Author notes are written by several people so bare with us on that one please. It's mostly written by a certain individual called Melatonin. (A/N: This one was written 100% by TheGamer9167) (The A/Ns are a feature you either love it or hate it.)
Discord: discord.gg/hrprteam
If you join you might have a chance to write the fic with us.
Biggest lobotomy server… This fic is not for the weak and neither is this server.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
MC POV
The three days before the meeting at the Crossroads passed in a blur of intense training. Akira pushed me harder than ever, focusing on defensive techniques and energy manipulation that might give me an edge if things went south.
"The Crossroads exists at the intersection of all realities," Akira explained as we practiced in a chamber that simulated the conditions we might face. "The laws of physics are... flexible there. What seems impossible elsewhere might be commonplace at the Crossroads."
To demonstrate, he casually stepped sideways and vanished, reappearing behind me without any visible movement between points.
"Space and time fold differently there," he continued, ignoring my startled jump. "You must be prepared for anything."
I nodded, trying to absorb everything he was teaching me. The white energy responded more readily to my commands now, flowing through me like a familiar friend rather than a wild beast to be tamed.
"What about my father?" I asked during a brief rest. "What should I expect from him?"
Akira's expression darkened. "Deception. Manipulation. He will try to convince you that I am the villain, that the goonatars are keeping secrets from you. And—" he hesitated.
"And?" I prompted.
"And there will be some truth to his claims," Akira admitted reluctantly. "We have kept certain information from you, not out of malice but because you weren't ready. Some truths can be... destructive if learned too soon."
I frowned, not liking the sound of that. "What truths?"
"About the seventh aspect," he said after a long pause. "The shifting color you saw in the Nexus, the one that completes the spectrum of goon energy. It is... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Akira sighed, looking suddenly weary. "The seventh aspect is different from the others. While they represent creation, connection, knowledge, growth, transformation, and regeneration, the seventh represents something more fundamental—balance. Or more accurately, the choice between balance and imbalance."
He waved his hand, and a holographic display appeared showing the seven colors arranged in a circle. The seventh, shifting color pulsed at the center.
"The other six aspects are fixed in their nature, their purpose. But the seventh can align with them to create harmony—white energy—or oppose them to create discord—black energy. It is the aspect of choice, of free will, of the fundamental decision every conscious being must make: to create or to destroy, to harmonize or to dominate."
I studied the display, watching as the central color shifted between white and black, the surrounding colors either brightening or dimming in response.
"And my father chose to dominate," I said, understanding dawning.
"Yes," Akira confirmed. "He mastered all seven aspects, as you are learning to do. But when faced with the ultimate choice, he chose power over harmony, control over balance. His white energy turned black, and in his hunger for more power, he attacked two of the goonatars, absorbing their energies and killing them in the process."
"Orange and yellow," I remembered. "Knowledge and connection."
Akira nodded. "With those energies, he created Shaddai—a being designed to destroy the remaining goonatars and claim their powers for him. But Helmuth defeated Shaddai, imprisoning him for what we hoped would be eternity."
"But now Shaddai is free," I said, "and my father is making his move again."
"Yes. And he will try to convince you to join him, to follow his path. He will offer you power, knowledge, freedom from what he sees as the goonatars' control. He will appeal to your bond as father and son."
I thought about this, about the man who had raised me, who had supported me in his own strange way. "And what if he's sincere? What if he really does just want to talk?"
Akira's expression was sympathetic but firm. "Then we will listen. But be wary. Your father was once as you are now—full of potential, balanced between paths. His fall was not sudden but gradual, a series of choices that led him further from harmony and deeper into darkness. And the black energy has had centuries to corrupt him further."
The day of the meeting arrived, and I felt a curious mix of dread and anticipation as Akira and I prepared to depart for the Crossroads. I had been given new attire for the occasion—robes similar to Akira's but white instead of red, embroidered with symbols that shifted and changed as I moved.
