Adwit_ojha

You can have a chat with me on discord. 
https://discord.gg/fTZRHuY4mX


Mark Eisner is the greatest example of a failure. Unable to get his dream job, he resorts to writing a story, a story close to his heart, a story in which he expressed himself to the fullest. It was the delusional universe he created for himself.
Unable to grasp the attention of readers, his book was deemed a failure as well. 
Heartbroken after suffering his crushing fate, Mark commits suicide, uttering his last words;  proclaiming the end of his story.

But was this the end of his story?
Hell Nah!
He is far from being dead. 

He finds himself, astonishingly, still possessing his consciousness, even though his existence is formless. 
What he then sees is unbelievable. 
The hero he created, the hero "he only" loved, the hero that reflected himself... His own protagonist.
Reincarnated as the system of the hero of his own novel, Mark undergoes an epic journey with his unanticipated creation, helping him throughout, knowing all about his predicaments. There are a few rules to him -
1. RELAY ONLY REQUIRED MESSAGE TO THE PLAYER
2. DROP DESIGNATED REWARDS
3. EXPEL THE PLAYER IF PLAUSIBILITY REACHES LIMITS

But.... Is that all? Does he really thinks events will take place just as he layed them?
.
.
.
Is he really that Omniscient ? Is he the only one....
.
.
.

Master Of My Universe: The Author Who Became the Hero's System

Remirg was having a hard time comprehending what was happening to him right now. All events happening in just a few hours have been so haphazard that it almost felt like he was standing on the brink of insanity.

From leaving his homely abode of the small training island, battling deadly wraiths, he was now lying into the abysmal depths into his own mind, looking at the strange anomaly sitting calmly right in front of him.

The glossy hairs of the strange being somehow looked familiar to him, though his outfit was still something which he would categorize as bizarre. It was some kind of a buttoned up shirt made of a material he didn't knew about (linen) and the trousers were something which he had never seen in his whole life.

Above it, the man was wearing a kind of a glossy black robe which was billowing down, now gently resting on the floor, spread out, like that of a bat's.

Charred Grounds {Part - 2}