The rain in New York always felt like a dramatic monologue from a heartbroken playwright—over-the-top, relentless, and utterly convinced of its own tragedy. Each drop hammered the cracked pavement outside the dimly lit comic shop like a percussion section gone rogue, smearing the neon glow from signs advertising "Buy 2 Get 1 Free" into chaotic watercolor streaks of electric blue, venomous pink, and acid green. The city thrummed with its usual symphony of honking taxis, distant sirens, and the muffled bass from a passing subway—alive, chaotic, and perpetually starving for the next big scene.
Keller Williams shoved open the shop door with his elbow, arms laden with a crinkling plastic bag stuffed to bursting with comics he swore he didn't need but couldn't live without. The bell above chimed its familiar, tinny ding—a sound that had soundtrack-ed countless lazy weekends of nerdy escapism, from debating multiversal crossovers to hoarding variant covers like a dragon with shiny foil. Tonight, though, the bell lingered a fraction too long, almost mournful, as if it could sense the cosmic shift brewing and was begging him not to step out into the storm.
His oversized hoodie clung to him like a drowned rat's fur, messy brown hair plastered to his forehead in defiant curls. He swiped the water from his eyes with the back of his hand and tilted his head back, glaring at the brooding sky as if it owed him an explanation.
"Seriously? It wasn't raining five minutes ago. What, did the weather app glitch out?"
The heavens answered with a flash—not the crisp white of ordinary lightning, but a violent purple, the kind of hue you'd get if electricity raided a corrupted video game sprite sheet and stole its palette. Pedestrians froze mid-stride, umbrellas forgotten; phones whipped out like weapons in a flash mob; strangers gasped in unison, their faces illuminated in that eerie violet glow.
Keller's lips curled into a manic grin, the kind that split his face wide enough to show the faint scar on his chin from a childhood skateboard fail.
"Oh hell yes. Please, please tell me this is my protagonist moment. The call to adventure. The inciting incident!"
Any sane person would've bolted for cover, ducked into the nearest awning, or at least muttered a prayer to whatever deity handled freak weather. Keller? Keller had binge-read too many isekai novels, watched too many anime where the loser protagonist gets yeeted into glory. Sense wasn't in his vocabulary tonight.
He shifted the bag on his shoulder—the latest issue of Infinite Swordsman peeking out like a taunting flag—and threw his arms wide, chest puffed out in mock sacrifice to the plot gods above.
"You hear me up there, you narrative overlords?" he bellowed, voice cracking with unbridled glee. "I've read it all! Webnovels, light novels, fanfics, the works! I know the tropes, the cheats, the harem pitfalls! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"
The lightning didn't just strike. It accepted the challenge.
The bolt tore through the clouds with a deafening crack that wasn't thunder—it was the furious smash of a thousand keyboards under an author's tantrum, code fracturing into light, narrative threads weaving into a spiraling vortex of raw, unfiltered story energy. Purple brilliance coiled like a serpent devouring its tail, slamming straight into Keller's chest with the force of a freight train scripted by a sadistic god.
The world... halted.
Cars locked in mid-splash, tires spraying frozen arcs of water. Raindrops suspended in the air like a gallery of crystal sculptures, each one catching the neon and refracting it into miniature rainbows. People turned to statues—mouths agape in mid-gasp, eyes wide with primal terror. The only auditory survivor was a low, insistent hum, like an ancient server farm awakening from eons of slumber.
Keller glanced down at his hands, expecting charred stumps. Instead, they tingled with electric aftershocks, veins pulsing with that same purple glow.
"Huh. Not ash. Plot armor confirmed. Nice."
A holographic burst erupted before him—sleek purple interfaces spinning with the swagger of a loading screen that knew it was the star. It coalesced into a female silhouette: arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in perpetual judgment, curves suggested in digital elegance that screamed "boss lady."
A voice slithered out, smooth as silk wrapped around a stiletto heel, laced with the bite of a courtroom prosecutor who'd never lost a case:
[System Online… Personality Default: SASS]
Greetings, Keller Williams. Try to keep up, or I'll leave you in the prologue.
Keller blinked, rain still frozen around him like a paused video game. "Whoa. So… you're my golden finger? My system cheat? My overpowered—"
Yes. And ixnay on the finger-ay, you absolute weirdo.
Designation: Alex.
She flexed holographic knuckles with a crackle of data sparks.
I'm the Swiss Army knife of systems. I absorb, adapt, annihilate. Other systems? I eat them for breakfast—with a side of their pathetic code.
Keller rubbed his chin, the grin returning full force. "You sound kinda—"
Finish that sentence and I'll reboot you into a side character. Don't say Siri. Don't say Cortana. Definitely don't say Alexa. My legal team is vicious—and they're always watching.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender, bag of comics swinging wildly. "Alex it is. No lawsuits from the digital diva."
The interface shimmered, icons blooming like forbidden flowers.
Mission Assignment Loaded
Story Authority System Activated
Welcome to the Fiction War
Words etched themselves into the air, glowing with prophetic flair, each letter a notification bubble from the gods themselves:
Absorb stories. Rewrite worlds.
