The reaction was instantaneous.
The moment the "Future Knowledge" touched the spirit, the golden ink flared brighter than the overhead lights. A sound like a cash register opening—Cha-ching!—echoed through the bathroom, but distorted, loud and violent, like a thunderclap.
The Bully Spirit shrieked. The golden light burned through its sludge-like form like acid. The text I’d written seemed to peel off the paper and sear into the entity's essence.
Value Overload.
The spirit expanded, turning from black sludge to gray mist, and then—pop.
It burst apart. No explosion, no gore. It simply ceased to exist, dissolving into a fine dust that settled on the wet floor.
The heavy atmosphere lifted. The lights stopped flickering. The temperature normalized.
I slumped against the wall, dropping the now-blank paper towel.
"Hostile takeover successful," I gasped, trying to grin.
Then the backlash hit.
It started in my gut—a twisting, wrenching nausea that felt like I’d swallowed a handful of hot coals. My vision blurred. A high-pitched ringing pierced my ears.
Warning: Butterfly Backlash.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjmcBw3aQS2
You have used Future Truth to alter the Present. The timeline is correcting the imbalance by extracting the cost from your biological fuel.
"Oh, no," I groaned.
I scrambled toward the nearest toilet stall, kicking the door open, and fell to my knees just in time.
I didn't vomit food. I vomited black bile. It was thick, ink-like, and smelled like ozone and burnt plastic. It poured out of me, burning my throat. It was the spiritual impurity—the "tax" for cheating reality.
I retched until there was nothing left, my body trembling so hard my teeth chattered. Tears streamed down my face. I felt hollowed out, like a husk.
Note to self, I thought, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. Insider trading hurts.
I flushed the toilet. The black sludge swirled away, vanishing into the sewers.
I dragged myself to the sink. I looked worse than before. My eyes were bloodshot, my skin was the color of old paste, and a fresh trickle of blood was leaking from my left nostril.
"I need... sugar," I whispered. "And maybe a priest."
I straightened my uniform as best I could. I looked like I’d been in a fight, which I supposed I had. I grabbed my bag and stumbled toward the door. I had to get home. I had to sleep for three days.
I pushed the bathroom door open and stepped out into the hallway.
And ran straight into a wall of vanilla scent.
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8imiaADJ61
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX1rsjFcwS7
Closing Note：I’m stuck on a plot point! Help me decide the Heroine's next move on our Discord: unplot_joshua.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.