Chapter 65: War of Fiction: Part 2 - First Blood

When pages collide the multiverse bleeds the place was called zero zone an ancient junction point, between genres, between styles, between voices once neutral once respected today, reduced to a battlefield the sky there was black with ink, as if it had been improperly closed. the clouds still carried fragments of erased dialogues trees grew on typographic roots, their leaves trembling at the slightest punctuation dnd the ground, rough yet virgin, awaited its first scream it was there that the three great narrative factions deployed their soldiers not to talk, but to engrave the war into the very fabric of existence The Manga Team opened the dance they burst forth with crashing sounds, sharp angles, grave faces, and overt stylistic effects a samurai with a name too long, whose sword contained thirty narrative arcs a priestess with explosive tears, each emotion triggering a visual spell a shapeshifting high schooler, with thirteen transformations and a single goal: to be the last one standing. "Ultimate dramatic arc chapter 1000!" and the sky was crisscrossed with black lines, stretched taut like nerves about to snap then, a dissonance, a laugh that didn't fit, a sonic absurdity the cartoon team entered, bells on their feet, disorder in their hands a goat in bacon armor sang off-key a humor-manipulating duck launched punchlines like grenades an immortal clown, with a quantum balloon-hammer, spun on himself, overturning the logic of his own movement "Mega chaos Inverted gag!" missiles turned into pies manga spells ricocheted off "Dramatic pause" panels gravity itself was folded like a poorly framed panel the world swayed, and then… silence a bottomless calm a slow retreat, like a held breath The Novel Team entered, without fanfare a king without a kingdom, dressed in a cloak of unpublished quotes an invisible narrator, whose voice made the scenery tremble with every syllable; and a girl with deadly steps, each advance erasing a metaphor around her they did not strike."Eraseable chapter activated." and the ground itself reset again and again, like a paragraph rewritten in the anguish of a good beginning then the encyclopedic world screamed words melted like wax under a wandering sun, narratives scattered, out of their structures. concepts drowned, unable to find their definition a planet made of children's stories was swept away by a shōnen-toon combo, without intention, without malice, just by impact. In its place, a naked, trembling arena formed: the lost prologue, a ground without a past, a frame without a page in the heights where the invisible governs, they watched. Zeus, motionless, hand on a hesitant lightning bolt. Odin, mouth closed, ravens silent. Ra, solar eye dimmed with worry. Amaterasu, light withdrawn into herself. Morpheus, dreams frozen in a tense sleep and around them, the Lightning Gods: Kael, back straight, sword still in its scabbard, but gaze ready to judge. Diva, the wind absent beneath her steps, arms crossed. Destiny, eyes turned towards a future he preferred not to read. Kaela, radiant with cosmic calm, yet silent as the night before creation. Rose, stable, poised, holding her hammer without raising it, as if waiting for someone to dare. Dante, withdrawn, a burning shadow, his gaze fixed on the battlefield, one hand clenched around a fragment of silence. And Saphira, her eyes fixed on a point no one else seemed to perceive the gods did not move because no law had yet been broken, but the thrones trembled, and The Primordial Mother, softly, opened an eye, and that was the first blood a newly introduced Light Novel Hero dashed forward he was already reciting his past, preparing his move, calling upon his destiny, but an animated joke crossed the space, a manga technique crashed into him at the same moment, and at the intersection of gag and style, he was erased not killed, not wounded erased his cry didn't say "ouch" it said "I don't want to disappear." but he vanished, and everywhere, on all the pages where his name had been written, a strange thing happened a void, a blank, the sensation of having known someone but being unable to say who thus fell the first hero of fiction, not by combat, but by oblivion.

End of Chapter 65 - War of Fiction: Part 2 - First Blood