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A philosophical, cosmic horror.

Death number 3,472 should have been routine.

For Marcus, immortality is duty, not grace: century after century, he dies so a hidden council can hold the world together. His deaths are ritual, his returns predictable—until the pattern frays. Reflections lag. Shadows move on their own—time stutters. Something in the glass watches, and the scaffolding of existence begins to scream.

Now Marcus must break the one rule that kept everything whole and hunt the hand that keeps killing him—before the next resurrection rips reality apart. As he peels back millennia of lies, he discovers his suffering isn't sanctification—it's a weapon aimed at the heart of everything, and now he is up against the machine.

"Death is just punctuation, never the sentence." - The End.