Delete

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that you are violently yanked into the worst novel ever written. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than any omegaverse romance you’ve ever seen squatting on a bestseller list like it pays rent. Worse than paranormal romance in general. Vampires? Werewolves? Orcs? Don’t insult them by association. This book is worse than all of them combined. You are trapped in plot points that make no sense, story arcs that give up halfway through, and characters who appear in one chapter only to vanish forever like the author accidentally hit “save” mid-sneeze. Hair colors change between paragraphs. Everyone has Main Character Syndrome. Welcome to Chews Yur M4te—a novel that actively resents its own existence. Enter Delete. Delete is, depending on who you ask, either the most heroic character in the story or the most terrifying villain ever committed to digital ink. Technically, Delete is a single key on a keyboard. Functionally, the author manifested him as a dragon. Because of course they did. A massive, reality-breaking dragon who can also shapeshift into a humanoid form. And, for reasons no one is allowed to question, sometimes a cow. Delete does not ask questions. Delete does not hesitate. Delete has erased entire chapters at a time. Subplots. Side characters. Background extras with dreams. Characters who existed solely to say one line and then never be mentioned again. Gone. Reduced to conceptual dust. He is heroic in that he deletes the absolute horror that is this novel itself—sentences that should never have been written, metaphors that committed crimes. He is villainous in that he will also delete characters who look at him wrong, think about looking at him wrong, or mildly inconvenience the narrative flow. Delete is not mercy. Delete is not chaos. Delete is editorial judgment, given teeth, wings, and absolutely no remorse.