"And a voice, ancient as creation itself, whispered through the Convergence:
'Welcome… to the board.'"
The universe stopped breathing.
Rick felt his pulse echo through eternity, every beat thundering against the silence. The ground beneath them wasn't ground at all—it shimmered, translucent and alive, pulsing like the inside of a living god. Above, the sky folded into itself, an infinite mirror of collapsing galaxies. The Convergence no longer looked like a realm—it felt like the heart of creation, still beating, still waiting.
Piu's voice was barely a whisper. "Where… are we?"
Rick didn't answer. Because even if he spoke, the sound would feel too small for this place.
The Devil smirked first, running his clawed hand through the glowing air. "Oh, this is familiar," he said, eyes narrowing with delight. "A board, a game, and pieces that don't know what they're worth."
Sun's flames flared in irritation, burning golden trails through the air. "If this is your idea of a game, Devil, then I'll burn your board before it begins."
The ground trembled at those words. The light beneath them began to move—no, rearrange. Vast tiles of existence slid into new patterns. Each tile contained flashes of worlds: a battlefield of endless snow; a city suspended inside a star; a child weeping beside a dying god. The glass-like plane spread infinitely in every direction, and the realization struck them all at once.
They were standing at the center of everything.
Then came the voice again, booming across the dimensions, deeper now, ancient enough to make the fabric of time flinch.
"Four players," it said. "One board."
The light gathered ahead of them, twisting into a towering shape—neither man nor beast, but something vast and alive. Its form shimmered like molten starlight, and its eyes burned like twin galaxies folding in on themselves. Every word it spoke echoed through their bones.
"Each of you carries a domain," the voice continued. "Each domain holds a choice. Every choice will feed the Core. Every mistake will erase a world."
The Devil's grin widened. "A wager, then."
Rick clenched his fists. "Who are you?"
The creature tilted its head slightly. "I am the First Witness. The Keeper of the Board. The one who watches when even gods forget to."
The air cracked. With one motion of its colossal hand, the Witness set the board in motion. Light split into four paths—black and gold beneath Rick's feet, fractal white beneath Piu's, molten gold under Sun's fire, and crimson smoke curling beneath the Devil.
Rick could feel the pulse of his own path—burning, breathing, whispering. His scar ignited, veins glowing black and gold as energy licked through his body. Piu trembled beside him, her eyes reflecting infinite reflections of herself. The Devil's smoke curled like serpents, wrapping around him with hungry affection. Sun simply stood there, fire licking off his arms, radiating pure defiance.
The Witness's gaze swept across them. "Make your first move."
Rick's heart pounded. "Move? What kind of move?"
The being's face almost smiled. "Every move is a choice. Every choice will reshape the board. Refuse to play… and the board will choose for you."
A shiver ran through the universe. One of the floating squares dimmed, and a distant scream echoed—soft at first, then gone. A world had vanished.
Piu gasped. "It's already begun."
The Devil tilted his head, eyes flashing with something unreadable. "Then let's play."
The ground split open, and the game began.
The reflections came first. They stepped out of the air, walking toward them—copies of Rick, Piu, Sun, and the Devil, each slightly different, some older, some broken, some crowned with power, some drenched in blood. A thousand versions, a thousand possibilities. They spread across the board like an army of shadows.
Rick froze as he saw himself—hundreds of selves—staring back with hollow eyes. Each one carried a memory he hadn't lived. He saw a Rick who ruled as a god, another who knelt in chains, another who killed Piu, another who died saving her. Every choice he could have made stood before him, waiting.
The Witness's voice echoed faintly: "Only one path survives."
Piu's face paled. "We have to choose which version lives."
Rick's voice broke. "How?"
The answer came from Sun—simple, brutal, inevitable. "We fight."
And the reflections charged.
The sky itself screamed. Light fractured into blades, shadows solidified into weapons. The glass beneath their feet became war. Rick swung his arm and his energy erupted—black and gold flame tearing through his reflections. Each blow shattered not just the mirror image, but a fragment of possibility. Every death sent ripples through existence.
Piu raised her hands, her body glowing like a living prism. Her reflections collided with her light, merging, fracturing, rewriting themselves in geometric storms. Her scream sounded like music, each note slicing reality apart. Sun burned bright enough to melt stars, hurling fire that tore through timelines, while the Devil moved like smoke, slicing through his other selves with a delighted snarl.
Every strike erased a future. Every death rewrote fate.
Rick's lungs burned. The board quaked beneath him. He saw his reflections merge and separate, every possible version of himself flashing before his eyes—a coward, a hero, a murderer, a savior. He wanted to scream, but the voice came first:
"Choose."
The word tore through his skull. His vision blurred. He saw every path, every mistake, every heartbreak, every death, all layered over each other. The weight of infinite lives crushed him to his knees.
Then—Piu's voice, faint but clear: "Rick! Don't let it choose for you! Choose who you are!"
Rick's eyes snapped open. He slammed his hands on the ground, light bursting from his scar. "I choose me."
The world exploded in gold.
The reflections froze—then shattered. One by one, the other Ricks disintegrated into stardust, leaving only him. The battlefield fell silent, and the light around him dimmed to calm, glowing embers.
