The file on CriticKing was a portrait of bitterness.
Real name: Tomasz Wójcik. Age: 47. Location: Łódź.
Profession: Former high school literature teacher, now unemployed.
Fistoria Activity: 1,243 one-star reviews given in the past two years. Over 300 of them on top-100 stories.
Signature Move: Long, pseudo-intellectual critiques picking apart prose, pacing, and character motivation. Always ending with a variant of "This is why literature is dying."
Kasia's analysis was scathing: "Classic case of artistic frustration turned outward. His own writing attempts (see attached) were rejected universally. He now derives power from tearing down successful creators. He is particularly vicious toward young, rising authors."
Attached were three of Tomasz's own unpublished manuscripts. I skimmed the first page of one.
The prose was turgid. Purple. Full of cliches he accused others of using.
A hypocrite with a keyboard.
Perfect.
I needed to see his web. I found a profile picture on a defunct book forum. A grainy shot of a man with a receding hairline and thin, disapproving lips.
I activated Social Web Sight.
The lines that bloomed from the pixelated image were pathetic.
A thick, black line of resentment coiled back toward the Fistoria logo.
A few grey, broken lines labeled Former Colleagues - Estranged.
One fragile yellow line to a user named "BookWormAna" – Online Acquaintance/Only Positive Feedback.
But the most telling was a spinning, erratic red line that connected to nothing, labeled Self-Loathing/Unfulfilled Potential.
The web was a snapshot of a lonely, angry life.
The skill faded. I had my strategy.
This wasn't about causing him physical or financial pain. That was for rivals like Kozlov.
This was about destroying the one thing he had left: his identity as a "superior critic."
I would use his own weapons against him.
I opened a fresh document. Typed a plan.
Operation: Mirror's Truth.
Step 1: Create a sleek, anonymous literary criticism blog. "The Unvarnished Quill."
Step 2: Use Kasia's access and my own money to hire a sharp, hungry freelance critic.
Step 3: Publish a devastating, well-written critique of Tomasz Wójcik's own unpublished work. Not an attack. A calm, surgical dissection. Expose every flaw he projects onto others.
Step 4: Seed the article in his online circles. Ensure his "BookWormAna" and any former colleagues see it.
Step 5: Let his own psyche do the rest.
I sent the plan to Kasia.
Her reply was instant. "I have a freelancer in mind. Discreet. Cost: $5,000. The blog can be live in 24 hours."
Me: Do it. Use untraceable funds.
Kasia: It will be done. He will see his reflection, and it will break him.
I leaned back. The cold satisfaction was a familiar friend now.
While Kasia set the trap, I turned to my own work. A notification awaited in my Fistoria dashboard.
"Chronos Imperium" has qualified for "Rapid-Release Bonus" program. Commit to publishing 7 chapters per week for 4 weeks. Bonus: $10,000 and increased algorithm weighting.
A micro-contract. Grind fuel.
I accepted. The blue hologram pinged.
[CONTRACT DETECTED: RAPID-RELEASE BONUS - TIER: BRONZE (INCENTIVE)]
I signed.
[REWARD: CAPITAL INJECTION - $2,000.00 USD]
A small top-up. The money was becoming noise.
The real reward followed.
[MILESTONE: CONSISTENT HIGH-VOLUME OUTPUT]
[REWARD: STAMINA BOOST (PASSIVE)]
[DESCRIPTION: Mental fatigue from creative work reduced by 30%. Sleep requirements reduced by 20%.]
A quality-of-life upgrade. The System was optimizing me as a writing machine.
I felt it immediately. A lingering tiredness from the Kozlov campaign lifted. My mind felt sharper, clearer.
I wrote three chapters in one sitting. The words were electric.
Later that night, Kasia sent a preview link.
The Unvarnished Quill. The site looked professional, austere. The lead article: "The Critic's Burden: A Review of 'Echoes of a Hollow Pen' by T.W."
I read it. It was brutal. It quoted his own manuscripts, then quoted his one-star reviews of other authors, highlighting the identical flaws. It questioned not his taste, but his integrity. His understanding of the craft he claimed to defend.
It ended with: "The true death of literature is not in popular tropes, but in the hollow echo of criticism that refuses to look inward."
It was a masterpiece of psychological violence.
Kasia: Live in one hour. I have seeded it in his private writing group and the forum where he is a moderator.
Me: Good. Monitor his reaction.
I closed my laptop. The plan was in motion.
Tomasz Wójcik was about to experience a critique he couldn't delete.
And I would be watching.
//-\\
To my fellow authors in the trenches:
They told us we weren't good enough. They sent the cold, automated emails. "Not a fit for our current line-up." "Lacks marketability."
Every time you see Alex Thorn crush an editor in this story, remember: this isn't just fiction.
This is the scream of every writer who stayed up until 3:00 AM pouring their soul into a document that the world ignored. It is for everyone who has ever struggled with low reads, low reviews, low comments, and those painful, stagnant low collections that make you want to quit.
The gatekeepers are human. They are flawed. And in the digital age, they are becoming obsolete.
They sit in their comfortable chairs judging worlds they could never even imagine, let alone build. They look at spreadsheets while we look at the stars.
We don't write for the approval of a corporate board in a glass office. We write for the person scrolling on their phone at a bus stop, looking for a world better than their own.
We write for the ones who need an escape from a life that feels like a dead end.
If you have a manuscript sitting in a folder named "Draft 1" that you're too afraid to post—post it right now.
Stop waiting for permission to exist. If you've been rejected ten times, go for the eleventh. Use their "No" as fuel for your fire.
Alex Thorn had to die to get his second chance. You don't. You just have to keep typing until your fingers bleed and your vision blurs. The industry thinks they hold the keys. They forgot that we are the ones who build the doors in the first place.
Let them call us "cringe." Let them call us "amateurs." While they talk, we build. While they judge, we evolve into something they can't control.
Current Motivation Level: 14%
Next Level: +1%
If this chapter resonated with you, drop a comment. Tell me about the time a gatekeeper told you "No."
ALL HELL FROM WEBNOVEL STARTS FROM YOU!
— A.T.