The Playwright's Script

Metatron's blood ran cold.

Those who spy on the future are spied on by the future in return.

That was the fatal flaw of his ability.

And the Playwright's unique power, a strong grasp over her own destiny, made her the worst possible enemy.

If that had been the extent of her ability, he could have handled it. She would have only sensed danger and taken precautions.

But she was more than just a gifted Seer.

She was a follower of the God of Prophecy and Dreams.

And she held the legendary quill—the Pen of Narrative.

In its presence, God's Perspective was laid bare.

She had been watching him just as much as he had been watching her.

This was more than just a counterattack.

This was a dimensional suppression—a higher power crushing a lower one.

Metatron clenched his fists.

He had been blind.

Too confident in his talent.