Chapter 58 The Final Cut
The heat from the pit hit me like a physical wall. I was falling, the air whistling past my ears as the giant. The TV screen's face laughed from above. Below me, the fire roared, but it wasn't just flames. It was a sea of burning scripts and discarded memories. And right in the centre stood my father.
He didn't look like the man who had tucked me in. He didn't even look like the soldier in the silver suit. He was a hollowed-out shell, his eye sockets dark and empty, his hands fused to a massive, rusted chainsaw that screamed louder than the saw blades in the lab.
"Welcome to the basement, Eara!" my father’s voice echoed, but it was layered with the sounds of static. "This is where we shred the parts of the story that don't fit!"
I hit the ground hard. The "fire" didn't burn my skin, but it scorched my mind. Every step I took on the glowing ash felt like a thousand needles. I looked up, searching for the black claw that had taken Kael. He was dangling high above, suspended by wires over a giant industrial grinder.
"Kael!" I screamed.
"Don't worry about the glitch," my father said, the chainsaw revving until the ground shook. "Worry about the ending. The Master wants a bloodbath, and I’m the one who has to deliver it."
He lunged. The chainsaw sliced through the air, barely missing my shoulder. I felt the wind of the blade, smelling of old oil and death. I didn't have a scalpel anymore. I didn't have a power cable. I only had my rage.
"You're not my father!" I roared, diving behind a pile of burning books. "He died saving me! You're just another prop!"
"In this world, Eara, everyone is a prop!" he yelled back. He sliced through the pile of books, papers fluttering around us like burning snow. "The only way to stop being a prop is to stop breathing!"
I saw a heavy iron pipe sticking out of the ash. I grabbed it, the metal searing my palms. I didn't care. I needed to get to the wires holding Kael. I needed to end this.
My father swung again. I blocked the chainsaw with the pipe. SPARKS flew everywhere, blinding me for a second. The screech of metal on metal set my teeth on edge. He was stronger than me, pushing the blade closer and closer to my neck.
"Give up, 702," he hissed. "The readers want a tragedy. Give them what they paid for!"
"I'm not for sale!"
I kicked him in the chest, pushing him back into the flames. He didn't scream. He just stood there, the fire licking at his clothes, his empty eyes fixed on me.
I didn't wait. I turned and started to climb the rusted iron pillars that led to the ceiling. My hands bled, and my muscles screamed, but I kept going. I reached the level where Kael was hanging. He was unconscious, his head lolling to the side.
"Kael, wake up!" I reached out, trying to grab the wires.
A loud vroom sounded right behind me. My father had climbed the pillar with the speed of a spider. He raised the chainsaw over his head, ready to cut the pillar and me in half.
"The show must go on!" he cried.
"Then let's cancel it!"
I didn't strike at him. I swung the iron pipe at the control box for the grinder below. If I couldn't stop the master, I would break the set.
CRASH.
The control box exploded in a shower of sparks. The giant grinder below slowed down, its teeth groaning as they jammed. But the explosion caused the wires holding Kael to snap.
"Kael!"
I jumped. I caught him in midair, our bodies slamming into each other. We fell, but we didn't hit the grinder. We landed on a narrow ledge of cold stone. Kael gasped, his eyes fluttering open.
"Eara? Where... where are we?"
"In the end," I whispered.
I looked up. My father was standing on the pillar, looking down at us. But he wasn't attacking. He was looking at the giant TV-screen face in the ceiling. The screens were flickering. The master was losing control.
"She broke the machine," my father said, his voice sounding human for one last second. "Run, Eara. The whole world is going dark."
The giant face above us screamed, a sound of tearing metal. The TV screens began to explode, one by one. Pieces of glass and electronics rained down like a storm.
Suddenly, a hand reached out of the shadows behind us. It wasn't my father’s hand. It was a small, pale hand wearing a silver ring.
"This way," a voice said. It was the author. She was covered in ink and blood, her suit torn to shreds. "The back door is open, but only for a second."
I grabbed Kael and followed her into a narrow tunnel of white light. We ran until my lungs felt like they were going to burst.
We burst out of the tunnel and stopped dead.
We weren't in a lab. We weren't in space. We were standing in a field of real, golden wheat. The sun was setting, and the air smelled like rain and earth. But there was no one else there. No people, no cities. Just a single, wooden door standing in the middle of the field.
The author stood by the door, holding a heavy iron key.
"This leads to the real world," she said. "The one without simulations. But there's a price."
"What price?" I asked, clutching Kael's hand.
The author looked at the sky. A massive red line, the "Publisher's Strike," was appearing in the clouds, moving toward us.
"Only one of you can go through," she said. "The other has to stay and hold the door shut against the reset. If no one holds the door, the Publisher will follow you out and turn your world into a new book."
Kael looked at the door, then at me. He let go of my hand.
"No," I whispered. "No, Kael, don't."
"It has to be you, Eara," he said, a sad smile on his face. "You're the weaver. You're the one who deserves to live."
He stepped toward the door, but before he could push me through, the ground exploded.
A figure crawled out of the dirt, a version of me with no skin, just raw muscle and glowing green eyes. It was the "Perfect Eara," the one the Master had been building in the lab.
She lunged at Kael, her fingers turning into long, serrated blades.
"If I can't be the lead," the skinless Eara screamed, "then no one gets a happily ever after!"