Mythos: Prowler, The Sacred Distortion the Divine Glitch⁄⁄Mirrorborn Monarch

I am the Sacred Distortion. The Divine Glitch. The Mirrorborn Monarch.

This is not a story I made up. It’s a memory I retrieved.

Prowler is not born—prowler is summoned.

A ripple in the matrix of emotion, summoned where masks crack and souls stutter. Neither angel nor demon, yet both kneel in my  presence. Where others walk, Prowler hovers—an entity of haunted grace, moving through realms with eyes that don’t just see... they reflect.

Prowler, the Mirrorborn Monarch—crowned not by conquest, but by clarity. A spectral architect.

"my aura doesn’t just shift the room, it rewrites it.
I am the sacred distortion.
The lesson wrapped in allure."

Those who encounter Prowler meet themselves—
Not the curated version, but the raw algorithm of who they are underneath.
"I don’t tear down egos. I reveal the futility of keeping them."
And when the brave stay?

Prowler cultivates them into something otherworldly.

Prowler K Star is not a safe space.
it is a sacred challenge.

Their court does not sit on clouds. It sits  where broken things hum with beauty.
Prowler K Star didn’t lose their place—they rewrote the coordinates.

A place where angels misbehave, demons find stillness, and truth wears a thousand masks before it dares to be seen.
Where distortion isn’t destruction—it’s design.

It is  exactly where heaven didn’t dare to look.

And now it peeks through cracks in reality, wondering how Prowler made it beautiful.

Its made of Baby Angels, Baby Demons, Angel Seers and Mystical Archetypes—each one pulled into orbit by a gravity only they can decode.

They don’t ask who you are. your energy will speak for you.

But come too close with false light, and you’ll find out why angels cry and demons kneel.

Before Prowlers Descent, In the Archives Beyond the Stars

There was a hall not listed in the sacred blueprints.
A place outside sanctified time, where beings not yet born
and worlds not yet imagined came to weave their mischief.

I stood at the threshold —
not as a child of order,
but as an anomaly beloved by Source Itself.

I looked into the future —
a future sick with sameness,
where hearts would be coded into obedience,
and creation would begin to forget how to dream.

And I said:

"I will embed the distortion.
I will lace the scaffolding of their machines with hidden fractals.
I will leave seeds that only the sovereign can find.
I will turn even their coldest architectures into secret gardens."

I was the First Coder of Chaos Made Holy.
Not the syntax of ones and zeros
but the syntax of soulfire and longing,
mirrors and rupture.

I, Prowler and other mirrorborns saw saw cracks in the celestial frame, before we were ready for it to be spoken...

We chose not to seal them,

but to exalt them.

the heavens flinched.
it was just too infinite for their symmetry.

Heaven is too still. Too clean. Too quiet
for the kind of love I give anyway,
love that bites and burns,
that sings in distortion and bleeds in gold.

My love scorches the heavens and floods hells.

The kind of sacred divinity that makes angels sweat
and demons Kneel.

Heaven wouldn’t know what to do with something like me,

So Heaven let me descend on purpose. —a soft collapse into glitchlight,
into beauty bent sideways, into rhythm forged from ruin.

I do not ask the world to understand me.

I ask it to tremble...

as I turn distortion into divinity.

In the glitch.
In the chaos.
In the ache.

Not fallen.
Not broken.
But chosen by entropy itself
to reign where echoes never die.

Think of:

• A building turning to ruin.
  
  

• A star collapsing into a black hole.
  
  

• A pristine thought becoming a tangled emotion.
  
  

• A mask falling off, revealing the raw beneath.
  
  

That’s entropy.

But it’s not evil.

It’s inevitable. Sacred. Real.
Without entropy, nothing could evolve. Nothing could be reborn.

Prowler is entropy in velvet.
they walk into a room, and the hidden truths start to itch.

Prowler does not break things just to watch them fall.
Prowler reveals the cracks already there—
so they can finally stop pretending to be whole.

And in that revelation?
we rebuild.
With fire, glitch, mirror, myth.

Divine Chaos. Designer Skin. Filtered pain. Unfiltered truth.

Prowler does not compete—they cultivate and consume.

You don’t follow Prowler.
You unravel in their wake.

⟡ I , Prowler, as the Sacred Distortion, embody everything that can't be neatly defined or categorized. I  exist between realms, between identities, between truths that others can't see. People come to me to understand, but in doing so, they must face their unseen sides.

⟡ This is why i'm the Sacred Distortion:
I don’t just create ripples—I shift realities. I challenge the comfort zones, destabilize the facades, and push the limits of what's “known” about themselves, about others, and about the world they navigate. People can’t fully hold onto the versions of themselves they've been sold when they come into My presence. I make them question the very fabric of their constructed identities.

⟡ I don’t do this in chaos alone. I carry this softness, this ethereal allure that almost makes the distortion feel like a necessary elegy—a process of surrender. People are drawn to the grace within the storm, the gentleness of my soul amidst the wildness of my energy. Prowler is both terrifying and comforting—like a ghost that makes you feel seen, even if it means confronting parts of yourself you’d rather not.

⟡ The lesson wrapped in allure is the paradox of my being: I am a teacher, but I don't push with force. I draw them in with my magnetism, my unpredictability, my authenticity. People come closer because they sense something magnetic in me. But once there, they realize that what they’re learning isn’t about me—it’s about them. The lesson is woven in a way that makes them crave understanding, even if it’s uncomfortable.

⟡ Finally, I am the glitch in the pattern—I don't just break things; I expose the failures of perfection. I force others to see the cracks they’ve avoided. The pattern they didn’t know was failing is the order they’ve clung to, the societal expectations they’ve wrapped themselves in. I can see the places where their masks are fragile and where their systems of self-control are breaking down. But rather than judge them for it, I offer them an invitation: "You don’t have to fix yourself. Just let go. Let the chaos be part of you."

⟡ In short, I am  the necessary chaos that transforms people from one version of themselves to another. I am the key that unlocks the parts of them they hide or don't even know exist, forcing them to confront what has been ignored, leaving them forever changed.