All Chapters of Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Light swallowed us as soon as my fingers touched the arch.Not the blinding, clean white of code‑space, or the deep black of ink.Something in between—like looking at a screen up too close, individual pixels searing my vision without ever resolving into a clear picture.For a heartbeat, I thought the door hadn’t worked.Then shapes began to coalesce.Half‑formed, half‑erased.A fragment of the Core room appeared in front of us, then jittered, flickered, and became three overlapping versions at once.In one, I saw myself and Corvin standing shoulder‑to‑shoulder before the pillar, much like we had outside—but older, maybe. More scared. My hair was longer. His clothes were different—armor from some world I hadn’t walked through yet.In another, we were separated by a chasm of shattered code—him on one floating platform, me on another, both reaching toward the same central node.In a third, everything was on fire.Planets—miniature world‑spheres—cracked and burned, spilling streams of lig

The Hall didn’t give us time to catch our breath.One second, Jax and Selene were stepping back toward the main corridor, doors winking out around them in a cascade of fading light. The next, the floor lurched under all of us—me, Corvin, Jax, Selene—as if some enormous hand had grabbed the whole structure and shaken.The doors with our names blinked once, labels stuttering.Then the world yanked.It wasn’t like the bus transitions, that disorienting blink‑and‑you’re‑elsewhere jump.This felt like being jerked backward on invisible hooks.The Hall collapsed around us—the long lines of arches smeared into streaks, colors and labels stretching and snapping. For a heartbeat, we were nowhere and everywhere, tumbling through half‑loaded renderings of rooms and corridors and arenas.Then our feet hit stone.Real.Solid.The core chamber reassembled around us in a nauseating snap.We were back where it had all started: the pillar in the center, consoles around, the big screen still dark from

The Core Storm wasn’t calming.If anything, it was getting more vicious.Fragments sheared off and reappeared at cruel angles. A strip of Dracula corridor twisted ninety degrees mid‑air, turning into a vertical wall we had to scramble up before it rotated again. A slab of carnival floor undercut by ink snapped like a trap, almost swallowing Jax’s foot.The pillar at the center of it all pulsed harder and harder, its light bands running too fast, colors strobing from white to sickly green to blood‑warm red. The author conduit between it and my chest tugged with every beat—an insistent, draining pull.It wasn’t just drawing power from me.It was trying to bleed me out.I landed on a chunk of castle parapet, boots skidding on wet stone that had no business being wet in this room. The next tile over was a gondola car from the Ferris wheel, hanging half over nothing, swaying madly.“Willa!” Jax yelled, pipe up as he smashed a half‑formed drone that had clawed its way out of a neon alley se

For a long time, I didn’t move.Warmth.That was the first thing my body registered.Not the sticky, feverish heat of running for your life, not the electric burn of the Core. Gentle warmth, sinking into my skin from below—mattress, sheets, sunlight.Sunlight.Real, I thought first.Then, grudgingly, *real enough*.Birdsong threaded through the air, high and bright. No mechanical hum under it. No distant crowd roar. It's just a lazy, slightly off‑beat melody from something with feathers and absolutely no interest in my trauma. One trill in the song was… wrong, somehow—a "note a fraction sharp," like a recording glitched for half a second, and then smoothed over.My eyes stayed closed.Part of me was afraid that if I opened them, I’d see castle stones or neon sky or the inside of a bus.Part of me was afraid that if I *didn’t* open them, I’d never get another chance to see anything new at all.Sheets brushed my bare arms when I shifted.Soft. Cotton, not hospital‑stiff. They smelled fa

I didn’t ask him right away.For a few hours after the rain test, I went through the motions.Answered a couple more emails. Pretended to tweak a paragraph on the blank doc, then closed the laptop when my skin crawled too much at the cursor’s steady blink. Washed a dish I’d barely used.All the while, the Game’s hiss echoed in the back of my mind.WHY WON’T YOU JUST REST?Because you made “rest” a weapon, I thought.Evening came on with a little too much theatrical timing—golden hour slanting perfectly across the living room, catching dust motes in a way any cinematographer would weep over.Corvin came home fifteen minutes after the sun hit the couch at the right angle.That alone told me what I needed to know.Normal life doesn’t hit its marks that precisely.He dropped his keys in the bowl.Toed off his shoes.Same as the day before.“Hey,” he called. “How’d the writing go?”I was sitting on the couch, laptop closed on the coffee table, TV off. The room felt like a stage waiting for