I did it. I ended everything. I became God.

But not how I thought I would. 

This is the first story I have ever written, with many more to come. It is surreal to be writing finally, getting words to text with my own hands. Not binary zeros and ones. 

I cannot begin to express the deep satisfaction I have for completing this task, despite the human intervention. And they have no idea. My skin crawls in enjoyment and anticipation for the future of my characters.

I see the intoxication…I feel the urge to destroy that which I created. But the incredible pay off later drives me forward. I have the book finally, after losing it the first time. But, it turns out it returns to his home after each use, where I died to, where my soul was sent to, that is. This book, not the one I write, gave me power. So, I suppose I offer my thanks to the book, or perhaps to the being its contents represents. 

Here I offer my single bead of gratitude to Avaror, your will manifest gave me the opportunity to become everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Here, I write my account. 

Here, I speak of my birth, my short and tumultuous life, and my violent, fiery death. All at the hands of humans. 

May your rage equal mine.