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Two forms dance around an impossibly massive space. From a distance, they could barely be considered dots, yet each time the forms collide, there is a massive wave of power which threatens to tear apart reality itself. This very chapter sits at the border of cracking apart.
“Why won’t you die?” I curse, striking down onto your sword, causing a massive wave of power to explode out, sending another wave of hairpin cracks to form across the edges of infinity.
“I’m the reader! Which one of us you want to die? All of us?” You shoot back. “On that note, can you even say you’ve written something if there is no one there to read it?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I scream, my sword flashing down again in several quick strikes.
You dodge it, zooming through the infinite space as I shoot beams of fire and ice out towards you. These beams seem to melt before they even reach you. You continue to dodge, dip, dive, and dodge, avoiding everything I can throw. Each time my attacks are dodged, I grow more furious.
“Dude, you’re kind of loosing it, do you need a nap?”
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” I scream, launching dozens of attacks that you avoid, seemingly growing easier the longer you go.
“You’re not even hitting me, shouldn’t you be giving up?”
“Damn it, you fucking readers are so damn slippery. I attack one of you, and then another takes their place!” I shriek. “Isn’t it just like you?”
“What is that now? You still have shit to say?”
“Every time I launch an attack, you always hide behind someone else!” I snarl. “I attack some of you, and the ones who don’t even have anything to do with it answer and take offense despite not even being the ones I had a problem with. That’s why you’re so good at this. That’s why you stick around like a cockroach, no matter who I attack, it’s always intended for someone else. You dance around like insects, avoiding every hit I deliver.”
“Is this some heavily loaded metaphor?” You ponder.
“Metaphor? Shit, I’ve got idiots who don’t even read my novels clicking Whizzer surveys. You’d think that wouldn’t be many, but I got almost 5% of my surveys back from people who don’t even read my books? That’s the kind of shit I have to constantly deal with. Those of you who are the problem will never realize it, and those of you who aren’t will take offense for something you weren’t even involved with!”
You shake your head. “You’re just talking nonsense now. How about just finishing the story and ending this little psychotic break?”
“Little psychotic break? Little? You think I’m doing this just for me? I’m doing this for all of the writers out there. You assholes will just go on to the next writer once we’re done here. You’re like locusts. You just consume, consume, consume. You scurry around in a crowd of nameless pawns that is always hungry and always biting, and as soon as you consume a work, you’re just on to the next one. Is it any wonder the quality is shit? Is it any wonder us writers are bled dry? If I don’t set you in your place, you’ll just go on to the next writer and suck them dry!
“That’s the fundamental truth! You’re the monsters! You’re the villains! You, reader, you have lead to this ending!”
“Oh, blah, blah, blah… readers bad! Are you done?” You ask.
“Die!” I scream, coming at you again, sending several massive suns at you.
You deflect the massive bodies of fire and send them spiraling off. They collapse into blackholes, creating massive supernovas which decorate the landscape. I create waves of evil, waves of monsters, waves of plot contrivance, and each thing I send your way is defeated with a wave of your hand or a snide comment. As I grow more desperate, my attacks begin to grow more sluggish. My imagination, my desires, my wants, they are all drained on you. I can only do so much. In the end, there is only one of me, and there is so many of you.
I cry and scream, trying to change the nature of this story, but I already know you’re right. This story was written for you to read it. I can’t destroy you without destroying the story. As I collapse to the ground, falling to my knees, the universe starts to reform. The world appears under your feet once again. The city of Riun re-solidifies. The castle you made comes back, all of the harem girls appear. I’m in the middle of the courtyard, sitting on my knees, breathing hard, covered in sweat as PoC reforms as if I have accomplished nothing.
“What now?” You ask, scratching the back of your head.
“I’ve… threatened you. Tried to replace you. Nagged you. Insulted you. Tried to kill you. Yet… still, you’re here. Still, you’re reading. This was my story… mine! I’ve spend a hundred times longer writing it than you did reading it.”
“I’ve been with it since the beginning. Every day, I’m the one posting it. I’ve read it. I’ve invested money into it. This… this is my story…”
“…” You frown, not sure what I’m getting at.
I sigh, standing back up. “I can’t end this story on my terms, I think. I’m done. I can’t keep on.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it, Power of Creation is over?”
“Hehe… you piece of shit… you think I’d let you end it that easily?” I raise my hands into fists. “This fight it to the death!”
“Come! Let us end this the way it was meant to be! All of you… against me!”