Rick stood, panting, every nerve on fire. "It's over."
The Witness's voice returned. "The first move is complete. The chosen self remains."
Then the ground shifted, and Piu screamed.
The board opened beneath her, dragging her downward into a spiral of white light. Rick leapt toward her, but Sun's hand caught him. "You can't! It's her trial now!"
The light swallowed her whole.
Rick's voice echoed through the void. "Piu!"
But she was already gone.
She fell through infinity—past countless reflections of herself. Each one whispered a different truth. Some called her coward. Others called her savior. Some wept, others laughed. Her memories folded around her like ribbons of glass.
Then she landed—in silence.
She stood in a hall made of light. Everything shimmered, yet nothing moved. In front of her stood a mirror, and in that mirror, another Piu—regal, terrifying, crowned with shards of broken stars.
The mirror spoke in her voice. "I am what you could have been. The ruler of light. The ender of darkness. The conqueror of choice."
Piu stared, trembling. "You look… empty."
The mirror smiled sadly. "Because I won. And in winning, I killed everything that could change. There's peace here, but no life. Join me, and you'll never have to suffer again."
Piu hesitated. The offer called to her like a promise. She could end the pain, stop the cycles, stop losing everyone.
But then, faintly, Rick's voice echoed in her mind again: You choose who you are.
She lifted her chin. "If peace means the death of hope… then I choose pain."
The mirror cracked. "Then you doom us all."
Light erupted, so bright it shattered the air itself. The mirror exploded into dust. When it cleared, Piu stood alone, her eyes no longer fractured. Her light was steady, whole.
She gasped as she found herself back on the board, collapsing into Rick's arms.
He caught her, holding her tight. "You did it."
She nodded weakly. "I didn't win. I just refused to lose."
The Devil laughed softly. "Touching. My turn, then."
Before anyone could stop him, the board bled crimson. Smoke coiled around his body and pulled him downward. Rick tried to reach out, but the smoke turned to claws and yanked the Devil into the depths.
When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by thrones—hundreds of them, empty, each one made of bone. The air smelled of ash and triumph. On the farthest throne sat… himself. Older. Colder. Wearing a crown of dying suns.
The elder Devil spoke first. "I remember this game. You never win."
The younger one smiled. "Then I must be due."
The elder's grin widened. "You're not a player. You're the wager. You always were."
For once, the Devil hesitated. All his life—if such a thing existed for him—he had believed he pulled the strings. But here, he saw the truth. Every rebellion, every joke, every lie was part of the board's rhythm. He wasn't playing it. It was playing him.
His smile softened. "Not this time."
He stepped forward and pressed his claw against his reflection's chest. "You talk too much."
The elder Devil's eyes widened in shock before collapsing into a storm of crimson light.
When the Devil returned, his grin was quieter. Still sharp, still cruel, but edged with something human. "Your turn, Sun," he said. "Make it bright."
The board trembled as golden cracks spread across its surface. Heat rose. The air melted. Sun stood at the center, flames coiling around him like gods awakening from sleep.
"No more rules," he said. "No more chains."
Rick shouted, "Wait—!"
But the fire exploded.
The Witness's voice trembled for the first time. "You cannot defy the Board!"
Sun's roar answered it. "Then I'll burn the board itself!"
Light consumed everything. The ground vanished, the sky screamed, the universes folded in on themselves, and then—nothing.
Rick woke up in darkness. No sound. No light. Just the echo of a heartbeat in the void.
He blinked, trying to see. Slowly, shapes began to form—Piu, unconscious but breathing beside him; the Devil kneeling silently; and Sun… walking out of the shadows, his body flickering between fire and shadow, as if torn between creation and destruction.
Rick struggled to stand. "Sun… what did you do?"
Sun looked at him, eyes glowing like dying stars. "I reached the Core."
Rick frowned. "What is it?"
Sun smiled sadly. "It's not a place, Rick. It's not even a power. It's us. All of us. The Convergence was never about the worlds colliding—it was about the selves within them choosing which ones get to live."
Piu stirred, her voice soft. "Then… what happens now?"
Before anyone could answer, the heartbeat grew louder. The darkness moved, twisting into something colossal. The air vibrated with ancient hunger. The First Hunger. Its form unfolded from the void—too vast to comprehend, too alive to describe. The Convergence itself bent in reverence.
The Witness's voice broke through the chaos, faint and fading. "The game is over. The Core awakens. The final move begins."
Rick's scar blazed, black and gold lightning erupting through his veins. Piu rose beside him, eyes blazing like miniature suns. The Devil stood, grin returning, cruel and ready. Sun's fire grew brighter, his flames whispering like voices from a thousand lives.
The void trembled. An eye opened in the darkness—an eye large enough to swallow galaxies, ancient enough to remember the first spark of existence.
Rick whispered, "We're out of moves."
The Devil tilted his head, smiling at the impossible. "Then it's time to break the board."
The Core pulsed once, and the universe screamed.
The light swallowed everything—worlds, gods, choices, even time itself—and in the dying echo, a whisper slid through their minds, colder than death, older than creation:
"Round two begins."