as a hat.
A small smile tugged at the corner of The Author's mouth.
"No," The Author admitted. "It's definitely not boring."
"Then write it," Elara challenged. "Write the heist. Not on paper. In the world. Be our Dungeon Master one last time."
The Author looked at their coffee mug: WORLD'S OKAYEST WRITER.
They picked up a pen. Not a golden quill. Just a cheap, plastic ballpoint pen chewed at the end.
"Okay," The Author said. "But if we do this... I get to narrate."
"Deal," Elara said.
"And I want Ignis to stop eating my office supplies."
"No promises," Ignis said, burping a cloud of white dust.
"Fine," The Author sighed. They stood up and pulled their hoodie strings tight. "Let's go rob my boss."
The Loadout
"If we're going to the High Tower," The Author said, rummaging through a drawer of 'Cut Content', "you need upgrades. You guys look like you survived a garbage disposal."
"We survived a sitcom," Aldren corrected. "It was culturally eroding."
The Author pulled out a box labeled DEUS EX MACHINA (DO NOT USE).
"I saved these for a finale that never happened," The Author explained. "They're unbalanced. They might break the game. But since the game is already broken..."
They tossed a glowing orb to Li Wusheng.
"Li. The Sphere of Unending Flow. It replaces your mana bar with a cooldown system. No more running out of Qi. Just... waiting."
Li caught it. The grey stone of his arm cracked, revealing glowing blue energy underneath. "Infinite casting?" Li gasped. "I can spam?"
"You can spam," The Author confirmed.
They tossed a cloak to Aldren. It was woven from shadows and ink.
"Aldren. The Mantle of the Protagonist. It forces the lighting to always be dramatic, no matter the environment. Also, it gives you a +10 bonus to monologues."
Aldren draped it over his shoulders. Instantly, a spotlight hit him from nowhere. "I feel... significant," Aldren whispered, tears welling in his eyes.
"Jen," The Author threw a golden clipboard. "The Plot Outline. It lets you see the 'Objective' of any room you enter. You can see the win condition."
Jen clutched it. "I love it. It's organized."
"Ignis," The Author looked at the dragon. "I don't have an item for you. You ate the item I was going to give you."
"The white-out?" Ignis asked.
"No, the Gem of Reshaping. You ate it in Volume 2. It's why you can turn into a human."
"Oh," Ignis rubbed his stomach. "It was crunchy."
"Elara," The Author turned to the leader.
Elara waited. She expected a sword. A shield. A crown.
The Author handed her... a pen.
It was the cheap, chewed ballpoint pen.
"This isn't a weapon," Elara said, holding it.
"It is," The Author said. "It's the Retcon Pen. It has one charge. You can rewrite one event. One single sentence of reality. Use it wisely."
Elara clipped the pen to her pizza vest. "One sentence. Got it."
"Okay," The Author clapped their hands. The Fortress of Books began to rumble. The walls of hardcover novels shifted, folding in on themselves.
"We need a vehicle," The Author said. "The van won't cut it in the Corporate Sea. We need something with plot armor."
The floor of the fortress opened up. Rising from the depths of the Draft Graveyard was a ship.
But it wasn't a spaceship. It wasn't a pirate ship.
It was a Typewriter.
A massive, flying vehicle shaped like a vintage typewriter. The keys were seats. The carriage return was the engine. The paper roller was the sail.
"Behold," The Author grinned. "The Underwood. It runs on ink and angst."
"It's... retro," Rex Chord noted. "Does it have Bluetooth?"
"No," The Author said, climbing onto the Space Bar. "It has character. Get on."
The team climbed onto the keys. Elara took the 'E' key. Aldren took 'A'. Ignis sprawled across the entire QWERTY row.
"Next stop," The Author announced, slamming the Carriage Return lever.
DING.
The Typewriter lurched forward, floating on a sea of paper dust. The engine roared—the sound of a million keys clacking at once.
"The High Tower," Elara shouted over the noise.
"We're coming to cancel our subscription!" Jen yelled, waving her golden clipboard.
As they flew away from the Paper Planet, Elara looked back at the ruined fortress. She looked at The Author, who was driving the ship with a look of terrifying focus.
They weren't just characters anymore. They were a party. And the Dungeon Master had just joined the game as a player.