Salem landed hard on the cracked, uneven ground, the air around him shimmering with unstable energy. The red door behind him winked out like a broken neon sign, leaving only darkness and the faint echo of the Writer’s voice, playful and infuriating.
> “Welcome, Salem. You’ve officially gone off-script. Bravo,” the Writer purred. “Now, let’s see how you handle this little… temporal roulette.”
Salem groaned, brushing dust from his coat. “Temporal roulette? Really? That’s what we’re calling this apocalypse of timelines?”
> “Names are irrelevant,” the Writer replied. “What matters is consequences, chaos, and, of course, entertainment value.”
The ground beneath him rippled, like a pond struck by an invisible fist. Every step warped reality slightly, twisting shadows into shapes that w