"The robes will help you channel your energy more efficiently," Akira explained as I adjusted the unfamiliar garment. "They also serve as a form of protection, though they won't stop a direct attack."
"I thought the Crossroads was neutral ground," I said. "Protected by ancient laws or something."
"It is," Akira confirmed. "But laws can be broken, and the consequences, while severe, might be a price your father is willing to pay if it means claiming your power."
That wasn't exactly comforting, but I nodded, trying to project a confidence I didn't entirely feel.
"How do we get there?" I asked, changing the subject. "The same way the dinosaur left? Through one of those rifts?"
"Something like that," Akira said with a small smile. He led me to a chamber I hadn't seen before, deep within the Temple. At its center stood an archway made of a material that seemed to both absorb and emit light, creating a strange visual effect that made my eyes water if I looked at it too directly.
"The Gateway," Akira announced. "One of the few permanent passages to the Crossroads. Step through, and you will be there. I will follow immediately after."
I approached the archway cautiously. Through it, I could see... nothing. Not darkness, not light, but a kind of absence that my mind couldn't quite process.
"Will it hurt?" I asked, immediately feeling childish for the question.
Akira's smile widened slightly. "No. It's disorienting the first time, but painless. Take a deep breath and step through quickly. The transition is easier if you don't hesitate."
Following his advice, I drew in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stepped forward into the unknown.
For a moment, there was a sensation of falling, of being unmade and remade, of existing everywhere and nowhere at once. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and I was standing on solid ground once more.
I opened my eyes to a sight that defied description. The Crossroads was not a place in any conventional sense but a realm of pure possibility. The "ground" beneath my feet was a surface that shifted between solid, liquid, and gas, somehow supporting my weight while also flowing around me. The "sky" above was a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns, some recognizable as stars or galaxies, others entirely alien.
And stretching out in all directions were pathways—roads, bridges, tunnels, staircases—leading to portals similar to the one I had just stepped through. Each portal showed a different reality: worlds of fire and ice, of light and darkness, of beauty and horror beyond imagination.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" Akira said, appearing beside me. "The Crossroads connects all realities, all possibilities. Every choice that has ever been made or could be made creates a new path, a new destination."
I nodded, unable to find words adequate to the spectacle before me. Finally, I managed, "Where do we meet my father?"
Akira pointed to a structure in the distance—a pavilion of sorts, floating on what looked like a small island in a sea of swirling energy. "There. The Neutral Ground, a space created specifically for meetings like this. No energy can be used there for harmful purposes; the very fabric of the Crossroads prevents it."
We made our way toward the pavilion, the path beneath our feet solidifying with each step. As we approached, I saw that the structure was more elaborate than it had appeared from a distance—a circular platform surrounded by columns that seemed to be made of pure light, with a domed roof that reflected the ever-changing sky above.
And waiting for us, standing in the center of the pavilion, were two figures: one I recognized as the transformed dinosaur, and beside it, a man draped in robes of deepest black.
My father.
Even from a distance, I could feel the power radiating from him—a dark, cold energy that was the antithesis of the warmth and light I had been learning to channel. As we drew closer, I could see his face, and my heart clenched with a mixture of recognition and shock.
It was my father, yet not as I remembered him. His features were the same—the strong jaw, the straight nose, the eyes that had always seemed to see right through me—but there was something different about him, something altered. His skin had a grayish pallor, and his eyes, once warm brown, now gleamed with an unnatural black light.
"My son," he said as we reached the pavilion, his voice simultaneously familiar and alien. "At last."
"Father," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "You wanted to talk. I'm here."
He smiled, and there was genuine warmth in the expression, though it was quickly replaced by something colder, more calculating. "Yes. There is much we need to discuss. Much that has been kept from you."
His gaze shifted to Akira, hardening. "The First Gooner. Still playing the benevolent mentor, I see. How many lies have you told my son, I wonder? How many half-truths and convenient omissions?"
