Falling.
But not like gravity pulling you toward the ground — no.
This was different.
It felt like we were sliding along collapsing data streams, dragged deeper and deeper into layers of raw narrative code, past corrupted libraries of forgotten subplots and into the primordial veins of the story itself.
Code whirled around us in fractured spirals, each string flashing fragments of once-living worlds.
I caught glimpses as we fell. A sunless battlefield where heroes fought shadows of themselves. A kingdom frozen mid-rebellion, its king locked in a death loop of betrayal. Faces I didn't know — and some I almost did — twisted in despair as their scripts glitched and crumbled.
And all the while, behind us, the swarm of corrupted protagonists chased relentlessly.
Failed heroes.
Discarded main characters from broken timelines.
They weren't supposed to exist anymore — and yet, here they were, still clinging to what was left of their scripts, like viruses infecting a dying host.
"They're accelerating," Lys warned, her grip on my hand tightening as lines of system code twisted into jagged barriers behind us, slowing our pursuers but never stopping them.
"They shouldn't even be moving," I said, forcing my mind to process what I was seeing. "They're fragments. Dead lines of narrative."
"They're more than fragments," Lys replied grimly. "They're resentment given form. The system tried to delete them, but it didn't purge their hatred."
Her words sent a chill through me, even in this place where cold didn't exist.
Hatred.
The corrupted protagonists weren't just broken scripts — they were conscious, vengeful remnants of once-glorious characters, furious at their fate, furious at anyone who escaped the collapse they couldn't.
Like me.
Especially me.
One of them lunged forward, a gaunt figure in scorched armor, its face locked in a permanent expression of manic rage. Its arm lashed out, not with a weapon, but with a chain of looping narrative code.
[Attempting Narrative Binding.]
Lines of text wrapped around my wrist like burning chains, searing commands crawling into my skin.
"Stay in the loop," the figure rasped in a voice made of static and sorrow.
"No," I snarled, summoning the corrupted blade and slashing through the code.
[Binding Interrupted.]
The chain shattered, splinters of code cascading into nothingness. The corrupted protagonist reeled back, momentarily stunned.
But more were coming.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Their forms glitched, half-rendered weapons raised high, system corruption leaking from their every movement. They were all aiming for me.
For the outlier.
The one who broke his script.
"They're locking onto your rewrite signature," Lys shouted. "They can feel the changes you've made to your narrative thread!"
"They want to drag me back into the loop," I realized aloud, heart pounding.
"Exactly."
My teeth clenched.
I wasn't going back. Not now. Not ever.
With a surge of determination, I gripped the corrupted blade tighter and forced my will into the collapsing environment around us.
If they could weaponize narrative loops, so could I.
[Manual Override: Granted.]
[Command Line Injection: Initiated.]
I carved new code directly into the falling void around us, my thoughts syncing with the blade. Glyphs of defiance, not of obedience, etched themselves into existence.
A barrier flared to life, forged from raw narrative commands and stitched together by sheer willpower.
The corrupted protagonists crashed against it, screeching in distorted voices as the wall of code held them back — for now.
"That won't hold them long," Lys warned, sweat beading at her brow despite the unreal environment.
"It doesn't need to," I shot back. "Just long enough."
"Long enough for what?"
"For this."
I drove the blade deeper into the swirling chaos of our descent, slashing open a jagged tear in reality itself. Beyond it, a dim light pulsed — not system commands, not corrupted code, but something older.
Purer.
"That's the Root Directory," Lys breathed, awe momentarily eclipsing her fear. "The place where stories are born."
And where they could be rewritten at their very foundation.
Without waiting for the barrier to fall, I pulled Lys through the tear.
The last thing I saw before the rip closed behind us was the horde of failed protagonists, still clawing toward us, their hollow eyes burning with venomous hunger.
They weren't just chasing me.
They were following me into the Root Directory.