Alex returned to his home after the long and grueling battle, his mind conflicted with a whirlwind of thoughts. The weight of the recent events pressed heavily on him, and he felt an overwhelming need to rest. He sank into his chair, the familiar comfort offering a brief respite from the chaos that had consumed his life. As he closed his eyes, seeking a moment of peace, the door creaked open, and Plot Armor entered the house, his presence calm yet commanding.
"You should really take care of your arm," Plot Armor said. Alex looked down to see his arm slowly disappearing, the edges fading into nothingness, a stark reminder of the toll the battle had taken on his body by catching that attack.
Alex replied with a smirk, "You thought I didn't think of that?" In his left hand, Shonen's heart, which he had ripped out during their battle, appeared. With a swift motion, Alex placed the heart into his right arm and crushed it, the blood from it dropped into his disappearing arm. The transformation was immediate; the fading edges solidified once more, and his arm was restored to normal.
Plot Armor observed the transformation, nodding thoughtfully. "There will be a huge change in the power balance in the Fictional Vortex," he remarked, his tone serious and contemplative.
Alex leaned back, a relaxed expression on his face. "I don't care now, no one will cause trouble for me," he said, his voice filled with a sense of finality. Exhausted, he fell asleep almost immediately after saying that, his body finally succumbing to the fatigue that had been building up.
Plot Armor looked at Alex with a smile, but there was something hidden behind his eyes, a secret he kept to himself. "Remember, Alex, you still are a character in a story, a fictional being made for entertainment," he murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself. The words hung in the air, a reminder of the fragile nature of their existence.
He then turned to look outside the window, watching the sun setting between the mountains, casting long shadows across the landscape. The sky was painted in hues of orange and purple, a beautiful yet fleeting moment of tranquility. With a determined look, Plot Armor teleported to the darkest part of the Fictional Vortex, a place known as Sinspire. The air was thick with an oppressive darkness, and the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind.
Plot Armor gazed into the never-ending darkness and spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "I know you are here," he said, his words echoing through the void.
From the depths of Sinspire, a cold and devilish laugh echoed, sending chills through the air. The presence lurking in the darkness was powerful and malevolent. The laugh grew louder, more menacing, as if the very shadows were approaching Plot Armor.
Plot Armor stood his ground, his expression unchanging. The darkness seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the air growing colder with each passing moment. He could feel the malevolent energy swirling around him, a tangible force that threatened to consume everything in its path.
The laugh subsided, replaced by a chilling silence. "Show yourself," he demanded, his voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. The air grew still, the oppressive silence weighing heavily on him.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from the shadows, a figure began to emerge, its form shifting and changing as it stepped into the dim light. The entity's eyes glowed with an eerie light, its presence exuding a sense of dread and foreboding.