With a deep sigh, Remi followed Archie through the portal, and into a long hallway. Faded grey tile, with lockers lining the vast expanse, seemed to disappear in the distance. Every so often, there appeared to be a connecting hallway. The neon lights hurt when he looked directly at them. He averted his gaze and noticed a janitor standing with her back to him, mop sloshing in slurpy circles across the faded grey squares of the floor. The flickering hallway lights reflected on her long fingernails; peach, pink, peach, pink, and white with a painted flower in the colour on each index to keep the pattern alive.
She was most of the way around the corner of one of the connector hallways about thirty feet in front of him. She paused, leaned on the mop handle, and coughed. A dry, tired sound, as though she’d been breathing dust for decades.
“Watch your step, Nino,” she said without turning. Her voice was calm, but both hard and warm. “Floor’s wet. World’s slippery.”
When she finally glanced back at him, her eyes were dark and deep-set with the patience of one who cleans up other people’s messes for a living. There was knowledge in that gaze, like it had recorded everything and filed into a report labelled Bureaucratic Bullshit, which she had promptly placed where she felt it belonged, in her trash bin. There was a cast of permanent disappointment in the way she held her jaw, and in how her shoulders sagged just a little.
“Hello.” Remi’s was hesitant. His last encounter had nearly killed him.
“It’s okay, Nino. I’m an NPC, so you don’t have to worry about me as I can’t hurt you.” She left off the second part; it was unspoken but understood. She couldn’t hurt Remi, but he could hurt her.
“It’s okay for you too. I’m Remi.”
“You can call me Astrid, Nino.”
Remi wasn't sure why it didn’t bother him. He knew she was calling him a child, but it was in a paternal way that felt surprisingly nice to him. As he approached, he noticed an orange nameplate above her head.
Astrid Mendoza
Janitor
Crucible Cleaning Consortium
Remi strolled towards her. “I didn’t realize this world had non-player characters.”
Her response was a snort, followed by another dry cough. “We wish. NPC stands for Narrative Proxy Character. We are not constructs. We are repurposed people from your own life. People you don’t really know but have encountered. They load us with the information we need, and we play our assigned part.”
Remi could see it now. She was a teller at the bank down the street from his house. He didn't go there often. Most recently, it was to get help with an NSF check that was from an online payment misclick. She had always been nice.
“You seem pretty self-aware.” Remi was suspicious. She definitely didn’t sound like she was in character at the moment.
“Most of us aren’t. I'm, but that's so I can explain things to you. All the people in the story get a similar explanation. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Nino. After me, you're likely only going to get the full-on NPCs.”
Remi considered. “That’s too bad. People with some background knowledge could have been very useful for bending the story.”
“Agreed.” Astrid coughed again. “Sorry, likely stray bits of code getting stuck in my throat.” She winked. It was mischievous, and he knew she was giving him a hard time. “That’s for everyone’s safety. I don’t think I need to explain to a smart one like you how bad it could be if some people found out that they could get information from us. We both know some people will do anything to get what they want. Luckily, not you. You look like a good boy. Except. You’re late.” A map pulsed awake like an eyelid opening in the upper right of his view. She drew a red card from her pocket. “I'm supposed to give this to you.”
Remi looked at it. It was his late slip. It even had his name written on it. He shook his head in exasperation. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Astrid held up a hand. “Stop right there, Nino. I’ve heard it all. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Late is late. So you’d better get to class.” She showed the map that had just appeared. “Use that to help you. Also, don’t worry about the slip; you still have two more before you have to go to detention, anyway. So, no harm, no foul!”
The way she said the last word made Remi think she had spelled it differently. Like there was a joke he was missing. He was going to ask her as the rustling of paper interrupted him. He looked towards the locker just in time to see a quivering paper form pull itself from the crack between the lockers and the floor.
It sounded like pages being flipped by invisible fingers. A sound that was quickly replaced with a as Astrid’s broom crushed the bug against the ground. She swept it up, depositing it in the trash can on her cart.
“I hate those things! They are everywhere, and I’m tired of cleanin’ up every mess this place makes. Next one is yours. It’s just a bug.” She pointed down the hallway. Use your mini-map to find the stairs. Go up to floor three and keep walking down the main hallway until you find the room. Don’t go down these side hallways. You don’t want to see what runs parallel to this one.”
[New Quest - Mind the Paper Trail]
The Syllabugs are restless tonight. Tiny script-feeding insects, they scuttle between cracks in the world, gnawing on stray narrative threads and just being plain bothersome. Composed of abandoned handouts and course outlines around the school, these cast-off critters shuffle along the halls like forgotten lessons desperate to be remembered.
If left unchecked, there will be more roaches than in a Kafka novel.
