Semi-Omniscient (Last Part)

"You're damn right I am," the author said, his smirk unwavering.

Without thinking, Elliott shot to his feet and lunged at him. "You damn brat! You mean all this is your fault?"

Before he could reach him, the child flicked his wrist, and Elliott was slammed to the ground as if an invisible force had yanked him down.

"I suggest you hear me out," the author said, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in his voice. "You don't want to fight me. Trust me." His grin widened, but his eyes—those eyes—were anything but playful. They were cold, ancient, and terrifying.

Matthew swallowed hard. Something deep in his gut told him the author wanted Elliott to keep resisting.

"That's what I thought," the author said, turning his gaze to Matthew. "Want some tea?"

"Easy for you to stay calm—you took my body," Elliott scoffed, his laughter dripping with sarcasm.

"Tea?" Matthew echoed, completely ignoring Elliott as confusion settled in. "Who the fuck are you?"

"No…" The author smirked, lifting a hand. "The right question would be, what am I?"

Before Matthew could react, his body suddenly lifted off the ground.

"Holy fuck!?" Matthew yelped, flailing as he floated. The force holding him up felt effortless, yet somehow, keeping Elliott pinned had seemed even easier.

"I am a semi-omniscient being." The author said, lowering his hands, putting them in his pockets. The motion causing both Elliott and Matthew get free. "And I'm sorry."

"Omniscient? And you're sorry? What the fuck?" Matthew said.

Elliott rubbed his wrists, his glare fixed on the childlike figure before them. "You're telling me you wrote my life? That you decided everything—every pain, every betrayal, every goddamn moment?" His voice was laced with fury, his body tensed as if he were ready to attack again.

The author sighed, looking almost…bored. "More or less."

Matthew, still trying to process everything, ran a hand through his hair. "And what the hell do you mean by *semi-*omniscient? You either know everything or you don't."

The author smirked. "Cute. But no, it doesn't work that way. I know a lot—most things, actually. But once the story left my hands, some…elements took on a life of their own. The world evolved beyond what I initially wrote." He glanced at Elliott. "Which means you shouldn't even be conscious right now. And he—" He motioned toward Matthew. "—should've gone back to his world, after the prologue."

Elliott scowled. "Then fix it."

The author tilted his head. "That's the problem. I can't."

A tense silence filled the space, the campfire flickering wildly as if mirroring the emotions brewing between them.

Matthew folded his arms. "You're saying you created this world, wrote everything that happens, and now you can't control it?"

The author nodded. "Bingo."

Elliott clenched his fists. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"To make a deal." The author's grin widened, but his eyes held something unreadable—something dangerous.

The author sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I don't have all the answers. I'm not fully omniscient, just… enough. Enough to know that something is wrong. Enough to know that you," he pointed at Matthew, "were supposed to only have a dream about being Elliott. And you," his gaze shifted to Elliott, "were supposed to die."

Elliott's eyes burned with fury, his body trembling with the effort to move. Matthew, on the other hand, was too stunned to even struggle.

The author continued, his voice eerily calm. "But something changed. Something—or someone—interfered." His eyes darkened, as if he was considering a possibility he hadn't quite figured out yet. "Now, instead of just dreaming, you actually took his body." He gestured toward Matthew. "And you," he turned to Elliott, "got trapped here, in limbo. Neither of those things were supposed to happen."

"So what? You expect me to just accept that? To accept that I was meant to die?" Elliott asked, his voice sharp, edged with barely restrained fury.

The author tilted his head. "Yes… but if you do as I say, and if he manages to reach the ending, you might have a chance to live… maybe."

Elliott let out a frustrated grunt. "Mhm."

Matthew, still reeling from everything, took a deep breath. "Alright, I get it. I understand everything you just said." He paused, his brows furrowing. "But what the hell is that system? Is it you, or…?"

The author shook his head. "No, it's not me. It's most likely automated." He answered before Matthew could even finish his sentence.

"I'll do it," Elliott said, his voice steady with reluctant determination. "I'll help him. So, what should I do?"

The author met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Tell him everything you know—your relationships, your history with everyone, your skills. Teach him how to fight. Everything." He paused, glancing at the flickering fire that cast long shadows across the dimly lit room. "I'll keep this limbo stable for as long as I can."

Before Elliott could respond, the author's form shimmered, fading like smoke in the wind. His final words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Matthew stared at the spot where the author had stood, his heart racing, running a hand through his hair. His mind raced, but all he could focus on was the fact that he hadn't agreed to any of this.