Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
At first, it was just… mass.
Piled tomes, some leather‑bound, some cheap paperbacks, some thick, cracked hardcovers. They stacked themselves, spines grinding against spines, pages fusing together, bindings bursting, until they made a torso.
Arms built themselves from arrhythmic columns of volumes, hands of splayed, stiffened pages whose edges glinted sharp as blades. Chains meandered out of the mess—hundreds of bookmarks, metal and ribbon and cord, weaving themselves into links that wrapped around the book‑body like restraints turned adornment.