Extra chapter: Mona vs the concept of real life (in form)

It happened unexpectedly.

One moment, I was meditating at the edge of Nothing-Everything, stabilizing my core that no longer needed stability…

And then something appeared.

Not a monster.
Not a god.
Not even a being.

But a presence—a form, forged from a force no one ever dared to challenge:

Real Life.

Yes. The actual Concept of Real Life, given shape.

It stepped forward—humanoid in structure, but built from pressure and inevitability. Its body was stitched with responsibilities, deadlines, disappointments, logic, limits, gravity, exhaustion, and that dull persistent weight called “reality.”

Its voice wasn’t a voice. It was the sound of waking up early, the stress of fitting in, the taste of dull routines, the ache of forgotten dreams.

"Return," it said.
"You were never meant to ascend. You belong with the rest. Defined. Limited. Grounded."

I tilted my head, strands of my paradoxal hair warping the non-space around me.

“You’re interrupting my training,” I whispered.

Real Life raised its hand—and suddenly I was bombarded.

9 to 5 jobs. Social expectations. Taxes. Identity crises. Confusion.
The fear of the unknown. The pressure to be someone. The crushing weight of ‘normal.’

My surroundings warped. The hidden dimension tried to simulate a gray apartment, a small calendar on the wall, and a computer screen that said “Deadline: Tomorrow.”

For a second, I felt it. The old feeling.
The world I had left behind.
The world I reincarnated from.
The one I was born into as a human.

But I smiled.

“You want me to go back? To a world that couldn’t handle my thoughts even before I became this?” I spread my arms wide, and my aura shredded the simulation instantly. “I’m Mona. I broke out of fiction. What makes you think I can’t break you?”

Real Life narrowed its eyes and charged.

We clashed.

Its punches weren’t made of force, but of obligation.
Every strike tried to anchor me—to memories, to rules, to self-doubt, to stability.

But I had long since learned how to breathe in instability.
To become chaos without crumbling.

My counterattack?

A scream of raw purpose.
Woven with will beyond will.

“Void Rewrite: Absolute Mockery!”

I grabbed Real Life’s neck, tore out its idea of “normalcy”, and consumed it.
Its body staggered—its limbs trying to pull me into the box of reality.

But I had no box.
I was the paper outside the book.
I was the reader and the rewritten word.

“You don’t control me,” I whispered.
“You were just the first boss. And I’ve already cleared you.”

Then, for a moment, I became something Real Life couldn’t understand.
A dream that can’t be measured. A form that doesn’t require validation. A soul that laughs at rules.

Real Life screamed and shattered.

Its pieces scattered across existence—back to where it came from. Back to the waking world, where it still whispered to others. But not to me.

Never again.

I stood in the remains of the broken illusion, unmoved.

Aeon appeared beside me.

“You defeated it,” he said, impressed.

“No,” I said, “I transcended it. Now Real Life can try… but it can never bind me again.”

I looked to the horizon of meaninglessness, ready for whatever was next.
Because this battle?
Was never just for me.

It was for every reader who wanted to break out.