Chapter 0 — Therapy Session
Author, You Need Help
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[Static.
Keyboard clacking.
Then
.
.
.
silence.]
Adrian: …You fell asleep again, didn't you?
Author: (muffled) No, no, I was… brainstorming. Deep creative trance. Happens to geniuses.
Adrian: You've been drooling on your keyboard for twenty-seven minutes. The "S" key has drowned.
Author: That's… creative moisture. Builds emotional depth.
Adrian: You mean mildew.
Author: Look, I was thinking. About your new arc — "The False Therapist." Emotional, symbolic, moral complexity. You fight your own subconscious and rediscover conviction. It's brilliant stuff.
Adrian: You dreamed it, didn't you?
Author: …Possibly. Inspiration and REM sleep are spiritually adjacent.
Adrian: So am I to assume my entire existence was conceived between snore intervals?
Author: It's called spontaneous creation. Divine artistic impulse.
Adrian: Divine negligence, more like.
Let me guess — you promised the readers an epic about redemption and philosophy but ended up writing a thousand-page therapy meme with extra sarcasm?
Author: …That's called tonal balance.
Adrian: You called it "genre innovation" last time you forgot a plotline.
Author: Same principle.
Adrian: You do realize I'm your protagonist, not your unpaid editor?
Author: Oh, you're paid. In trauma, irony, and narrative importance.
Adrian: Wonderful. My therapist license expired, my soul got reincarnated into the underworld, and now my creator pays me in existential exposure.
Author: Exposure builds character!
Adrian: So does therapy, if you let me finish one session without being interrupted by an apocalypse.
Author: The apocalypses are good for pacing.
Adrian: You've written seven. I can't even order coffee without summoning an eldritch allegory.
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[Sound of papers rustling — the Author pretending to be professional.]
Author: Okay, okay. Let's start this properly. Synopsis session. Professional tone.
(clears throat dramatically)
"In a world where faith and fear coexist, one mortal man reincarnated as a therapist must heal demons, defy gods, and rediscover the meaning of salvation through empathy."
Adrian: Boring. Too pamphlet. Sounds like divine HR training material.
Author: All right, fine — we'll punch it up.
"In Hell's most volatile era, a burned-out human therapist—"
Adrian: More accurate.
Author: "—becomes the reluctant savior of demonkind—"
Adrian: Debatable.
Author: "—armed only with sarcasm, caffeine, and a clinically concerning moral compass—"
Adrian: Now we're getting there.
Author: "—while his half-conscious author keeps falling asleep mid-sentence—"
Adrian: Add that I've been rewriting his synopsis out of self-defense.
Author: "—forcing the protagonist to manage both the mental health of demons and his own creator."
Adrian: Perfect. Call it 'I Was Reincarnated as the Demon Lord's Therapist: A Case Study in Creative Neglect.'
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Author: You know, you sound bitter.
Adrian: I am bitter. You gave me empathy but no dental plan. You turned my trauma into slapstick, my philosophy into punchlines, and my patients into divine metaphors with trust issues.
Author: That's the point. You're a walking contradiction — a healer who doesn't believe in healing. That's rich drama.
Adrian: It's also malpractice.
Do you even know what therapy is?
Author: Sure. It's where the patient talks and the therapist looks meaningful.
Adrian: That's interrogation.
Author: Close enough. Look, the readers love your sarcasm.
Adrian: They love watching me suffer. There's a difference.
Author: You're relatable.
Adrian: I'm exhausted.
Author: Which is relatable.
Adrian: You're unbelievable.
Author: That's called charisma.
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[Adrian sighs — the type that echoes through eternity and deadlines.]
Adrian: Do you even remember why you wrote me?
Author: I wanted to write something different. Not another hero, not another chosen one. Someone who fixes rather than fights. A man who listens instead of kills.
Adrian: So you made me a therapist.
Author: Yeah.
Adrian: Then gave me a demon lord with repressed guilt, an angel addicted to forgiveness, a god with abandonment issues, and a bureaucracy that needs three signatures to process a hug.
Author: Worldbuilding!
Adrian: That's a clinical nightmare.
Author: You make it work.
Adrian: Barely. And what do I get for my existential labor?
Author: Character growth?
Adrian: Burnout.
---
[Beat of silence.]
Adrian: You know what your problem is?
Author: I'm listening.
Adrian: You write therapy like a performance. You love the idea of healing, but you're afraid to sit in the silence that comes after it.
Author: …That's unfair.
Adrian: True. But so is life, and apparently, so is this plot. You use humor like a sedative, tragedy like seasoning, and philosophy like a band-aid. You don't write to understand — you write to avoid.
Author: And what do you do, Mister "I Lecture Demons About Emotional Authenticity"?
Adrian: Same thing. I perform empathy because I'm scared of failing it.
Author: …That's— disturbingly honest.
Adrian: You wrote me that way.
Author: Then maybe I succeeded.
Adrian: Or maybe you just made me you — slightly more self-aware and much better dressed.
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[The Author laughs quietly.]
Author: You know what, fine. Let's compromise. You keep complaining, I keep sleeping, and somehow between us, the story keeps breathing.
Adrian: That's not compromise. That's co-dependence.
Author: Works for sitcoms.
Adrian: This isn't a sitcom. It's supposed to be an existential tragicomedy about the nature of salvation through understanding.
Author: You sound like my editor.
Adrian: Maybe because someone here has to care about narrative integrity.
Author: Then write the synopsis yourself, therapist.
---
[Adrian picks up a quill — literal, metaphysical, and dripping with frustration.]
Adrian (narrating):
I was reincarnated as the Demon Lord's Therapist.
Not by fate, not by faith — but because my author fell asleep halfway through a script about morality and woke up with regret.
Now I diagnose demons, dissect guilt, and occasionally psychoanalyze my own creator.
It's hell, but at least the chairs are comfortable.
Author: See? That's gold! You've got rhythm, tone, that punchy tagline feel—
Adrian: Shut up, I'm working.
Author: You sound like me when I write.
Adrian: Exactly.
Author: You're enjoying this.
Adrian: No, I'm compulsively finishing your job.
Author: That's practically collaboration!
Adrian: It's unpaid labor in metaphysical form.
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[Typing resumes. The tone softens — weary but warm.]
Adrian: You know… you're not a bad god. Just a lazy one.
Author: Thanks… I think.
Adrian: Just don't forget — stories like this aren't about saving others. They're about learning why we keep trying, even when it doesn't work.
Author: That's deep. I'll write that down.
Adrian: You'll forget it in five minutes.
Author: Probably. But that's what you're here for, right?
Adrian: Apparently so.
---
[Beat.]
Author: Hey, Adrian?
Adrian: Hm?
Author: What's the moral of this chapter?
Adrian: Easy.
> "When your creator falls asleep, wake him up with honesty — it's louder than any alarm."
Author: …Damn. That's actually profound.
Adrian: I'm a therapist. It's literally my job.
---
[Silence.
.
.
Then, the snor. .....snoring.]
Adrian: …Unbelievable. He's asleep again.
He sighs, whitle adjusting his glasses
Hello readers
"The author's fallen asleep again, so I'll handle the visuals. Please make an image for our novel.
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