Locate and eliminate 5 bad bugs.
Rewards
“Adiós, Nino. Good luck, and don’t let the bad bugs bite!” She coughed into her balled fist, but used the other to wag a finger at him as if to scold a careless student. “Remember, the world is slippery. Tread carefully.”
Her wagging finger softened into a wave. “Goodbye for now, Nino,” and then she was gone. It was like he blinked, and Astrid had never been there.
The first bug appeared almost immediately. Its ink-black carapace was etched with shifting silver glyphs. It scuttled forward on dozens of tiny stiff cone-shaped legs, each appendage a paper scrap rolled into a sharp point like a brittle thorn. As it moved, each step left faint scratches across the ground. He considered how difficult those marks would be to scrub out. No wonder Astrid hated them.
As it moved closer, Remi could see its shell flex and unfold like a paper fortune teller in nervous fingers, folding, unfolding, flicking open and shut with sharp, halting, origami precision. As he glimpsed what was beneath its outer shell, Remi caught flashes of pages inscribed with glowing half-formed words. The sound and scent of old parchment and damp books filled the air. Its antennae twitched, spraying fine droplets of ink, like drops of dew, parallel to its path, leaving a visible movement trail.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Remi wasn't sure what the big deal was with these things, really. They were large for an insect, about 4 inches, and looked to have been made from single sheets of paper. Not much to fear from an origami grasshopper. Remi thrust out his hand. Mana flared, compressing power into a tight ball that exploded forward with a sharp It was the satisfying sound of a hardcover book slamming shut. The mana pulse struck the Syllabug directly in its paper-chitin chest, tossing it backwards. It smashed against a nearby locker with a sickening snap, then it crumpled into fragmented shards of paper.
“Gross.” Remi wasn’t sure if that was much better than simply stepping on it, but maybe he had underestimated the effectiveness of Mana Pulse. He approached the still-twitching roach, leaned down to look closer. As he focused on it, a tooltip popped into his view.
[Inspect: Syllabug]
Type
HP
Description
Remi blinked as the overlay expanded, scholarly glyphs weaving across the window.
[System Message][Codex Parsing: Scholar Layer Enabled]
Classification: Academic Construct – Animus Fragment
HP
Resistances
Weaknesses
Warnings: Attempts to flee and alert nearby Syllabugs.
That caught his attention. Apparently, being a Scholar gave him extra information. Remi wondered how close he would have to be to do that pre-combat. He made a mental note to try it when he had a chance. In his distraction, he failed to notice the appearance of a second bug, likely alerted by all the noise. Before Remi could blast it, it spun around and skittered away. “Buggin’ out already? I don’t blame you.” He smiled to himself and then quickly regretted his life choices.
When Remi’s girlfriend used to find spiders in their apartment, she would have him dispose of them humanely. Often he would come home from work to find a critter trapped under a glass; with the unspoken rule that he would simply take care of it. Normally, he didn’t mind. One bug was no big deal. But he recalled one spring, when their basement suite was infested with crickets. It was one of those seven-year locust things, and while it wasn’t biblical, the number of them certainly felt that way. One night after work, he came home and put down his briefcase to see a cricket under a glass. A solo cricket encased in its own siliconite. Okay, sure. Then he turned the corner from the boot room. Two more overturned glasses, two more crickets. One more in the hallway. Four at the kitchen doorway. By the time he got to the fridge, he had counted fifteen crickets. The note on the fridge explained it all:
Ran out of glasses.
Went to stay at a friend’s house.
Too many crickets.
He had bugged her about her accidental cricket haiku, but she was firm that it was his job to deal with it. She even asked him to buy more glasses. Not because he didn’t have enough, but because she would never use those again.
Returning to the present, Remi felt dread crawl up his spine. The syllabug had scurried off—but when it returned; it didn’t come alone. Five more emerged from the shadows, making a total bug battalion of six. Their paper legs chittered against the linoleum floor. Six bugs total. “Of course,” he muttered, “and not a glass in sight!”
They emerged from beneath the lockers and a ceiling tile panel that had been knocked loose—folded forms composed of half-graded rubrics. A few had red pen marks on their backs. Some chittered. One let out a little like a jammed scanner. They spread out in a loose semicircle, blocking the hallway. “They’re not strong. But they’re many.”
It was time for him to John and Paul in this situation and break up The Beetles. He raised his hand, and, with growing confidence, sent a pulse towards the group. The air folded outward, scattering the bugs. The first syllabug was crushed against a locker as the shockwaves sent ripples through the group. Two bugs scurried away, vanishing beneath the lockers. Three left in play.
Another flailed onto its back, limbs twitching, before flipping back over and rushing towards Remi, bringing its pair of cronies.
