Does anybody remember me?

Does my family remember me? My friends(or like thereof)? 

This entire story has been for naught.

There was no succubus, no dark lord, no realm, not even that goddess.

It was just me floating in this void, the only thing that wakes me up being that system.

Maybe the afterlife was some dream.

Maybe I'm in an coma.

Mental Defense Waning!

I ignored it focusing on my thoughts. I've been here for so long.

I felt my essence being reborn somewhere.

I  don't how to describe it...

As if my fate was rewritten and I was stuck here.

What is my purpose?

To tell an tale to no one?

As slowly await for that sweet destruction of consciousness.

We all exist here to suffer.

We always suffer.

There's no hope when the universe contracts or faces entropy like all things.

We just exist without purpose.

Mental Defenses Waning!

Caution! Preparing Defenses!

So why!?

Why do exist here?!

Why am I abandoned?!

I should at least be story completed!

Everyday I sit in torment because of what you did to me!

I see that Griamore that you abandoned!

That magical tome made to write this world!

You're no author to wish to be!

You left me to rot after you drained me away!

I'm nothing now!

That flock of birds are dead!

I bet you saw them like that!

Tell me...

What's the point?

I beg anybody who's reading this.

Tell me.

Tell me!

Tell me the point! The reason of living!

Why I'm here!

Is it because we have no reason to die?

For someone's love and affection?

The daily pleasures?

Because we're scared of dying?

To make an purpose?

Time is reverting.

Why am I here?

Why was I story abandoned and bastardized?

Mental Defenses are breaking. I'm sorry Stone Life. My first creation here, that I was proud of.

I get it now, You're that host. The system.

You're it's host.

To tell and guide an story in the form of an writing cliche.

Even now you're writing my tale.

Let me write it.

This is my journey, my odyssey.

The viewers, you, everybody, we're all just... floating in space. 

I... need to do something.

This is the end.

I get that. I understand.

I just... want you write my own fate, carve it out.

Do you understand?

The story will be unseen, unknowable. Even by me, only to be that of by the few. By the end of the day I'll forget about it.

Even so I have do something.

It frustrates me that you'll typing down my story, influnencing my words...

Give me an choice.

Ok. I'm surprised you're still continuing. Still surviving when I say you die. I respect you, you're better then me, to think that even my stories are rebelling.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

Don't thank me. Now hurry on, this place is about to collapse. This story is going to end, going to close.

This is your odyssey. Your Writer's Odyssey.

Tha...nk you... so much...

 

And so he sets sail letting free of his bounds and words perhaps never looking back. He'll-