All Chapters of Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Falling didn’t feel like going down.It felt like being unhooked.The last pieces of the False‑HEA tore away around me—couch cushions, that crooked painting, the bus stop sign—all spinning off into white grid and static. For a moment, I was a scrap of data in a snow globe someone had smashed and shaken for fun.Then gravity remembered we were still telling a story.I hit… not ground.A plane.White. Cracked. Extending in every direction like an unfinished stage. Lines of grid etched it, some snapped, some half‑rendered. The space above and below was the same—vertical didn’t mean anything here.I pushed myself up on shaking arms.Floating in the air around me, like shards of a shattered mirror that had caught new images instead of the old, were… lives.Not mine this time.Each fragment hung in the void, edges faintly glowing, scenes playing on their surfaces like someone had ripped chunks of different realities out and left them suspended.To my left, on a shard the size of a door, Jax

Stepping through the door felt like walking into pure thought.There was no sense of a threshold under my boots, no physical jamb to brush my shoulder against. One second, my pen was touching a crackling script; the next, the world dropped away.We stepped into code‑space.Not the white‑box grid of the in‑between.Not any world’s skin.This was the inside of the machine.Symbols floated in the dark like schools of fish—glyphs in languages I half‑recognized from the consoles, strings of 1s and 0s, strange curls that looked older than both. Chains of script twisted into and out of each other, some hanging like vines, others running in neat, rigid columns down into a depth that had no bottom.Ghost‑images of worlds formed and collapsed in loops all around us.A flicker of Dracula’s castle, half‑rendered, then gone.The carnival’s Ferris wheel, frozen at the top, then dissolving.Blood Arena stands, crowds hazy, forming and melting like breath on glass.Everything was translucent here, as

We hit hard. Not on code this time. On something that pretended to be ground. My shoulder slammed into rough stone; air punched out of my lungs. For a second, I just lay there, cheek pressed to cold rock, every nerve jangling, the ghost of screaming code still echoing in my skull. Then, the world resolved around me. We were on a bridge. Not the clean, modern kind. A gothic monstrosity arcing out from a craggy cliff—stone slick with perpetual damp, gargoyles hunched along the rails, mouths open in silent howls. Far below, instead of a river, a neon‑flooded city sprawled, skyscrapers clawing at a sky that wasn’t sky at all. Mirrors. A dome of fractured mirrors, pieces tilting and grinding, reflecting the city and the castle and us in a thousand broken angles. Ink rained from those shards in slow, heavy drops—black streaks falling upward and downward at once, some splashing against the invisible barrier of the dome and smearing, others vanish before they hit anything.

The cracks didn’t stop at their faces.Once the first lines appeared, the fractures spread fast.Ethan’s smirk split down the middle, fissures racing over his skin like frost. My sister’s raised brow shattered into a spiderweb that crawled across her cheeks, her mouth, her eyes. For a heartbeat, they tried to keep talking, mouths moving around the same old lines.“Your little stories—”“—just a phase—”The words broke with them.Their bodies came apart in shards—glass and ink and pixels—peeling off the balcony and tumbling outward. Each fragment carried a sliver of their expressions: a curl of lip, a sliver of rolled eye, a flash of dismissive laugh. They hit the invisible dome of mirrors overhead and exploded into smaller pieces, raining down as black‑edged confetti.Where they struck the bridge, they dissolved into ink that bled words for an instant:ENOUGH NO LONGER CANON Then vanished.The balcony itself crumbled, stone chunks falling in slow‑motion arcs before disintegrating

The staircase of stone carried us deeper into the stacks, down past the labeled districts and familiar titles, into a place the library hadn’t bothered to name.The air thickened.Ink mist pooled low to the ground, clinging around our ankles like fog in an old black‑and‑white horror flick. The shelves here weren’t neat rows anymore; they twisted into spirals and crooked ribs, leaning over the path as if they were listening.At the center of it all, the glow I’d seen earlier throbbed.Not warm, not inviting.Cold.Sick.It pulsed in time with the Administrator’s ragged voice.“UNAUTHORIZED AUTHOR ACTIVITY DETECTED. ROOT ACCESS BREACH. INITIATING—INITIATING— INITI—”The words broke apart into static and shrieks.We stepped into an open space where several aisles terminated in a jagged circle, like spokes of a dismantled wheel. Above, the library’s invisible ceiling dipped low, pressing the ink‑fog into a dome.In the center hovered a mass of something that wasn’t exactly code and wasn’t