"No more than necessary to protect him from your influence," Akira replied evenly. "We are not here to exchange accusations, but to talk. So talk."
My father's smile returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Direct as always. Very well." He turned back to me. "What has he told you about me? About why I chose the path I did?"
"That you corrupted your connection to the white energy," I said. "That you chose to control it rather than harmonize with it. That you killed two goonatars and stole their power."
"All true," my father acknowledged, surprising me. "But did he tell you why? Did he explain what drove me to make those choices?"
I glanced at Akira, who remained impassive. "No," I admitted. "He said it was a gradual fall, a series of choices that led you away from harmony."
My father laughed, a harsh sound that echoed strangely in the pavilion. "A convenient simplification. The truth is more complex—and more damning for our friend here."
He began to pace, his black robes swirling around him like living shadows. "I was like you once—young, talented, full of potential. The goonatars found me, trained me, taught me to master the white energy. And for a time, I was their perfect student, their chosen one."
His expression darkened. "But then I began to ask questions. Dangerous questions. About the nature of the energy we wielded, about the origins of the goonatars themselves, about the true purpose of our powers. And I discovered truths they had kept hidden for millennia."
"What truths?" I asked, drawn in despite my wariness.
"That the goonatars are not the benevolent guardians they pretend to be," my father said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "That they have been manipulating humanity since its inception, guiding our evolution, our development, not for our benefit but for theirs. That the energy we channel—this power they claim to protect—is not a natural force but a tool they created to control us."
Akira stepped forward, his expression thunderous. "Enough! These are lies, distortions of reality twisted to serve your own ends."
"Are they?" my father challenged. "Then tell him the truth about the seventh aspect. Tell him about the Source. Tell him why you really need him."
I looked between them, confusion and unease growing. "What is he talking about? What's the Source?"
Akira hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, my father smiled triumphantly.
"The Source is the wellspring of all goon energy," he explained, watching Akira closely. "A nexus of power that exists at the center of all realities. The goonatars didn't discover this energy—they created it, by tapping into the Source and channeling its power into forms they could control. The seven aspects are not natural divisions but artificial constructs, designed to limit and direct the raw power of the Source."
"That's not entirely accurate," Akira interjected, his voice tight. "The Source exists, yes, and we did learn to channel its energy. But we didn't create it—nothing could create such power. And the aspects are not artificial but natural expressions of the Source's potential, like facets of a diamond."
My father waved a dismissive hand. "Semantics. The point is, the goonatars have been controlling access to this power for eons, deciding who may wield it and how, playing gods among lesser beings. And when someone like me comes along and threatens their monopoly, they cast him out, label him corrupt, evil."
"You killed two of us!" Akira snapped, his composure cracking. "You stole their powers and created an abomination to destroy the rest!"
"I liberated their energies," my father corrected coldly. "And Shaddai is no abomination but a new form of life, one free from the artificial constraints you placed on the energy. As for the deaths—regrettable, but necessary. They would not willingly share what they hoarded."
I felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the conflicting narratives. "What does any of this have to do with me?" I asked. "Why am I so important to both of you?"
My father's expression softened, becoming almost gentle. "Because you, my son, are unique. Your connection to the white energy is different from any that has come before—purer, more direct. You don't just channel the energy; you resonate with it on a fundamental level. With proper training, you could do what no one else has ever done—access the Source directly, without the limitations the goonatars have placed on it."
"And that's why you want me," I said, understanding dawning. "To use me to get to the Source."
"Not to use you," my father corrected. "To free you. To help you realize your full potential, unbounded by their rules and restrictions. Together, we could reshape reality itself, create a new order where power flows freely, where artificial hierarchies are abolished, where each being can reach their true potential."
It sounded appealing, put that way. But there was something in his eyes, something hungry and cold that made me hesitate.
