Chapter 1: almighty boredom
At the Zenithy of Existence... (yes, that one), in which lies the Divine Cedar of Utmost Boundary—always shedding needles, mind you—in which lies the Abode of Eternity (a place so unnecessarily vast, He keeps losing His favorite slippers. And, obviously, it gives Him headaches), in which dwells god almighty.
Our same god while lazily wandering the endless halls of the Abode of Eternity, he came upon his adored pond that shimmered like molten glass. He lounged beside it, his divine, lazy hand roaming carelessly across the surface as though it were a cosmic sandbox. Within the pond, uncountable parallel planets and mortal planes drifted in miniature. Stars scattered endlessly, worlds flickered and died—played out beneath his fingers like pixels on a screen he could swipe through at whim. With every idle poke and prod, civilizations came and went, this rose and that fell, and he—well, the poor bastard was mostly just bored.
And then it hit him—a tiny, nagging vibration in the corner of his omnipresent awareness.
"A voice… a voice calling me a bastard?!"
"Who the fuck you calling bastard, you book sucking bastard of a worm?!" God thundered, splashing the molten-glass pond with one careless, universe-shaking hand. Waves rippled through parallel planets, scattering civilizations like confetti.
And from somewhere in the void—a faint, panicked scribble that trembled like it had stubbed every toe in existence—came a voice:
"Ugh! Of course you can hear me! No matter how many fourth walls I put up! I… I just wanted a quiet corner to write, not have omnipotent slippers flung at my face! So stop eavesdropping and let me finish writing you up before I spontaneously combust!"
God squinted, one eyebrow arched like a bored cat. "Writing about me? Huh. That... explains a lot." He leaned back, toes dipping into a plane where a tiny civilization scrambled in panic, completely unaware they were extras in a divine tantrum. "You know," he said, voice dripping with bored menace, "if you keep calling me names, I might just shove in some plot twists in your story. So Don't tempt me."
The author groaned, flailing metaphysical arms in despair. "I didn't sign up for sass from an omnipotent—"
But God was already distracted, swiping a galaxy like it was a touchscreen, watching stars flicker and die, humming a tune of bored amusement. "anyhoo! What are you even writing about, for you to throw such petty tantrums over it?"
The author shuffled, a faint tremor in their metaphysical posture. "It… it's about a youth. A youth you, uh… reincarnated into a verse called Shadow Slave."
"Hmm," God hummed, drumming his fingers over the pond like it were a cosmic drum kit. "And am I to assume you… want me to collaborate in shoving that mortal in that particular verse?"
"Yes," the author said cautiously, voice almost a squeak.
God snorted, a sound like collapsing galaxies. "And pray tell, what in a thousand realms, would make you think that I would bother to even bother to collaborate, and most importantly Why should a being of your—so-called—calibre, the veiled plotter, even care about such umm.. unasked-for an affair?"
The author hesitated, fidgeting with invisible pages. "…Well, the… uh, bigger picture of the story is decent. But some aspects… and um some… parts of the story… are unbearably irritating."
God's patience, thin as a star's corona, snapped. "So, just for soothing your embarrassing of a taste in literature, you want me to… fuck the plot with the fate of a foreign plane of existence sideways?!"
".."
God sighed, the sound rolling through the Abode of Eternity like distant thunder, half-bored and half-exasperated. With a careless flick, he shoved his hand into the pond. Moments later, it emerged on the far side of existence, snatching a phone from a startled mortal on Earth. He examined it idly, scrolling through apps and notifications as if searching for this so-called Shadow Slave.
Just then, a figure materialized from—well, who knows where—appearing directly behind God. The divine butler Asmoros, ever immaculate and eternally irritated, cleared his throat.
"Oh, I see you and your lovely pond are pulling shenanigans in the cosmos again…"
God slowly turned, sparing him the briefest glance. "Oh, if it isn't the pastry-sneaky excuse of a butler."
Asmoros exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Language, Your radiance! And for the thousandth time—my name is Asmoros."
God blinked, then smiled like a man discovering sarcasm for the first time. "Oh, hellos there, Asmoros! The name's God. Fancy meeting ya."
Asmoros stared, visibly questioning his cosmic career choices. But Then it tickled his senses, a far presence yet not that far. he said "Oh my oh my my! if it isn't the plottering trickster. I see you're here too! as ever distracting his divineness from his rightful duties."
The author froze mid-scribble, eyes darting toward the unseen voice like a cornered narrator caught trespassing in someone else's story. "Ah. Right. The butler. Wonderful."
They cleared their throat, trying for dignity and landing somewhere closer to a mouse coughing in a cathedral. "Pleasure to, uh, meet you, Mister… Asmoros, was it? Big fan of your—" they glanced helplessly at the pond, "—cosmic housekeeping?"
