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Necromartyr is a literary, philosophical horror puzzle box that immerses you in cosmic dread, dark fantasy, and existential reflection. A letter from the protagonist. Hello Reader, Forgive the intrusion. I'm Marcus, the one shivering awake on blood-slick tiles long after the blade has cooled, the man upon whom centuries have left more scars than wisdom. If you're receiving this, you've already brushed against the machinery's gears; some wounds are contagious. Nick Stavrou, the author (he claims authorship; I suspect he's just another archivist of suffering), has spilled my story across the pages of necromartyr. A novel, he calls it, though it reads to me more like a grimoire, or a prayer for the hopeless, intended to challenge, not to comfort, inviting reflection beyond surface reading. It's cosmic horror, ritual-dark fantasy, and existential dread that stains the soul, echoing the shadowy depths of The Secret History, House of Leaves, The King in Yellow, and Annihilation, works that challenge perception and reality. If you've wandered with me through salt-stained corridors, if you've glimpsed the Worker Things in the corner of your eye, I ask, not for absolution, but for acknowledgment-your recognition affirms our silent bond. Leave a review, if you will. Your words can shape the echo of the story. Even the condemned crave witness, and your voice matters. And if you find nothing but emptiness here, well, count yourself lucky. Most of us never get to choose our endings, and perhaps that emptiness is the only actual acknowledgment of our existence. With reluctant hope (and the usual dread), Regards Marcus, An immortal sacrifice known as a necromartyr. P.S. If you feel a chill while reading, it isn't the air. It's just The End, leaning in. Comparable works include The Secret History, House of Leaves, The King in Yellow, Annihilation and Cloud Atlas.