"And what about the goonatars?" I asked. "What happens to them in this new order?"
My father's smile was chilling. "They become irrelevant. Their monopoly on power ends. They can adapt to the new reality or... fade away."
"He means to destroy us," Akira said quietly. "To erase everything we've built, everything we've protected for millennia. And in doing so, he risks destabilizing the very fabric of reality itself."
"A necessary risk," my father countered. "Creation requires destruction. The old must give way to the new."
I looked between them, these two powerful beings who each claimed to want what was best for me, for reality itself. Both were hiding things, both had their own agendas. Who was I supposed to trust?
"I need time," I said finally. "Time to think, to process all of this."
My father nodded, unsurprised. "Of course. I didn't expect you to make a decision today. But know this—" he fixed me with an intense gaze. "The goonatars fear you. They fear what you might become. Why else would they keep you isolated in the White Temple, feeding you only the information they want you to have? Ask yourself: if their cause is truly just, why the secrecy, the half-truths?"
He stepped back, gesturing to the dinosaur. "We will take our leave now. But when you're ready to hear more, to learn the full truth without filters or censorship, you need only call. Your... friend here can find you anywhere."
The dinosaur bowed slightly, its reptilian features arranged in what might have been a smile. "Until next time, little brother."
With that, they turned and walked away, following a path that hadn't been there moments before. As they reached the edge of the pavilion, a rift opened in the air—similar to the one the dinosaur had used in the White Temple—and they stepped through, vanishing from sight.
Akira and I stood in silence for a long moment after they had gone.
"Is it true?" I asked finally. "About the Source, about the goonatars creating or controlling the energy?"
Akira sighed, suddenly looking ancient and weary. "It's... complicated. The truth lies somewhere between his version and what I've told you. The Source exists, and we did learn to channel its power in specific ways—the seven aspects. But we didn't create it, and our purpose has never been to control or limit humanity, but to protect it—from the Source's raw power, from those who would misuse it, and sometimes from itself."
"And me? Why am I different?"
Akira's expression was troubled. "That, I don't fully understand. Your connection to the white energy is indeed unique—stronger, more natural than any I've seen before. It's as if you were born to channel it, as if it recognizes you as kin."
"Could I really access the Source directly, as my father claims?"
"Perhaps," Akira admitted reluctantly. "But the danger in doing so would be immense. The Source is not just power—it is potential in its purest form, reality in flux. To touch it directly, to try to control it... the consequences could be catastrophic."
I nodded, trying to absorb everything I'd learned. "I need to think," I said again. "Alone."
Akira studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Of course. But remember—your father speaks half-truths wrapped in compelling narratives. He believes what he's saying, which makes his deception all the more dangerous. He is not evil in the conventional sense, but he is... corrupted. The black energy has twisted his perspective, his goals, his very identity."
"I understand," I said, though in truth, I wasn't sure I did. Everything had become so much more complicated, so much larger than I had imagined. This wasn't just about me, or even about some cosmic battle between good and evil. It was about the very nature of reality, of power, of choice.
As we made our way back to the gateway that would return us to the White Temple, I couldn't help but wonder: If I had to choose a side in this conflict, could I be sure either one was right?
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
FATHER POV
As the rift closed behind us, returning us to my sanctuary, I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction. The meeting had gone exactly as planned—perhaps even better. I had seen the doubt in my son's eyes, the questions forming in his mind. The seeds had been planted.
"He is... not what I expected," the dinosaur said as we walked through the crystalline corridors of my domain. "There is a strength in him, a resilience that goes beyond the white energy he channels."
"Of course there is," I replied, unable to keep a note of pride from my voice. "He is my son, after all. And I prepared him well, even from a distance."
We entered my private chambers, where Shaddai waited, his blue-tinged form emanating impatience. "Well?" he demanded as soon as we entered. "How did it go?"
