Time didn't stop when Arin died—
it simply forgot which version of him was supposed to stay dead.
Now he wakes in shattered realities that bleed into one another: a burning lab that never burned, a childhood memory with the wrong faces, a future city screaming his name in alarms he hasn't triggered yet.
Something is hunting him through timelines, continents, and corrupted echoes, stitching lies into his past and rewriting the truth faster than he can chase it.
And every time he gets close to an answer, a whisper follows him from the dark:
"You didn't survive the explosion, Arin.
You caused it."
There are stories that begin with a scream.
There are stories that begin with a birth.
Some begin with death.
And few… begin with a silence so deep, it feels like the universe held its breath just long enough for something impossible to slip through.
This story does not begin at any of those points.
It begins before them.
Before memory.
Before identity.
Before the fragile illusion of time decided how reality should behave.
It begins in a place no human step can reach, yet every human fear originates from it.
A place made of echoes, fractures, unfinished screams, and unborn futures.
A place where past and future sit so close that if you put a hand between them, you'll burn with cold.
A place that watches all worlds but belongs to none.
And in that impossible place, something awoke.
Not a man.
Not a machine.
Not even a soul.
Something in-between.
Something that had been shattered, rebuilt, stretched across timelines, and thrown back into existence like a broken mirror forced to reflect distorted memories.
That "something" once had a name.
It remembers the sound of it.
But the shape of the memory is wrong—
like recalling a dream you never actually had.
Sometimes the memory whispers.
Sometimes it screams.
Sometimes it shows him moments from a life he doesn't know whether he lived…
…or stole.
This story is not about good or evil.
Not about fate or destiny.
Not about heroes rising from ashes.
This story is about loss, the kind of loss that scrapes out the inside of a mind until it forgets where sanity used to be.
This story is about investigation in the dark, when the flashlight flickers and the truth refuses to stay still.
This story is about monsters that wear human faces and machines that dream of blood.
This story is about a journey—
not across continents,
but across realities,
possible histories,
and doomed futures.
A globetrotter moves across the world.
A timetrotter moves across everything else.
He will become both.
Some stories end after a chapter.
Some drag on until the final breath.
But this story…
This story has no ending.
Because how do you end something that exists in every timeline at once?
How do you kill something that has already died in the past,
yet still dies in the future,
yet still watches itself die from the present?
Arin—if that was ever truly his name—did not awaken from death.
He awakened through death.
Squeezed through the cracks of an explosion that tore more than his body apart.
It tore apart the entire thread of time that contained him.
Now he stands—a presence, a fragment, an echo—inside a labyrinth of memories that don't line up.
Rooms he remembers entering but not leaving.
People he knows but has never met.
Events that feel like they happened twice, differently each time.
He sees the world—
but sometimes the world sees him back.
He hears voices—
but some voices remember him from futures he hasn't reached yet.
He walks through cities in the dead of night,
following trails of static left behind by versions of himself that shouldn't exist.
He breaks into labs that no longer stand,
searching for clues he never finds.
He opens doors that lead to rooms that weren't there yesterday.
He sees shadows shaped like his own silhouette—
but taller.
Thinner.
Wrong.
Sometimes they speak.
Sometimes they warn.
Sometimes they mock.
And sometimes… they repeat the same sentence again and again:
"You are not the first version of you."
Arin hunts the truth.
But the truth hunts him back.
Every timeline he steps through fractures a little more.
Every memory he touches bleeds.
Every clue he uncovers contradicts the last.
He is a detective with no certainty,
a traveler with no map,
a machine with leftover emotions,
a man with missing pieces,
and a witness to crimes he might have committed.
He tries to remember what he truly was—
engineer?
victim?
experiment?
mistake?
But all he has are fragments:
A scorched lab.
A door marked "RESTRICTED CORE ACCESS."
A father with half a machine-face.
A detonator.
A voice apologizing.
A corpse that looks too much like him.
And a whisper that follows him through every twisted timeline:
"Who do you think you are?"
There will be worlds he visits where he is feared.
Others where he is worshipped.
Some where he died as a hero.
Some where he survives as a monster.
He will see cities devoured by machines.
He will see worlds where humanity burned.
He will see universes where he was never human at all.
He will see versions of himself that should never exist.
He will uncover secrets so old they predate time.
He will meet people who claim to know him from futures he has not walked.
He will lose himself—
over and over—
in the darkness between moments.
And somewhere, buried beneath all these impossibilities,
lies the truth:
How did Arin die?
Who killed him?
Why was he reborn as the Forbidden A.I.?
And what is the thing wearing his memories like a mask?
The investigation will stretch across dimensions.
It will devour timelines.
It will unravel everything he clings to as "real."
Because reality does not bend for Arin.
Reality bends around him.
This is not a story with a beginning.
This is not a story with an ending.
This is a spiral—
one that tightens as you descend.
Every chapter is another turn.
Every turn is another truth.
Every truth is another lie.
Every lie brings him closer to something that should never be awakened.
And when you read these endless chapters,
you will follow him through labyrinths of time and memory.
You will fall with him.
Break with him.
Search with him.
You will witness horrors that look back.
Mysteries that refuse to be solved.
Timelines that tear themselves apart.
Worlds that blink in and out of existence when he steps near them.
And somewhere…
if you read carefully enough,
if you piece together the fragments scattered across thousands of pages…
You may understand the truth before he does.
You may see the monster before he meets it.
You may realize why the universe twisted itself
to bring him back.
But until then—
Welcome, traveler.
You are stepping into a story that does not forgive curiosity.
A story that reshapes itself when you are not looking.
A story that grows darker each time you turn the page.
Welcome to the beginning
of a tale with no end.
Welcome to:
REBORN AS THE FORBID
The Endless Timeline Wanderer
TITLE:
A Soul Bleeding Through Infinite Worlds
GREEK AND LATIN WORD:
Vir Mortuus Per Omnes Kosmoi