Unwritten. Unnamed. Unleashed

Nirvana.

Abby's creation. Standing in Abby's crappy New Delhi apartment. Looking very real, very armed, and very confused.

Nirvana's eyes flicked between him and Agrawal, sharp as broken glass.

"You," he said, pointing the sword tip towards Abby—not quite threatening, not quite not.

Abby gulped. "Me?"

Nirvana took a slow step forward.

"I've seen you," Nirvana murmured. "Flickers. Glitches in Crowmere. Just before everything twisted. You were running there."

Abby flailed into denial like a fish into an empty pool. "Nooope. Not me. Definitely not me. Must be some other hoodie-wearing, anxiety-riddled guy who looks like he hasn't slept since the last Ice Age."

His nervous grin didn't help. Nor did the fact that he was inching behind his desk like it offered real protection.

Nirvana narrowed his eyes. "You smell… familiar."

"Oh god, do I? I—I swear I used deodorant this week. Probably."

The sword tilted upward.

"Okay! Okay okay," Abby squeaked, hands raised like he was being arrested by his own protagonist.

"Let's all just breathe. Count to ten. I'm not a threat. I'm barely a functioning human."

Agrawal finally stepped forward. Her voice didn't raise, but it sliced through the room.

"He's not your enemy, Nirvana."

Nirvana didn't look away. "You speak like you know me."

"I do," she said coolly.

That caught his attention. Slightly. Enough that he lowered the sword half an inch.

Abby peeked over the edge of the desk. "Can we all agree not to stab the guy who just passed midterms by trauma alone?"

Nirvana turned to Agrawal. "Who are you?"

"Later," she said. "Right now, I need to know how you got here."

Nirvana hesitated. His grip on the blade tightened—not defensive, just unsure.

"There was a corrupted creature," he said. "His eyes narrowed. "I fought it. And then I was here. In this… cage of lights and wires before I knew it."

Abby winced. "This 'cage' has WiFi and emotional baggage, thank you very much."

His voice wavered.

Then, softer—like the panic cracked for a second:

"You're real. You're actually real."

He didn't laugh after that.

Didn't grin.

Just stared.

"You were pulled," Agrawal muttered, almost to herself. "That's too early. The breach wasn't stable yet…"

Nirvana caught that. "You expected this. Were you doing some kind of dark rituals to bring me here? "

Agrawal didn't flinch. "We expected something. Not this soon."

Nirvana took another step forward, sword dragging slightly against the floor.

The lights flickered. Just for a second—but enough to feel wrong. Like the room itself flinched.

The bulb above Abby's desk gave a dim, electric buzz. On the desk, the book pulsed faintly—once—like a heartbeat trying to sync with the wrong reality.

"Start making sense," he growled. "How did I get here? Who pulled me? And why do you look like the faces I saw just before Crowmere fell?"

Abby opened his mouth, realized nothing useful was going to come out, and just squeaked, "Well, um, y'see—it's actually a funny story—"

Agrawal cut him off. "We don't know how you came through. Yet..."

Nirvana's gaze turned back to Abby.

"You still haven't answered my question."

Abby, hands still up, forced the worst poker face known to man.

"Buddy, I'm just as shocked as you are. Like, top ten anime plot twists shocked. I write weird stuff, sure, but I don't summon warriors through black magic, okay? That's—like—a Tuesday for Agrawal, probably."

Agrawal sighed so hard it felt like an ancient spirit was trying to escape her soul.

"I swear," she muttered, "I should've just brought duct tape."

"I don't trust either of you." Nirvana's voice is low. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… flat.

"Cool, cool," Abby said quickly. "That makes three of us."

"You lie too easily," he murmurs to Agrawal.

"And you..." He turns to Abby. "You're afraid of telling the truth. That's worse."

Before Agrawal could answer, a low screech echoed from somewhere above.

They all froze.

Nirvana straightened. "That sound."

Abby blinked. "Mrs. Das? You okay up there?"

Another screech.

Wet. Static-laced. Wrong.

Nirvana's blade lit up with a quiet hum.

"I know that sound," he said, voice a growl. "That's what I fought before the breach."

He looked to Agrawal. "It followed me here."

Agrawal's eyes darkened. "No. It didn't follow you. It came with you."

Abby stood frozen between them, hands still half-raised. "Okay, so... we all heard that, right? That wasn't a dying air conditioner?"

The ceiling cracked. Something moved. And the story—just beginning to bleed—took its first bite.

The screech stopped.

Mid-giggle. Like a record scratch at the edge of reality.

Mrs. Das blinked once.

Her body stayed still.

Only her pupils moved—tiny, rapid darts to the left. Toward the mirror. It wasn't her reflection anymore.

The woman staring back was older. Younger. Flickering between versions.

Her smile didn't belong to her anymore. It stretched wrong. Too wide. Too knowing.

And then, it spoke.

But not with sound.

"What a kind vessel," the mirror said, inside her thoughts. "Sturdy. Ignored. Perfect."

Mrs. Das twitched.

Her left foot stepped forward. She hadn't told it to.

Her hands opened. Closed. Like testing old gloves.

In the kitchen, the fridge door swung open by itself. Something wet dripped onto the tile. The air began to hum with a frequency that didn't belong to Earth.

"This world writes itself now," the voice crooned. "And your body... is a fine place to start."

Mrs. Das tried to scream. Tried to speak. But her lips didn't move.

Only her thoughts shook. 'No. No no no. This isn't me. This isn't real.'

The wallpaper slithered up her legs like ink in reverse. Words wrapped around her ankles like mantras from a forgotten scripture.

Her eyes began to glow faintly.

Not golden.

Not white.

But glitching.

Like reality couldn't decide what she was anymore.

Downstairs—on the ceiling of Abby's room—a single crack split through the plaster.

Followed by laughter.

Not soft.

Not playful.

Mocking.

The laughter echoed again. Like something trying to remember how to laugh.

Abby stared up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. "Okay. That's not termites. That's not plumbing. That's—uh—something..."

Nirvana had already drawn his sword. The edge shimmered with the same glitch-light as the book.

He turned to Agrawal. "It's above us."

Agrawal nodded grimly.

Abby blinked. "That's… Mrs. Das."

A pause.

"...She gave me parathas last week."

Another crack—louder this time. The air itself felt thinner.

Without another word, Nirvana turned and headed for the door, blade low, eyes sharp.

Agrawal followed.

Abby stood there.

Then groaned. "Great. Upstairs. Classic horror movie death zone. Sure. Let's go knock on the Devil's door."

They reached at the door flat 407 stood outside. Something wet dripped from under it. The hallway smelled wrong.

Agrawal raised her hand toward the knob—

It turned by itself.

The door creaked open slowly.

To be continued...