Chapter 32 – The Autopsy of a Draft
The silence in the Weeping Pass was worse than the noise.
Minutes ago, the valley had been shaking with the force of a thousand drums. Now, the only sound was the hiss of steam rising from the melted snow and the high-pitched ringing in Uzo's left ear.
Auditory Redaction. The cost of the battle.
Uzo tapped his ear. It felt like cotton. The hearing in that side was gone burnt out by the Resonance.
He didn't check on his friends yet. He walked to the center of the crater where the Eclipse had exploded.
There was no body. No blood. No bones.
There was only ink.
The ground was coated in a thick, black sludge that bubbled and evaporated into gray smoke. It smelled like burning library books the scent of old glue and vellum.
Uzo knelt. He picked up the single piece of paper that remained.
In a normal fantasy story, you kill a monster and loot a sword.
In Words are Debts, you kill a monster and loot a rejection letter.
Uzo read the page. The text was glowing faintly, fading as the magic died.
Project Ref: #4491-B
Working Title: "The Shadow That Walks"
Author: King Lazarus
Status:REJECTED.
Editor's Note:Character lacks depth. Too reliant on environmental factors. Concept is derivative of the House of Mystery's techniques. Disposal recommended: Send to the Northern Waste to hunt Barbarians.
Uzo's hand trembled.
He looked at the black sludge on his boots.
"She wasn't an assassin," Uzo whispered, his voice sounding flat in his good ear. "She was trash."
He realized the true horror of the Kingdom.
To King Lazarus, the North wasn't a battlefield. It was a Landfill.
The King was writing "Drafts" monsters, experiments, twisted magical concepts and when they weren't perfect, he didn't just burn them. He exiled them to the North to kill the Mutes.
The Eclipse had fought so hard, had screamed about the King's will... and she was nothing more than a crumpled-up ball of paper Lazarus had thrown at a trash can and missed.
Uzo opened the Lexicon.
He placed the rejection slip inside. The book didn't just absorb it; it analyzed it.
Detailed, clinical text appeared on the page, dissecting the enemy like a biology report.
[Post-Mortem Analysis]
Subject: Construct Class-4 (Shadow Type).
Composition: 80% Syntax, 20% Null-Ink.
Flaw Detected: The subject possessed no "Internal Narrative." It was purely reactive.
Conclusion: Constructs created by King Lazarus possess high power but zero soul. They are fragile against Resonance because they lack the conviction to hold their form when reality shakes.
Uzo closed the book.
He felt sick.
He wasn't fighting a generic Dark Lord. He was fighting a perfectionist Artist who saw living beings as "bad sketches."
"Uzo?"
The voice was muffled.
Uzo turned.
Ronnie was standing there, clutching her side. Her leather armor was shredded, but she was alive.
She looked at the black sludge on the ground.
"Is she dead?" Ronnie asked.
Uzo stood up, wiping the ink from his hands.
"She was never alive, Ronnie."
He looked at the melted statues of the First Men looming above them.
"Lazarus thinks he can edit the world," Uzo said, a cold fury rising in his chest. "He thinks he can just delete the parts he doesn't like."
Uzo touched his deaf ear.
"He's going to find out that some words fight back."