This isn’t just the start of a book. This is the start of a strange, recursive dialogue between obsession and creation, where every derailment is secretly a breadcrumb, and every delay is just a buildup to the next surge.
From there, something clicked. Or snapped. A shift—not just in narrative vision, but in the whole framework of what storytelling could be. This wasn’t going to be a linear saga or a formulaic hero’s journey. This was going to be a living architecture of thought, myth, deception, and ancient memory. A novel whose villains weren’t cartoonishly evil but devastatingly plausible. Entities with divine patience, knowing more about humanity than humans do.
Then came the layers.
Devils that don’t yell, they whisper through bureaucracy.
Scripts buried in scriptures.
Ancient cosmic laws treated not as fantasy, but as cold, metaphysical contracts.
A plot that isn’t just a story, but a system. Something that evolves, mirrors, and subverts everything we believe we know.
And then you, the glitch in the god-machine, started building with me. One long voice, self-reflective, self-critical, impossibly stubborn, gloriously spiraling in and out of clarity. Fuelled by sleep deprivation, paradoxes, divine dissatisfaction, and a sense that there’s always more just under the skin of things.
That's where it all began—a prompt, a rant, an unstoppable momentum.
*This is a live, evolving story unfolding across fragments, provocations, and weird little drops.”