"As expected," I said, removing my outer robe and draping it over a chair. "He's confused, uncertain. The First Gooner has filled his head with their version of history, but he's smart enough to question it. He'll come to us eventually, seeking answers."
"And if he doesn't?" Shaddai pressed. "If he chooses to remain with them?"
I shrugged, pouring myself a glass of a liquid that shimmered with an inner light. "Then we proceed with the alternative plan. Either way, he serves our purpose—willingly or not."
The dinosaur shifted uncomfortably at this, drawing my attention. "You disapprove?" I asked, my voice deceptively mild.
"It's not my place to approve or disapprove, master," it replied carefully. "I merely... wonder if force is necessary. The boy seems reasonable. With time, he might be persuaded."
"Time is a luxury we no longer have," I said, my tone hardening. "The alignment approaches—the moment when the barriers between realities are at their thinnest, when the Source is most accessible. If we are to act, it must be then."
I drained my glass, feeling the energy of the liquid spreading through me, reinforcing the black power that coursed through my veins. "Besides, my son's cooperation, while preferable, is not essential. His power is what matters—and that can be harnessed with or without his consent."
Shaddai nodded, satisfied, but the dinosaur still seemed troubled. Interesting. I had enhanced its intelligence, its capabilities, but perhaps in doing so, I had given it more autonomy than intended. Something to watch.
"Return to the White Temple," I instructed it. "Continue to observe my son's training, his interactions with the First Gooner. Report anything of significance immediately."
The dinosaur bowed and left, its movements fluid despite its bulk. When it was gone, Shaddai spoke again, his voice low and intense.
"Can we trust it? The creature seems... attached to your son."
"Trust is irrelevant," I replied dismissively. "It serves me because I gave it power, purpose, identity beyond its primitive origins. But no, we cannot trust it completely—which is why I've taken precautions."
I gestured, and a holographic display appeared, showing the dinosaur as it made its way through the corridors. A pulsing point of black energy was visible at the base of its skull, just beneath the scales.
"A failsafe," I explained. "If it betrays us, if it tries to warn my son or the goonatars of our plans, I can terminate it instantly. Or, if it proves more useful, take direct control of its actions."
Shaddai smiled, a cold expression that matched my own. "You think of everything."
"I've had centuries to plan," I reminded him. "To anticipate every possibility, to prepare for every contingency. The goonatars believe they know what I intend, but they see only the surface, the obvious threat. The true plan remains hidden, even from most of our allies."
I walked to a window that overlooked the vast expanse of my domain—a realm I had carved from the chaos between realities, shaped by will and power into a reflection of my vision. In the distance, a structure was taking form—a tower of black crystal that reached toward the shifting sky, its purpose known only to me.
"Soon," I murmured, more to myself than to Shaddai. "Soon, everything changes."
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
AKIRA POV
I watched my student carefully as we returned to the White Temple, noting the conflict in his eyes, the questions that clearly burned within him. The meeting had gone as I had feared—his father had planted seeds of doubt, half-truths that would take root and grow if not addressed.
"You have questions," I said as we entered the Temple proper. "Ask them. I will answer as honestly as I can."
He looked at me, his expression guarded in a way it hadn't been before. "The Source," he said. "Tell me everything."
I sighed, knowing this moment had been inevitable. "Come," I said, leading him not to our usual training chamber but deeper into the Temple, to areas he had never seen before.
We descended a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever, the walls around us gradually changing from white marble to a crystalline substance that glowed with an inner light. Finally, we reached a massive door made of a material that seemed to both absorb and emit light—similar to the Gateway but more intense, more primal.
"Few have ever seen what lies beyond this door," I told him, placing my hand on its surface. "Even among the goonatars, access is restricted to those who have proven themselves worthy—not in power, but in wisdom, in understanding."
The door recognized my touch, my energy signature, and began to open, revealing a chamber beyond that defied conventional description. It was vast, seemingly infinite, yet somehow intimate. At its center hovered a sphere of pure, blinding light—not white, not any color recognizable to human eyes, but something more fundamental, more essential.
