Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
A sense of self—Willa, Author, bus girl, horror writer, dead woman, almost‑living again—tore loose from its anchor and flew, dragged along on the shockwave as the pen punched through the center of the Game.
For a heartbeat, it felt like I had written a single, brutal command across the fabric of everything:
DETONATE.
EVERYTHING.
NOTHING LEFT.
The last thing I felt was the ink‑cords around my wrists disintegrating into dust.
The last thing I saw was Corvin’s face, thrown into stark relief by the blinding light, mouth forming my name.
Then the library—shelves, books, ghosts, drones, friends, monster, *everything*—