Death tastes like energy drinks and poor life choices.
I know this because I died at 3:47 AM on a Tuesday, choking on my own blood after a caffeine-induced heart attack. The last thing I saw was my laptop screen, cursor blinking after the words: "And with Marcus's death, the real story begins."
The irony? I'd just killed off the most beloved character in my webnovel to spite my readers.
Now karma was bitch-slapping me back.
Except... why was I thinking about karma when I should be, you know, dead?
I blinked. Breathed. Felt my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
"What the actual—"
The words died in my throat as I stared at my reflection in a floor-to-ceiling window. Same messy black hair, same sleep-deprived eyes, but sharper features. Like someone had taken my face and upgraded it from "basement-dwelling author" to "could actually intimidate someone."
Beyond the glass, Neo-Tokyo's neon skyline painted the night in electric blues and reds. The exact way I had described in Chapter 2 of "Awakened Reality." Down to the coffee shop with the flickering blue sign that read "Midnight Brew."
This was impossible.
Neo-Tokyo didn't exist. I'd made it up. Just like I'd made up the apartment I was standing in—black marble, minimalist furniture, and a view that cost more than my real apartment's annual rent.
Same way I'd made up Raven Ashworth, the background character who lived here.
The background character whose reflection was staring back at me.
"Well," I said to my impossibly improved face, "this is either the best dream I've ever had, or the worst case of isekai bullshit in literary history."
My phone—Raven's phone—lit up with a notification:
BREAKING: Dimensional anomalies detected worldwide. Scientists baffled.
- - - - - -
Time until Convergence Event: 47 hours, 23 minutes, 17 seconds.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
The Convergence Event wasn't supposed to happen for another week in my story.
Something had changed the timeline.
---
I stumbled to the laptop sitting open on Raven's desk, my hands shaking as reality—or whatever this was—crashed down around me. The screen showed my writing platform, still logged in, displaying Chapter 127 of "Awakened Reality."
The chapter where I'd brutally murdered Marcus Reed, fan-favorite cinnamon roll, in the most emotionally devastating way possible.
The comments section was already a warzone:
GlitterGoth99: "I can't believe you killed Marcus! He was pure! PURE!"
SwordDaddy: "Dropping this trash. Three years following this story and you kill the best character for shock value? Fuck you, author."
BloodRose: "Marcus deserved better. This is character assassination. Do you even care about your readers?"*
DeathSeeker666: "FINALLY! Someone who isn't afraid to kill characters! Based author! More blood!"
I'd written Marcus's death out of spite. Pure, petty spite. After three years of readers calling Marcus their "precious boy" while completely ignoring Kai, my actual protagonist, I'd snapped. If they loved Marcus so much, let them see how it felt when their darling got his heart ripped out by the real villain.
Except... I'd never written that scene.
I scrolled up, reading with growing horror:
"Marcus Reed died the way he lived—protecting others. But as Malachar's claws pierced his chest, as his blood painted the warehouse floor crimson, he smiled.
Because he'd seen something in the shadows. A figure in a dark coat, watching with cold satisfaction.
'R-Raven?' Marcus whispered with his final breath. 'You... you planned this...'
Raven Ashworth stepped from the darkness, his expression unreadable. 'Every hero needs a perfect tragedy, Marcus. Thank you for playing your part so beautifully.'*
*And as the light faded from Marcus's eyes, Raven began to laugh."*
I'd never written those words. Never planned that scene. In my outline, Marcus was supposed to die fighting Malachar, not... not as part of some elaborate scheme by a character I'd barely developed.
But there it was, in my document, timestamped 3:47 AM.
My time of death.
A chill ran down my spine as I noticed something else. The view counter showed 2.7 million readers had viewed the chapter in the last hour. My story had never had more than 10,000 regular readers.
And the comments... the comments were coming in real-time, faster than humanly possible:
"Did anyone else feel that earthquake?
"Guys, the news is saying weird stuff is happening. Energy readings going crazy."
"My little brother just started floating. FLOATING. What the hell is going on?"
"This isn't fiction anymore, is it?"
My blood turned to ice.
I opened a new browser window and searched "dimensional anomalies news." The results made my stomach drop:
BCC: "Unexplained Energy Surges Detected Globally"
CCN: "Scientists Report 'Reality Fluctuations' in Major Cities"
Reutars: "Mass Reports of Supernatural Phenomena Following Online Fiction Update"
The articles were all timestamped after 3:47 AM.
After I'd posted Chapter 127.
After I'd written Raven Ashworth into the spotlight.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no. This isn't how fiction works. Stories don't just... become real."
That's when I found the notebook.
