[A multicultural world blending East and West + a snarky protagonist + a touch of Lovecraftian horror + a beginner writer's plot may be a little messy]
Stars streak across the night sky. The undead and angels soar together, while neon cities vanish in the blink of an eye like brilliant fireworks.
My sudden death earned me the chance to pass through the long river of time in this world: the final chapter of my career, the creed I lived by.
In the confusion of my second life, I found my own path midway through. But I don't know whether the meaning was something I searched for myself, or an anchor the world chose for me.
Am I studying the world, or is the world studying me?
This is the final cry of a civilization. The end of the story is also its conclusion.
I am the one who writes this world.
But this world is resisting me, too.
