When he woke up, he had somehow returned home, completely unaware of anything that had happened in the interim.
He felt his mind was flooded with countless brilliant ideas, so many that his head felt like it was about to explode.
He began to write. He wrote frantically, ceaselessly, for forty-nine days straight, until he had finally exhausted every last idea in his head.
The moment the book was finished, he died.
And I was born."
The mysterious figure raised his head and spread his arms, as if looking down with cold indifference, solemnly proclaiming to the insignificant ant before him:
"—I am the Spirit of the End!"
In that instant, Darkness surged like a geyser, sweeping over the mortal world and bestowing silent annihilation. The world fell silent, and all of creation stepped into the eternal end.
Eternal life…
Is not eternal death a form of eternal life?