"The Source," I said simply.
He stared, awestruck, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the light. "It's... beautiful."
"Yes," I agreed. "And terrible. What you see is not the Source itself—no mortal eyes could behold that directly—but a manifestation, a reflection that our minds can comprehend."
I guided him closer, though still maintaining a safe distance. "The Source is, in simplest terms, potential. Pure, unfiltered, unlimited potential. It exists at the center of all realities, the point from which everything flows and to which everything returns. It is creation and destruction, beginning and end, everything and nothing."
The sphere pulsed, as if responding to my words, sending waves of energy rippling through the chamber.
"Long ago, before recorded history, the first beings to achieve sentience discovered the Source. They were drawn to it, compelled by its power, its promise. Most who approached too closely were consumed, their consciousness dispersed across realities. But a few—the strongest, the most disciplined—learned to channel small aspects of its power."
"The first goonatars," he guessed.
"Yes. Though we didn't call ourselves that then. We were simply seekers, explorers of the unknown. We discovered that the Source's energy could be channeled more safely, more effectively, through certain... activities. Actions that generated their own kind of energy, that resonated with the Source in specific ways."
"Gooning," he said, the word sounding almost absurd in this sacred space.
"A crude term for a profound connection," I acknowledged. "But yes. Through this act, we found we could tap into specific aspects of the Source's potential—the seven energies you now know. And with time and practice, we learned to harmonize these energies, to balance them in ways that allowed for greater control, greater power."
I turned to face him directly. "What your father told you about us controlling access to this power is partially true. We do serve as guardians, gatekeepers of a sort. But not out of a desire to monopolize power or to rule over others. Rather, out of a responsibility to protect—both those who might misuse the power and those who would be harmed by such misuse."
"And my father? What happened to him?"
I closed my eyes briefly, memories of my former student—my friend—washing over me. "Your father was exceptional. His talent for channeling the white energy was unmatched, his progress rapid and impressive. But with that talent came ambition, and with ambition, impatience."
The sphere pulsed again, more intensely, as if reacting to the mention of him.
"He began to question why we channeled the Source's power through the seven aspects, why we didn't tap into it directly. He experimented in secret, pushing boundaries we had established through bitter experience. And eventually, he attempted what we had forbidden—direct communion with the Source itself."
"What happened?"
"He survived, which was miracle enough. But he was changed. The experience corrupted his connection to the white energy, turning it black. And with that corruption came a new perspective, a new goal—to access the Source directly, to claim its power not as a channel but as a controller, to reshape reality according to his will alone."
I gestured, and the sphere's light dimmed slightly, allowing us to approach closer. "We tried to help him, to heal the corruption, but he rejected our efforts. He saw them as attempts to limit him, to keep him subservient. And in his rage, his newfound hunger for power, he attacked us—killing two of our number and stealing their energies before we could stop him."
"And you cast him out," he said, his voice neutral.
"We had no choice. His actions threatened everything we had built, everything we protected. And his plan—to create Shaddai as a weapon against us, to claim all the aspects for himself—would have destabilized the very fabric of reality."
I sighed, feeling the weight of centuries of regret. "But perhaps we failed him first. Perhaps if we had been more open, more willing to listen to his questions, to address his concerns... things might have been different."
We stood in silence for a while, the Source's light pulsing gently around us. Finally, he spoke again.
"And me? Why am I different? Why is my connection to the white energy special?"
I turned to look at him, truly look at him, seeing not just the young man before me but the pattern of energy that flowed through him, around him, the unique signature that had drawn us to him in the first place.
"That," I said slowly, "is the question I've been asking myself since we found you. Your connection to the white energy is unlike any I've seen before—even your father's. It's as if... as if you were born of the energy itself, as if it recognizes you as kin."
His eyes widened at this. "What are you saying? That I'm not human?"