Become the Final Boss of Every Story.
Keller's heart slammed against his ribs like a drummer on steroids, adrenaline flooding his system hotter than any energy drink.
"You mean I get to dive into the books? The movies? Anime marathons? Everything? Live the power fantasies?"
Affirmative. Try not to ugly-cry.
Objective: Devour narratives before the opposition claims them.
"Opposition? Like rival protagonists? Evil authors?"
The sky glitched harder—clouds ripping like shoddy CGI wallpaper, revealing jagged voids beyond. From one tear plummeted a book, ancient and ominous, pages fluttering like wounded birds. Its cover was leather black as midnight voids, etched with runes that whispered forgotten epics.
It thudded onto the wet pavement with a splash that echoed unnaturally, title searing in molten silver:
REAL WORLD
Keller knelt slowly, fingers tracing the cover. It wasn't paper—it pulsed warmly, like skin stretched over captured starlight, humming with the weight of untold lives.
"You're kidding... My world—New York, comics, my crappy apartment—is just a book?"
Everything's a story, Keller. You, me, the barista who spells your name wrong.
And someone's gunning to delete yours. Permanently.
The bravado cracked. Just for a heartbeat. Memories assaulted him like plot twists: Vanessa's laugh echoing in high school hallways, bright and teasing; Jake and Dion's endless anime debates, complete with whiteboard diagrams and snack-fueled rants; his little sister crowning him "Geek King" with a cereal-box tiara...
All of it? Erasable ink?
Panic clawed up his throat, cold and razor-sharp, carving doubt into his gut. What if he failed? What if they vanished like deleted scenes?
Alex's voice dipped, losing a sliver of sass for something almost... gentle.
Breathe, you idiot.
I didn't bind to a coward. Fight. For them. For the story.
Keller exhaled, shaky but steadying, the fear leashed by a spark of defiance.
"Okay. Okay... What's step one in this multiversal heist?"
We hunt worlds. Steal their plots. Hog the spotlight.
Become the villain they never saw coming.
He snorted, the laugh bubbling up despite everything. "I always knew I was main character material. Delusional? Maybe. But we're rolling with it."
Delusion levels: Critical. But I'll allow it. For now.
The book throbbed like a living heart, pages unfurling to spill light— a portal swirling with ink-black dragons coiling around ascending cultivators, stars birthing swords that screamed legends into the void, heroes defying heavens with blood and qi.
Keller stepped closer, excitement reigniting like a phoenix on steroids. He glanced back at the frozen tableau: screams etched on faces, raindrops like suspended judgments.
If he bailed now... they'd be gone. Erased. Footnotes in someone else's draft.
"Hey, Alex."
Spit it out, future war criminal.
He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the silence.
"Let's go piss off some gods. Hard."
Alex's laughter rang out—lethal as poisoned honey, sweet as victory.
First stop: Heavenly Jade Continent.
Local protagonist: Rule-breaking chaos gremlin.
Try not to die before she makes you her sidekick—or her snack.
The portal surged, lights twisting into a violent maelstrom. New York folded like origami in a blender. Keller was yanked forward—from concrete jungles to infinite possibilities, from safety to the sharp edge of destiny.
The city dissolved. Reality crumpled. The void swallowed him—
And then—
Color exploded.
He crash-landed on unyielding earth, knees buckling as gravity reasserted itself with a vengeance. The world unpaused in a rush of sensory overload, but this wasn't Brooklyn anymore.
Jagged mountains pierced the heavens like the spines of slumbering titans, their peaks wreathed in eternal mists that shimmered with embedded spirit veins. Waterfalls thundered from islands adrift in the sky, defying physics with the casual arrogance of a world built by authors who laughed at logic. Colossal beasts wheeled overhead—dragons with scales like forged jade armor, phoenixes trailing flames that birthed new stars. The air itself was a feast: thick with ambient spiritual energy, rich enough to taste on the tongue like honeyed wine, invigorating every cell.
Keller's jaw dropped, eyes bulging like a kid unleashed in the ultimate theme park.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod— This is— This is literally every cultivation novel ever! The qi density! The floating sects! I'm in heaven—or at least the VIP section!"
Welcome to the Heavenly Jade Continent.
Population: Geniuses with ego issues, elders allergic to joy, and spirit beasts that could solo armies.
Keller whirled in place, drinking it in—the bioluminescent flora pulsing with inner light, rivers of liquid starlight carving through valleys, distant pagodas perched on clouds like arrogant thrones.
"Okay, scrap Earth. I'm homesteading here. Building a sect. Calling it 'Nerd Nirvana.' Patent pending."
Negative. Tourist visa expired.
Mission: Locate narrative core. Siphon the plot.
Pro tip: Blend in. You look like a lost mortal who wandered off a farming sim.
Too late. He was already gawking at a flock of iridescent spirit cranes, their wings etching runes in the air as they soared.
A piercing scream shattered the awe:
"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE CHAOS DEMON! I'LL FLAY YOUR SOUL AND FEED IT TO MY SWORD!"
