Falosa showed Xu Yang a thin sword, which seemed to have no thickness.
"This is a weapon I developed after entering the high-dimensional space and undergoing countless hard training." Falosa said.
"After you sacrificed the god-killing weapon, you really need a new weapon." Xu Yang said.
"No, no, this is not just a weapon. This is a real dimensional weapon. It is developed with reference to the energy potential difference between high-dimensional space and low-dimensional space. This time it can take us to a known world. In that world, all observed objects
Everything has a final conclusion, and only by cutting off our connection with that world can we truly develop freely and not be bound by words." Falosa was full of confidence.
"It seems very impressive." Xu Yang scanned it carefully.
"It's up to me, I'll go and come back." Falosa held the sword with both hands.
"Where are you going?" Xu Yang was confused.
"Kill the man who prevents us from finding the meaning of the unknown."
Falosa swung her rapier in the air and cut a door that tore open the curtain.
After passing through the door, she killed the typist neatly without spending 0.1 second.
The sword passed through his head from behind, and blood spattered on the screen.
Falosa kicked the body off the seat and carefully observed the words recorded on the screen.
She typed on the keyboard and found words appearing on the screen. It seemed that these words were supposed to be sent and were about something about the typist.
The typist seems to have finished writing the story and is then preparing to talk to the reader.
Hoho, are you qualified to be a typist? Falosa laughed. Are you writing a story about me? A story about a witch in our cyber age? Why should you write it? If you understand the witch in the cyber age, just write it.
What is this typist's life and conduct like?
What goals did he set for his work? Under what circumstances, when, where and for whom did he write?
Does what he wrote truly reflect vivid emotions and complex human nature?
Is he writing necessary labor in exchange for money, is it to serve the readers' reading experience, or is it to express his own heart?
Because she was not sure whether the typist was good or not, Farossa decided to kill the typist and write the epilogue herself.
She deleted everything the typist had prepared and typed it in herself:
Has anyone read my story? Does anyone like it?
How did you receive this story?
Who saw this story in the end, and in what kind of hands did it fall into its hands?
How many different tests will the text of this story go through, will it be forgotten or deleted?
How many people will decide to accept the writing style of this story, accept the reading experience it provides, and understand its content?
besides.
Will anyone like me? Like the great Lord Falosa? With such a unique and strong personality, this is better than all others.
Forget it, it doesn't matter. After all, I am the most powerful. It doesn't matter what you think.
all in all.
The real story is the story that stays in your mind.
The real story is what emanates from your heart, it is never finished, and there are countless possible stories.
Your memory, understanding and acceptance continue to give this story life. Far more than the bloody typist on the floor.
In your minds, this story will have many different endings.
If decades later, I can still smile knowingly when I recall it, that would be a supreme honor for this story.
Okay, no matter what, I have to go back.
The rest is up to you.
After typing the end, Falosa turned around and saw the typist's body.
She felt that the typist's life was still of some use, so she could use the law of reply to resurrect him so that he could continue writing for readers. Then she could go back and continue living with Xu Yang. The good days were yet to come.