Different Perspective

He woke up every 10:00 am of the morning. Ate past 1:00 pm in the afternoon. Returned to his own room to do his own thing.

He never got tired of this routine. It just felt right.

Games, novels, movies, and short videos— he never had enough of it. He was not idling his time away as he waited for death to claim his pitiful life. It wasn't so vane that he was existing like trash just for the kicks of it.

Though it would have appeared wasteful, it was not entirely meaningless. There was value too in 'wasting' your life. That aside, he was not a complete sloth and a waste of human trash.

He also had something to do. Something he deemed important for him.

Writing.

At first, it was difficult. Grammar, writing style, and how to pace it. Every difficulty that a newbie writer would find himself with was thrown to him in that instant he 'tried' writing. The process was painful. He was baptized with fire and bathed with blood, well, metaphorically.

But in due time, he got better at writing.

As he got older, his elder brother was married, and him becoming a tad better writer among his peers. With readers less than a hundred, he was able to push through and manage to write his stories by generating love.

At 27 years old, he was still writing. Working his ass for a job he didn't even like, he managed to pay his bills and continued his writing. He was a writer, and he was proud to say that.

Was he happy? Yes, he was… Every day felt like a new adventure. In each chapter, a new door was opened. At least a thousand words a day, he proceeded inch by inch just to reach the ending he desired.

Then finally, he finished writing the story.

After that, he went to the nearest convenience store. He bought a can of beer and some snacks to celebrate his achievement. But, he didn't return home.

He got hit by a truck, and as if it were some cosmic joke, he was isekaid.

When his life was slipping away from him, the first thing he thought is that of how much regret it was that he only managed to write one book in his entire lifetime. Maybe if he chose to write full-time, he would get to write more.

It was an honest regret that he'll carry on in the next life.

However, this regret didn't last for long. Opening his eyes to the world familiar to his own novel, Mutagenic Medieval, a sense of euphoria enveloped him.

Every day felt like a new adventure. In each chapter, a new door was opened. Victories were made, friendships were created, and struggles were overcome.

He 'is' a person of this world, and he is proud to say it.

That's why he fought tooth and nail for the future of this world. For his loved ones, and the ending he envisioned. He followed the story step by step. He hid from the shadows to help the hero of the story. He wanted the 'they lived happily ever after' ending.

And finally, when they reached that destination, he felt a sense of liberation. He was free… Or so he thought…

Behind the final ending was the hidden ending. The hero was felled, and what replaced it is…

Evil.

The memory of it has long gone blurry, of how and who was responsible for the fall, he can't remember.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself at the beginning of time. He, a writer, woke up in that world familiar to his novel. He regressed, time traveled, back to a time when he was still new to this world.

Filled with gratitude, he promised to succeed this time. He fought, fought, and fought. This time, he got stronger. He became more unscrupulous with his methods. When he reached the final ending different from what he envisioned, he had no regrets.

But the hidden ending still remained. This time, it took a different form.

Goodness.

He who was deemed a villain was felled by the hero. And again, he was sent to the next iteration like a cruel joke. At that time, he realized that there was something wrong going on.

The twisted iteration might not even be real. All of this happening in his head is bound to be a mental illness, that would be haunting him for a very long time.

It is outright crazy.

He flitted back and forth between reality and illusion. On the other, he was a broken mentally ill man disillusioned with his own novels, and on the other hand, he was a 'character' exploring his own stories.

The doubts and delusions intermingled creating a maze of mental monstrosity.

He pushed the doubts at the back of his mind. He continued in the next iteration, and the next, and the next. Every process was excruciating, and the results were always disappointing.

Finally, he surrendered to his doubts. The final endings he wished for can never be granted for every time, it was always rejected.

He'd rather be a piss-poor writer, than a hero of the story. He realized that too late. At this point, he should have admitted to his insanity and returned to reality.

But he didn't.

He embraced the insanity as if it was the right thing to do. And while others viewed him as someone trapped in the world of fiction... The truth cannot be crueler as the truth was something the human mind would not be able to comprehend, to begin with.

Because there was no other way but to push on, he persisted. He made it a routine, started to not care, and just be done with it. Like an immortal who got tired of time, he just let it be.

The insanity set him free which allowed him to evolve... into a God.

At times, he played hero. Or villain. Or adventurer. Or journalist… It was as if he were on a play and in every iteration, he got to play a different role.

He started deriving fun by stealing the identities of others, their faces worn by a man who fancied himself a god. While in others' eyes, it might appear as his own convoluted fancy interest, to his own eyes, he was no different from a real god.

Developing a god complex in the midst of all the chaotic iterations, he became an egotistical being who only desired to control the world.

He became inviolable.

That's what he initially thought. But he wasn't inviolable for he is just a 'fallen' god. A god who lacked an identity cannot be a god. He who thought himself a god was just an empty shell of no will. When he realized that fact, it was too late for the new god had already imprisoned him in the Mental World for all of eternity.

It was too sudden. When he realized the next iteration was no more, regret and relief rose in his heart. Two conflicting emotions started to battle it out.

The memories turned into shambles. The 'insanity' that allowed him immeasurable power was stolen.

In that Mental World, he returned to his everyday mundane life as a writer. It wasn't bad, however, he didn't like it. Once you got a taste of power, you can't help but want more. Once became insane, it would be difficult to return to being normal again.

Though being a writer allowed you to hold power in a sense, it paled in comparison to the vivid manifestation of a Special Ability of that supposed-to-be world in the novel.

It was like a drug addiction.

But what can he do? He was but a fallen god with no influence to exert outside the Mental World. He was powerless, a fallen god, but a god nonetheless. So he thought, there was no way he will truly be forever imprisoned in this Mental World.

Still, he didn't let it get into his head. Eternity became a friend, and with the countless iterations outside the Mental World— he was met with more friends, people, and 'transmigrators' like himself. People who had candidacy over the 'insanity' gene.

The iterations were infinite. It won't end. Even the god who replaced him seems to struggle with these unending iterations as slowly, the new god too was affected by it, choosing to ultimately forsake the past iterations.

The iterations and the transmigrators, went hand in hand. Insanity is a cycle. It started from a clean slate, sullied with blackness, and was then erased only for the blackening to happen again. He became certain of this inevitable continuation as people populated the Mental World. Through this population, he now a fallen god, managed to form a community.

With their progress, their minds carrying over the next iteration, they managed to create a gap in the Mental World. The egos trapped in the Mental World started to go out one by one. They called themselves the Dreamers.

With his chains being the strongest, he can't utilize this gap. However, the escaped egos will help him. They might not succeed in a single try, but still, they continued working.

Until him, he, and I are freed from this Mental World's coils.