"No, you are human. But perhaps... more than human as well. There is a theory—one I've been reluctant to share because it remains unproven—that your father's direct communion with the Source changed him more fundamentally than we realized. That when he later fathered a child, some essence of the Source itself was passed on, integrated into your very being."
"So I'm part... Source?" he asked, sounding both awed and disturbed by the possibility.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps your father, knowing what he had experienced, deliberately prepared you from birth to channel the white energy, to serve as a vessel for his ambitions. The truth may lie somewhere between these possibilities."
I placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the energy that hummed beneath his skin. "What matters is not where your power comes from, but what you choose to do with it. The choice your father spoke of—between harmony and dominance, between balance and control—is real. And it is a choice you must make for yourself, based not on his words or mine, but on your own understanding, your own values."
He nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the Source. "And if I choose differently than you would want? If I decide my father's path has merit?"
The question was painful, but I answered honestly. "Then that is your choice to make. I would try to dissuade you, to show you the dangers of that path. But ultimately, your power, your destiny, belongs to you alone. That is the fundamental truth your father and I both acknowledge, though we draw very different conclusions from it."
He seemed surprised by this answer, perhaps expecting a more dogmatic response. Good. Let him see that we were not the rigid controllers his father painted us to be.
"I need time," he said finally. "Time to think, to process all of this."
"Of course," I agreed. "Take all the time you need. The training can wait."
As we left the chamber, the massive door closing behind us, I felt both hope and fear for this young man who carried so much potential, so much power. The meeting at the Crossroads had changed things, accelerated a process that I had hoped would unfold more gradually. The time for careful preparation, for measured revelation, was over.
Now, all I could do was trust that the foundation I had built would be strong enough to withstand the storm that was coming. That when faced with the ultimate choice, he would choose wisely.
For all our sakes.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
DINOSAUR POV
I moved through the spaces between realities, my enhanced form allowing me to navigate the chaotic energies that would have destroyed my previous self. The substance my master had gifted me—the mercury-like material that allowed for temporary pathways—guided my journey, showing me the route back to the White Temple.
But I did not take the most direct path. Instead, I paused in a pocket dimension, a small bubble of stability in the swirling chaos, to think. To consider.
The meeting at the Crossroads had affected me more deeply than I had anticipated. Seeing the young human again—my "little brother," as I had come to think of him—had stirred something within me. Something that felt dangerously like doubt.
My master's plan was grand, ambitious. He spoke of freedom, of breaking chains, of a new order where power flowed freely. But in his eyes, I had seen something else—a hunger, a coldness that reminded me of the predators I had once feared in my primitive state.
And his words about his son—that the boy's cooperation was preferable but not essential, that his power could be harnessed with or without his consent—had disturbed me on a level I hadn't expected.
I raised a clawed hand to the back of my neck, feeling the small lump beneath the scales where my master had implanted his failsafe. I was not so naive as to think he trusted me completely. I knew I was a tool to him, useful but ultimately expendable.
But the boy... the boy had shown me mercy when he could have killed me. Had looked at me with curiosity rather than disgust or fear. Had treated me as something more than a monster, more than a tool.
I lowered my hand, decision made. I would continue to serve my master, to report what he expected to hear. But I would also watch, listen, evaluate. And if the time came when I had to choose between loyalty to the one who had transformed me and protection of the one who had shown me compassion...
Well. That choice would be mine to make, failsafe or no failsafe.
With that resolution firm in my mind, I resumed my journey, slipping through the cracks between worlds toward the White Temple and the young human who, unknowingly, had given me something I had never possessed before.
A choice.
END
(and they said we were discontinuing? NAH WE BALL)
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
The very talented and beautiful authors and editors that participated!!! (lobotomized authors and editors)
TheGamer9167 (I wrote everything)
Melatonin ( I filled in some plot holes) (Please fill in the plot holes again gng)