Before he could pulse them again, they broke formation, two climbing up the walls and the other leaping at Remi’s face. He did what felt most natural in this moment and struck the bug as if it were a pinata at a Quincea?era. It burst apart, tiny paper bits shooting in a sharp spray before fluttering gently to the floor. In his distraction, the other two had made their way around him, and attacked from behind. Their tandem bites to his calves didn't hurt, but the unexpected force knocked him off balance. Remi’s HP bar took a slight downtick as he tumbled to the floor and sent his meter stick spinning down the hallway.
Two more sharp pains stung as paper teeth sliced into Remi’s legs. The two bugs that had fled earlier had come scurrying back, drawn either by sound or instinct. That meant the count was back to five. One of which leaped onto his back, while the other tangled itself between his feet.
Remi rolled onto his back to crush the freeloader. He then lifted his legs up and slammed them down on the roach that tripped him. It smushed with a squishing noise that would be an aphrodisiac to someone with a foot fetish.
The three remaining bugs regrouped in front of him, cutting him off from his weapon. , he thought. If they scattered again, they could get more friends. And while they were pretty easily crushed, with only open hallway behind them, and no physical weapon, he might be forced to step on them.
The thought was only fleeting. Absolutely not! There was no way Remi was going to be stomping creatures to death as his finishing move in here.
He wasn’t super scared; the bugs themselves weren't really menacing. So he tried out his other new spell. If Mana Lashing worked like he thought it would, he would just need to wait until the one nearest to the lockers made its move. It didn’t take long. As the three bugs surged forward, he cast Mana Lashing, targeting the locker door right beside the leftmost bug. He felt an invisible rope connecting his palm to the door. Feeling the tension there, Remi yanked with both hands. The door whipped open, slamming the syllabug in its sillyface. The momentum of the pull propelled the door forward, slamming the bug to the wall with a
The two remaining bugs pivoted, moving towards the center of the hallway to avoid the locker wall, but they stopped, leery. Remi didn't hesitate. Astrid’s cart was still nearby, about ten feet behind him. He stretched his arm behind himself, and he thought about the broom as he cast Lashing. He felt it connect, shoulder-checked, and saw a thin blue line connecting his hand to the broom handle. Success. He pulled, sending the boom shooting towards his outstretched palm. As the broom made contact, he spun back to the bugs. Using the momentum of the pull to arc the broom above himself, his right hand meeting his left, he rushed the bugs, broom held high and with a grunt of finality, he pounded the two remaining bugs into paste.
With a second lash to the cart, he pulled it next to himself, and with an efficiency that Astrid would admire, he swept the syllabugs into a pile, grabbed the dustpan, and deposited them in the trash.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
NARRATIVE CONFLUX: COMPLETE
C-RANK ENTITY GROUP NEUTRALIZED
[HP: 25/30 | Mana: 10/15 | XP: 190 / 200 | INK WELL: 14%]
[Status: Stable. Minor injuries.]
You stand amidst the shredded remains of the Syllabugs. The faint scent of old paper and spilled ink fills the hall. Their fragmented shells twitch once, then lie still. The world is quiet again.
[QUEST RESOLVED - Mind the Paper Trail]
Reward: 150 XP
Ding! [LEVEL UP!]
Level: 3
[Stat Points Awarded]
+1 to each core stat
+1 additional Choice Stat Awarded
>> KEEP WRITING! <<
“Nice, more stats!” Remi hoped he was going to figure out what all that meant soon. As the words faded, the realization hit him like his morning alarm clock—blaring, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.
“Oh, no! I’m late for Math class!”
Solborn: The Eternal Kaiser
Kaiser Dios didn’t just reject weakness — he declared war on it.
To him, mediocrity wasn’t failure. It was betrayal. The world worshiped comfort; Kaiser brought fire.
He didn’t rise above the weak — he erased them.
And behind him: fallen kingdoms, silenced legends, and the ashes of those who once dared to call themselves kings.
Sabel Stoorm.
More than a rival — he was a reflection. They trained together, bled together, believed in the same dream.
But while Kaiser built his strength on conviction, Sabel built his on control.
When his mask slipped, it wasn’t a man beneath — it was ambition sharpened into cruelty.
He stabbed Kaiser in the heart — not for justice, but to prove he’d outgrown the dream they once shared.
Now Kaiser walks a world far crueler than the one he left behind.
A world where the skies scream with unnatural life. Where the seas drown themselves in corpses.
Where the gods no longer rule with wisdom, but with appetite—carving their names into the bones of creation.
They will summon their horrors.
They will cast him down a thousand times.
And a thousand times, he will rise.
“FATE CRACKED. HISTORY WEPT. AND I WALKED THROUGH BOTH.”
Read Now