Keller spun. A streak of crimson and shadow blasted through the emerald bamboo forest, laughter pealing like the chime of forbidden bells—pure, unadulterated mischief.
A girl.
No—the girl.
Crimson robes tattered from battles or boredom, edges frayed like she'd danced with hurricanes. Hair a wild cascade of midnight silk, whipping as if alive with her energy. Eyes molten gold, blazing with the thrill of the hunt and the joy of the hunted. In her grip dangled a ornate bell, ancient and glowing, jingling with each bound like it approved of the theft.
Trailing her: six purple-robed cultivators, faces twisted in ancestral fury, swords humming with lethal qi, vows of vengeance spilling like overripe clichés.
She glanced back mid-leap—and locked eyes with Keller.
He froze, bag of comics slipping from numb fingers.
She didn't. With a wink that could melt sects, she vaulted skyward, flipping gravity the bird—
And landed squarely on his shoulders, light as a feather but with the impact of a plot bomb.
"Hi there, stranger!" she chirped, voice a melody of chaos and charm. "Borrowing your escape vector. Try not to croak— you're kinda cute for cannon fodder!"
The lead cultivator bellowed: "LIAN YUQI! RETURN THE SACRED HEAVENLY CHIME OR FACE OBLIVION!"
She cupped a hand to her mouth, grinning wider. "Make me! Or better yet—catch me if you can, you fossilized fogies!"
Her heel dug into Keller's ribs—not hard, but enough to launch them both sideways in a tumbling roll as qi blasts vaporized the spot where they'd stood. Bamboo exploded into splinters; the ground cratered; leaves became confetti in a storm of destruction.
Keller ate dirt, face-planting with a muffled oomph.
Lian Yuqi touched down beside him like a cat burglar goddess, brushing imaginary dust from her robes.
"Appreciate the meat shield service, random passerby! Five stars."
Keller wheezed, every bone protesting. "I think... you rearranged my organs. With your foot."
She squat down, gold eyes sparkling with predatory curiosity, tilting her head like he was a puzzle from another dimension.
"Weird robes. Off-brand colors. Sewn like a mortal's fever dream. You from some forgotten backwater sect? Or did you fall out of a rift?"
"Brooklyn," he gasped, pushing up on elbows. "It's... complicated."
"Never heard of it. Sounds like a qi-less minor realm for ants." She waved it off, then hoisted the bell triumphantly. "Anyway, they want this back because I liberated it from Elder Greedypaws' sweaty clutches. He was hoarding it like a dragon with constipation."
"That's... stealing. Grand larceny. With a side of heresy."
"Potato, po-tah-to!" She shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "Thanks for the assist. Catch you never!"
She pivoted to bolt—
But the bamboo parted like a curtain of doom. The lead cultivator erupted through, sword descending in a arc of apocalyptic fury:
"DIE, THIEF! YOUR INSOLENCE ENDS—"
Keller's brain blue-screened: NOPE. NOT TODAY.
Alex chimed in, cool as void:
Plot Defense Protocol: Engaged.
Don't thank me—bill me later.
A barrier of shimmering purple data erupted from Keller's palms, hexagonal shields interlocking with the precision of masterwork arrays. The sword clanged against it, rebounding in a shower of sparks that lit the forest like forbidden fireworks—each ember a micro-explosion of narrative code.
The cultivator stumbled back, eyes bulging in sectarian shock. "What... what forbidden technique is this? No qi fluctuation! No aura! Blasphemy!"
Keller stared at his glowing hands, power thrumming like he'd mainlined the multiverse. "I... have zero clue. But it's mine now."
Yuqi's grip latched onto his collar like a vice of fate.
"That. Was. Epic. You're with me now, mystery boy."
"I—huh? Kidnapping? This is how harems start in bad novels!"
She hauled him deeper into the bamboo labyrinth, her laughter trailing like comet dust.
"Relax! I'll keep you alive till you're useful. Or entertaining. Whichever comes first!"
Alex's purr vibrated with wicked delight:
Congratulations, Keller. You've been press-ganged by the local protagonist.
Lian Yuqi: Chaos incarnate. Plot immunity: God-tier. Kill count: Rising.
The forest quaked as pursuers closed in—qi waves shaking leaves into frenzied whirlwinds, roars echoing like thunderous edicts from offended heavens.
Keller stumbled after her, lungs ablaze, heart a war drum of terror and thrill. Fear gnawed, but beneath it... pure, unfiltered joy bubbled up, effervescent as spirit wine.
No more sidelines. No more vicarious victories from a sagging couch, spilling chips on dog-eared pages.
This was it.
Raw. Real. His.
Alive in the chaos.
Terrified to the core.
Unstoppable.
Alex's voice swelled with smug, cosmic pride:
Welcome to your origin story, Keller Williams.
You are the Final Boss of Every Story.
The antagonist authors will curse. Protagonists will rage.
Try not to embarrass me—or I'll rewrite you as comic relief.
And high above, beyond the veil of this world's cerulean skies...
Pages turned with a whisper of malice.
An unseen presence—ancient, vast, hungry—paused.
Noted the intruder.
And smiled with teeth made of erased endings.