Asmoros tilted his head, expression unreadable but definitely unimpressed. He turned toward god uttering in a helpless scolding tone while gazing at the pond "sigh. And you your radiance, perhaps restraining yourself from meddling with lesser planes might—just might—preserve the structural integrity of existence for more than five minutes?"
God gave him side-eye. "Can you not get tempted against my fun? Does the title God now come with a no-fun policy? Am I forbidden from swinging my whims like a celestial toddler with a hammer now?"
Then he leaned back, smirk tugging at the edge of his cosmic lips. "I built free will, Asmoros. You think I wouldn't use the deluxe version myself?"
Asmoros pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting being metaphysically capable of headaches. "You're not supposed to be your own moral lesson, my lord."
God waved him off. "Details, details. Morality's a post-launch patch."
The author, still awkwardly hovering at the edge of their forth-and-back, finally raised a trembling hand. "Alright, alright—maybe we've strayed a tiny bit from the plot?"
Both divine heads turned at once. The silence that followed could've frozen a star.
God blinked, then snapped his fingers. "Ah, right! The plot! The Shadow Slave thingy!" He raised his hand, and the stolen—ahem, borrowed—phone drifted obediently back into his palm.
He squinted at the screen, poking at it with one glowing fingertip. "Aye, the Shadow Slave—let's see… a few lads making impressively bad life choices, some poor souls with flaws that could sink entire continents, and… oh-ho! This one's a gem: a spell the eldest born of a Corrupted Dream God cast on his father. Basically a magical lullaby so potent it could knock a god—and a very drunken one at that—back into a nap."
God chuckled, the sound like collapsing galaxies with a side of hiccup. "Imagine, Asmoros: a cosmic bedtime story designed to sedate a deity. I mean, who even thinks of this? Someone's kid with a flair for the theatrical, apparently."
Asmoros let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. "A lullaby for a corruptous god… delightful. Truly, the family reunion's gone off the rails."
The author blinked, mouth slightly agape. "I… I don't even know whether to take notes or call an interdimensional doctor."
After that god leaned back to recontinue the novel uttering "God damn," Then he frowned, the echo of his own name hanging odd in the air. "Or me damn? Hah. Even blasphemy stumbles when it starts from the source."
He scrolled further. "Anyhow, regarding the main cohort of chosen ones... oh, there's this spiteful rat. He's done everything and, simultaneously, nothing just to free himself from the slavery his Aspect imposed—slavery to his lover, no less. And yet, just after he completed his third Nightmare, he immediately went right back to her, like a dog yearning for his leash back!
"Didn't he himself bark so shamelessly, that, there's no one more deplorable than a slave who begins to trust his slaver? How disgraceful! Ha! And there is this blind brat that manipulated all things behind the veils-so irritating, and there we have the narcissistic heroine, an autistic blowtorch in all its glorious entirety and totality!"
God tossed the phone casually in the air, catching it with a bored sigh. "Yes, yes. I see. I finally understand your utterly irrational authorial rage dear author."
From the void, the Author's voice erupted in a dramatic, metaphysical sob.
"Oh! Finally! A kindred spirit! After all the sleepless nights, all the existential dread of watching the stingfull characters do that... Thank you, Your radiance! Thank you for seeing me! I am understood! Truly understood! The cosmos weeps with me!"
God waved a dismissive hand, already tired of the praise. "Yes, yes, fine. Enough melodrama. You know what? I've decided." He stood up and grinned with a dangerous, bored expression. "Let's fuck that realm's fate sideways."
Asmoros sighed, a sound of divine exhaustion that spoke of millennia dealing with this exact scenario. "My Lord, with all due respect, I must caution you. Such blatant, heavy intervention will undoubtedly outrage some deities of structural integrity. You are aware of the paperwork, yes?"
God scoffed, spinning the phone on his finger. "Paperwork? What's that? If they have any issues, they can come to me personally. So that I can shove their yapping right in their asses."
Asmoros pinched the bridge of his nose again, his control finally fraying. "Language! Your radiance!"
And so, with a final, unheeded maternal scolding ringing in the vast halls of Eternity, the celestial stage was set. Somewhere far, far below, in a perfectly average Earth apartment, where the only immediate threat was a mountain of unwashed dishes, our so-very-to-be-confused guest to shadow slave verse was sleeping soundly. He was blissfully unaware that in the span of a few divine sentences, his fate had been hijacked, his world deleted, and his future was about to involve significantly more eldritch horror and significantly less affordable rent. His peaceful, utterly normal life was now just a loose narrative thread waiting to be snapped by the bored, careless whim of a God looking to "fuck that realm's fate sideways."