The Author.
The Creator of all that ever was, all that is, and all that will be.
The first and final consciousness, beyond logic, beyond creation, beyond eevn time.
His form could not be described by the language of mortals or gods. To the highest beings, his body appeared as an endless cascade of digits, a living ocean of one and zero.
To others, he was a void shaped like something beyond comprehension.
He sat within the silence between realities, in a realm that existed before existence.
In his hand, he held a book. Its cover shimmered between white and black, forming symbols that no mind could read without breaking.
"The God of Underworld."
The Author watched, motionless, as words appeared across its pages without his touch.
Sentences carved themselves into the paper like divine etchings, forming events, dialogues, and choices that he had not written.
It was impossible. Unacceptable. Yet fascinating.
A character had begun writing his own story.