---
It was sitting on the coffee table like it belonged there, bound in black leather that seemed to absorb light. No title, no author name, just my handwriting on the first page:
"Rules for Reality Revision - A God's Guide to Playing With Mortals"
I didn't remember writing that.
I definitely didn't remember writing what came next:
"Day 1: Woke up in my own story. Thought it was a dream until I found this journal. Apparently, past-me has been busy. Time to see what I've been up to."
"Day 15: It's not possession. It's not reincarnation. I'm both Raven Feather the author AND Raven Ashworth the character. Two souls, one body. The author creates, the character executes. We're going to have so much fun."
"Day 23: Successfully manipulated Kai's university application. He'll be in the right place when the Convergence Event hits. Poor boy has no idea his 'lucky break' was orchestrated. Every hero needs his tragic backstory, after all."
"Day 31: Malachar is pathetically easy to control. A few anonymous tips about 'ancient artifacts' in specific locations, and he's following my breadcrumbs perfectly. He thinks he's the mastermind. Adorable."
My hands were trembling as I flipped through pages of meticulous planning, character manipulation, and reality-shaping schemes. This version of me—or whatever I was—had been pulling strings for months.
But the really disturbing part wasn't the planning.
It was how much I agreed with it.
"Day 78: Had a fascinating realization today. The readers think they're consuming fiction, but every view, every comment, every emotional reaction is feeding power into this world. They think they're reading about Kai's heroic journey. They have no idea they're puppets in MY story."
"Day 92: Tested the theory. Wrote a scene where it rained in Neo-Tokyo. Checked the weather three minutes after posting. Rain. The correlation is undeniable—their belief makes it real. I'm not just writing fiction anymore. I'm rewriting reality one chapter at a time."
I slammed the journal shut, my heart hammering against my ribs.
This was insane. This was impossible.
This was the most brilliant and terrifying thing I'd ever encountered.
Because somewhere, in the dark corners of my mind, I was impressed. This other version of me had figured out how to turn fiction into reality, readers into unwilling participants, and storytelling into genuine power.
He'd discovered how to be a god.
I had discovered how to be a god.
I walked to the window and looked down at the already-busy streets of Neo-Tokyo. In six hours, Kai Nakamura would grab his usual coffee from Midnight Brew before heading to university. Sweet, trusting Kai, who had no idea his parents' deaths had been orchestrated. Who didn't know he was about to become the most powerful awakened human in history.
Who definitely didn't suspect that his story had been hijacked by someone who knew every choice he'd make before he made it.
In my original outline, Kai was the hero. Malachar was the villain. Good triumphed over evil.
But that was before I'd learned the real rules of this game.
I opened the journal to a fresh page and began writing:
"Day 179: The author is dead. Long live the author. Time to show my readers what a REAL villain looks like."
---
As I wrote those words, something extraordinary happened.
The ink didn't just dry—it glowed. Soft gold light that pulsed like a heartbeat before fading, leaving the words permanently etched not just on paper, but into the fabric of reality itself.
I could feel it. The subtle shift in the world's gravity, all of it slowly tilting toward me.
My phone buzzed with notifications as my story exploded across social media:
"Anyone else notice the weird stuff happening after reading Awakened Reality?"
"Guys, I live in Tokyo and I swear I just saw the coffee shop from the story."
"This is going to sound crazy, but I think Marcus Reed's death actually happened somewhere."
2.7 million readers and climbing. Each one pumping belief, emotion, and raw faith into my words. Each one unknowingly feeding power into this reality I was shaping.
I was Raven Feather, failed webnovellist who'd died of caffeine poisoning and poor life choices.
I was Raven Ashworth, the mastermind who'd been orchestrating events from the shadows.
And now, I was something else entirely.
Something that could rewrite reality one chapter at a time.
A new message popped up on my screen—not from a reader, but from the system itself:
WARNING: Reality coherence at 94% and falling. Dimensional barriers weakening. Convergence Event accelerated. Time remaining: 23 hours, 15 minutes.
Recommendation: Cease narrative alterations immediately.
I stared at the warning for exactly three seconds.
Then I started laughing.
"Cease narrative alterations?" I said to my reflection. "I'm just getting started."
I cracked my knuckles and opened a new document:
Chapter 128: The God Awakens
In exactly twenty-three hours, the Convergence Event would remake the world. Heroes would rise. Villains would fall. And somewhere in Neo-Tokyo, a young man named Kai Nakamura would discover that his destiny had been written by someone who never intended for him to win.
The real story was about to begin.
And this time, the villain was writing it.
I hit 'publish' and watched reality crack just a little bit more.
After all, what was the point of being god if you played it safe?