“I want to tell you a story. It ponders one of life’s greatest questions: the intrigue of death. In the ancient times on Ciphrus, there was no recess in the idea of equality. Now, power reigns true here, and I have become the purveyor of all! I am the monarch of this kingdom of chaos, and here I will exercise my full and complete right.”

A lone individual sat among a pile of rusted, dilapidated crowns which formed a mound at which they sat atop it. Their throne had been constructed out of a polished gold that acted as a mirror for all the world.

This individual was bored of their surroundings, a visible aloofness emanating from them. In a brush of their black and glittery hair, they leaned forward to stare down a figure who had been approaching their mound with tense haste.

The monarch, knowing well who had come to visit them, stood over their pile of crowns and waved their arms wide around them. “Welcome,” they announced with a loud, booming voice, “welcome to my domain!”

The visitor sat still at the edge of the mound and gazed up towards them. In a swift motion, a large sledgehammer fell onto the mound and a segment of the tower of crowns came crashing down towards them. This had knocked the monarch off balance, and they quickly recovered before shooting a fiery red glare at the visitor. The visitor met with an identical stare, and the air in the room suddenly became thin with contention.

“This is a charade that didn’t need to happen,” the visitor relayed, “now you sit here on a throne, belittled with the idea of Human delegation. It will not stand.”

The void at which they inhabited boomed with an otherworldly thunder that sounded as though water dripped from a faucet. At that moment, the monarch revealed a crown of thorns and tossed it to the visitor, who promptly genuflected and gave way to it as it landed perfectly onto his head. He bowed in mockery to the monarch, and lifted his head back up to meet their gaze once more using a definitive and devilish smile of jagged teeth. “All kingdoms fall,” he said, as blood gently flowed from his head. There, he turned and in a quick gait, walked away from the mound and throne, tossing his sledgehammer over his shoulders.

“Even in a play.”

    The morning was crisp in its invasive chill, but smooth in the dew of the trees as the sun melted their frost. The wind had picked up the night before and knocked down an old, abandoned house that was rotten with eight years of neglect.

    A few months before, the International Health and Militaristic Division (I.H.M.D.) had moved into the area to occupy a small town to the north; in doing so, they had restored power to the area. This power had been relayed to the house, and in the storm the failed infrastructure set it ablaze until it finally died out by morning.

    In the center of the wreckage, a lone man in a black suit and a glossy sledgehammer stood from the ash, completely unphased. He nonchalantly strolled down the steps, gandering at his surroundings before quickly nodding his head back to inspect the heavens above. There, he bent his knees and in a huff, he passed into the far off sky with a shockwave which shook the trees around him, exceeding speeds naked to the human eye.

    This world was a dream to him, a player among the universe. To him, these were nothing but countless stars… countless planets among an infinite universe to which he could define it all himself. This was an individual who curated the very fabric of reality, in an attempt to only ascertain its future. This entity had no name and many adversaries, but introduced himself as Floretaxen to those who demanded the necessary concept.

    Floretaxen never usually traveled into this Output Realm, where all concepts collide to create reality, but he had special business here -- for there was a special meeting organized between him and another.

    It took him very little time to arrive at his destination, a small wooden cabin situated just a kilometer off a highway. He had arrived in the very same fashion as he had left, and the loud shockwave had shattered one of the windows near the porch and entrance.

    After doing so, a cloaked man stepped out with a dividing anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts, stomping out from the house, “why can’t you people appear normally like everything else? Is everything just some bonanza to you?”

    Floretaxen had stretched his back upon appearing, and looked at the man with a discourteous side-eye. “Relax, Tra. We have larger problems than your shattered window.”

    Tra, the cloaked man, continued his expression of deep distaste; behind him, the window slowly morphed back together, as though time had been rewinded.

    Tra inhaled deeply and took off his blood-soaked white gloves. He replied in his exhale, “What’s wrong, Archaeic? Panties in a bunch? Gonna’ piss a little bit, maybe?”

    “If you intend to keep on living, and no it’s not me who will attempt it, then listen closely. There is a harbinger of death and they intend to usurp control.”

    “Control?” Tra inquired, “You mean away from the Founder?”
    “Precisely,” Floretaxen explained, “and in doing so, perhaps wipe the planet.”

    “From all iterations?” Tra asked, “But wouldn’t that fundamentally change the…”

    “In due time, it will all be explained,” Floretaxen reassured Tra, “for now, I need you to find a very specific young woman. She is the key to ensuring that the Monarch does not get their way.”

    “Let me guess,” Tra started, but Floretaxen’s finger appeared softly onto Tra’s lips. “Hush, listen.”

Three distinct pops echoed like thunder from the sky, and in synchrony, four objects descended from the sky at an alarming rate. Floretaxen looked up, shielding his crimson eyes from the sun. Tra did the same, squinting as he did so.

“Are those Mediators?” Tra asked, his tone gradually becoming more frantic, “Great, now the Humans know where I am.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Floretaxen spoke, stepping away as he skipped around Tra, “but, for the sake of this interruption…”

Tra stepped back, and Floretaxen disappeared from the ground, and in a matter of a complete second, reappeared with a flurried dust-devil swirling around his feet. The three objects exploded in unison, with the fourth still tumbling to the ground. Floretaxen smiled on the fourth cue, as it had simply smacked the ground a kilometer off to the west. There was a low boom, where a few birds sang a song in retreat and fluttered into the distance. “The last one malfunctioned,” Floretaxen said, hiding in his laughter, “it was great. The Humans will never cease to amaze me with the flaws in their design.”

Tra, unamused, turned heel and marched back towards his cabin. “It doesn’t matter, they know where I am anyway.”

“They know where I am -- the anomaly. You’re simply still a Knomnolite living among a racist country.”

“I don’t see much of a country anymore,” Tra remarked, stepping onto his cabin’s porch. He opened the door and spoke with a glance back, “and don’t call me that, I’m not a part of this whole ordeal.”