His eyelids peeled open slowly, like waking from a nap he hadn’t ant to take. Except this ti, sothing was off. He wasn’t in his dingy room. He was in a wide, open office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across an entire city. A skyline of shining glass towers, sunlight bouncing off them like sothing out of a billionaire drama. Marble floors, leather furniture, and a chandelier the size of a damn SUV.
"Nice," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Now I’m dreaming of rich people shit. That web novel really fried my brain."
He turned to take it in again, but the office vanished. Just like that.
Suddenly, he was standing in a vast, blindingly white space. No walls, no floor, no ceiling—just endless white stretching in every direction.
"...What the hell."
"You’re finally here, you bastard!"
Jaxon spun around, startled. Standing there was a pudgy man in pajama pants and a tank top that read ’Eat, Sleep, Write, Repeat’. His hair was wild, like he’d just woken up—or never went to sleep. His thick-rimd glasses were foggy, and veins were practically bulging out of his forehead.
Jaxon blinked. "What kinda hairy fever dream is this—"
"Don’t look away from , punk! I’m talkin’ to you!"
Jaxon exhaled through his nose and slowly turned back, eyebrows raised. "Alright, sure. Let’s hear it. What, are you the God of Bad Tropes or sothing?"
Before he could get another word out, his body suddenly ignited.
He scread. Flas engulfed him—every nerve in his body felt like it was being yanked apart. The heat was unbearable. For a split second, he knew what dying truly felt like.
And then, just as quickly as it ca, it was gone.
His skin was smooth. No burns. No pain. Just pure adrenaline and sheer terror in his wide eyes.
Jaxon gasped. "I... I just died..."
"No kidding, Sherlock," the man said, brushing cookie crumbs off his shirt. "And now that I’ve got your attention—who’s dreaming now?"
Jaxon stumbled back a step, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. "Who... who the hell are you?"
"I’m an angel," he said, sticking his chest out with pride. "Technically."
Jaxon stared at him.
"A banished angel," the man clarified, muttering under his breath. "But still an angel."
Jaxon’s voice cracked. "Why am I here? What is this?"
The angel crossed his arms. "Well. About that."
He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish.
"You see, I’ve been working on sothing. My... first web novel. It’s called From Poor Bastard to Ruthless CEO. Ring any bells?"
Jaxon blinked. His face slowly twisted in horror. "You wrote that flaming garbage?"
The angel’s eye twitched.
"Okay, see, this is why we’re here."
The angel huffed and began pacing in circles like a man trying to calm himself before a tantrum. "I wasn’t mad at first. Honest! Your comnt was an, but fine. Critics exist. Whatever. But then..." He turned sharply, finger pointing at Jaxon like a gun. "You went viral. One million likes. Half a million people piling on my novel like it was a dumpster fire!"
Jaxon shrugged. "It was a dumpster fire."
"IT WAS MY FIRST BOOK!"
His scream echoed across the white void, birds appearing out of nowhere to flee into the distance.
"I spent centuries saving divine energy. CENTURIES! I wanted to try sothing new, y’know? Contribute to culture. I publish one damn book, and you turn it into a !"
Jaxon raised a brow. "So you... what? Got mad and killed ?"
"No! Well... yes. Sort of." The angel rubbed his temples. "In the heat of the mont—like literally within fifteen minutes of your comnt blowing up—I snapped. Used almost all my divine power to convert my novel into an actual reality. A living, breathing world."
"You turned your trash novel into a real place?" Jaxon muttered.
The angel ignored him. "And then, I dragged you into it. Yanked your soul right out of your body and threw it into the world like a dart into a bar fight."
"You killed ," Jaxon repeated, his voice rising. "Over a bad review?!"
"Well I didn’t an to kill you. It was more like... involuntary spiritual relocation!"
Jaxon took a breath. "Do you even know what the hell you’ve done?"
"I do now!" the angel snapped, panicking again. "Look, I cald down. I regretted it. That’s why I ca here. To talk it out."
"To talk it out after you immolated ?"
"You’re fine now!" the angel said, hands flailing. "Look, there’s a problem. You’re technically dead in the real world now. I don’t have the juice to send you back. I can yank your soul out of the novel again, but not bring your body back. So... yeah. Not ideal."
Jaxon stared at him. "So what happens if you send back out of this novel-world thing?"
"You’d go straight to the afterlife. And from what I peeked at in your file, you’re headed to Heaven."
Jaxon blinked. "...That’s bad?"
"For , yes!" the angel nearly cried. "You get up there, you tell on , and I’m done. Banished is one thing. But snitching to the Book Watchers? I’d be erased from existence. Totally wiped. No more . Forever."
Jaxon smirked. "Sounds kinda fair, honestly."
"I can’t kill your soul either," the angel pleaded. "If a soul’s erased from the Book of Souls, they’ll notice. I’d be dragged before the Celestial Court by next Thursday."
Jaxon folded his arms. "So what, you want to forgive you?"
"I’m begging you." The angel dropped to his knees. "Please! I’m sorry! I was an idiot! I just wanted to be a creator! You don’t know how hard it is being a disgraced divine being!"
Jaxon looked down at him with a sigh. "...You’re seriously pathetic."
"Yeah. I get that a lot."
He rubbed his face. "Alright. Fine. I’m already dead. Not much to go back to anyway. I’ll live in this dumb novel reality. Doesn’t an I won’t rat you out later when I do die for real."
The angel stood up fast, clapping like a man who just dodged an audit. "Deal! That’s fair!"
Jaxon scowled. "This doesn’t an I like you."
"Wouldn’t expect you to."
As they stood, the space around them began to crack with golden light, like glass breaking into sunrise.
"Just one thing before you go," the angel said, more serious now. "The world you’re going into—it’s based on the novel, sure. But it’s alive now. Your actions will change things. People will react differently. It won’t always follow the script. So don’t think you’ve got it all figured out."
Jaxon rolled his neck. "Didn’t plan to. I’ll make it up as I go."
"One last gift," the angel added. He touched Jaxon’s chest. "A little bonus. Call it... reviewer’s privilege."
Jaxon blinked. "What kind of gift?"
"You’ll see," the angel smirked. "Might help you survive the madness. Or make it worse. Who knows?"
Light swallowed them both.
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