Six-Luck Chain Power Breaker — COST: ALL POINTS.
Description: User constructs a logic-linked chain of six origin powers from any realities. Each power must introduce a unique property, chained to the previous with a shared property. One roll of a six-faced die determines how many powers the user receives in order; example: 1 = first only, 3 = first/second/third, 6 = all six. On failure (0/invalid chain), memory retention is revoked for next reincarnation.
Note: No refunds, partial refunds, nor appeals will be granted to the individual. This is a statistically poor choice.
WARNING: People who try this are idiots. Don't be that guy.
***
I stare.
#$&@ says nothing. He's given this speech before, too many times. He knows the look.
"So if I win," I say slowly, feeling my gambling spirit come to life, "I could stitch together something that actually matters."
"If you win," he says, "you might get something that tilts the first act of your life from guaranteed paste to slim chance. If you lose, you wake up drooling, and then you die to a stiff breeze on Planet Murder."
"Which reality would I land in?" I ask.
#$&@ rotates a dial on the air. Threads of light unfurl, displaying stray universes like beads on strings. He taps a cord that looks like a comet with a sword in it.
"Oh, cool. Looks like this is the Saiyan Imperium timeline. Don't ask me how. Maybe they evolved because the Frost Demons didn't enslave them. They're a warrior culture that is stretched thin across the stars. High gravity homeworld. Pods, scouters, legions of ships called Warhosts. Somehow, they've developed Houses ruled by Primarchs under a Legate who keeps the throne warm for an Emperor who probably will never return. You're definitely going to love him."
I began pulling old wikis and fights and screaming out of the dusty corners of my brain.
"The saiyans in this universe aren't bad at all in terms of development. Hopefully, they're not the hairy version of themselves on Sadala. But, damn it's gonna be brutal."
"Yeah, kinda," #$&@ says. "Maybe worse in some parts."
"Do they have pods?"
"Nursery pods in bio-bays. You'll be decanted at two to three years, stuffed with basics. It's pretty standard saiyan mechanics from when they were under the Cold and Frieza regime in the anime, just on a galactic level of self-autonomy. That's all the info I'm going to share."
I nod my head in understanding. Would be a bummer to have such a fantasy universe be spoiled before I even get there.
He studies me, then checks a timing glyph only he can see. "You have fifteen subjective minutes before automatic shunt. If you're taking the gamble, construct your chain. If you're not, buy your discount books and your 'how to not die' e-course."
The store hums around us. The void happens to be very good at silences. It holds them steady for you until you decide to ruin them.
I roll my neck, though I don't need to. Old habits I guess. "What if I just…pick universe to start into? Spawn on Earth? Middle-class family? No death pods?"
#$&@ points at the price tag like it personally offended him first. "Nine. Hundred. Ninety-nine. Million. You have eighty-three thousand. You got a fairy godmother I haven't met? Even Timmy Turner isn't getting his wishes granted."
"Left her on read," I mutter. My eyes drift back to Six-Luck Chain Power Breaker. The button pulses like a heartbeat, calling to me like that sweet succulent…
"Hurry your horny ass up. I don't have all of eternity," #$&@ barks at me. I immediately began thinking of my picks.
I think about the obvious picks: Phoenix, Odinforce, Power Cosmic. I think about how badly that would go if I landed anywhere where those things have opinions. I think about Saiyans—how they don't wake up with dragons in their blood. They train. They get knocked down, bleed, get up, and they're stronger.
In a place like that, "average" isn't a sentence. It's an execution.
"All right," I say. "Let's build a chain."
#$&@ sighs like a door hinge. "Here we go."
He flicks two more panels open: Chain Builder and Rule Validator. The Builder looks like a flowchart. The Validator looks judgmental.
"Remember," #$&@ says, his golden eyes gleaming. "Shared property from slot to slot. A new property introduced each time. No duplicates. If the Validator doesn't see the logic, you get a zero roll and a baby brain."
"Got it." I roll my shoulders. "We start with rage."
That makes him pause. "Not infinite longevity? Not the cliché? Oh, boy, this is gonna be good," he says with a clap of his hands.
"Nope. If I'm getting dumped into a warrior civilization that throws toddlers at planets, I don't need biology that prays for survival. Hell, I need something that erupts, that turns weakness into violence. My first slot: DBZ Super: Broly's Ikari Transformation."
The panel hums as I key it in:
1) DBZ — Ikari Transformation (Property: Rage).
Justification: Harnesses primal anger into exponential strength. A Saiyan berserker state amplifying base power without full Super Saiyan. Raw force, instability as fuel.
Two seconds pass and the Validator glows green, approving my choice and logic.
I pump my fist in joy. Apparently, this Validator just wants to see your reasoning and determine if you're just only for the power and not well-thought out.
It could very well grant you those things you desire, but would your body be able to handle it? Will your soul? Would your mind? You could do more damage to yourself if you didn't choose wisely.
"Slot one approved," #$&@ says, not really surprised. "That's very Saiyan of you. Beginning to act more like your kind I see."
"Shut up, you xenophobist," I shoot back with a smirk on my face.
"For slot two," I continue, "I think I'll link Rage to Willpower. The Ikari form is raw fury, it's essentially the ability to put your body into an insane adrenaline-fueled berserk state, but if you don't master it, you burn out. Thus, I chain it to something that weaponizes sheer stubbornness. Green Lantern Emotional Spectrum — Willpower Ring Synchronization."
The panel flickers again.
2) DC — Green Lantern Synchronization (Property: Willpower).
Shared property with 1: Emotion-driven amplification. New property introduced: Willpower.
The Validator hesitates, then glows green.
#$&@ whistles softly. "You want to strap discipline on top of berserker rage. You naughty, naughty boy."
"So, for chain three: Willpower will then be linked to the Mind. Rage and willpower mean nothing if you can't control your own head. It will get exhausting and constantly drain you. So I chain into Naruto — Sage Mode (Senjutsu Perception and Natural Energy)."
Panel flashes:
3) Naruto — Sage Mode (Property: Mind/Perception).
Shared property with 2: Willpower needed for balance. New property: Enhanced mind-body-spirit perception, control of natural energy.
The Validator glows green.
#$&@ tilts his head. "So. From rage…to discipline…to clarity. What the fuck? Why haven't the other sixteen-million six-hundred-five dumb fucks ever be this creative? I'm starting to regret giving you this option."
I ignore his little rant. As of now, I'm in deep thought about my next chain. So, rage, willpower, clarity. Once one's mind is clear, they'll then be able to perceive more in the world around them. Or, more specifically, what's in them. Yes! I got it.
"Okay, slot four: The Mind will link to the Spirit. With a perceptive and clear mind, I can reach further. So I chain into Bleach — Shinigami Soul Combat Principles (Reiryoku & Reiryutsu). It ties the mind's clarity to spiritual force."
Panel notes:
4) Bleach — Shinigami Soul Combat (Property: Spirit).
Shared property with 3: Perception and energy balance. New property: Spiritual force manipulation.
Validator: green.
#$&@ doesn't say anything, he's spawned ice cream out of thin air and began eating it.
"Slot five: Spirit → Reality."
My grin is sharp now. "I bring the soul's will into the fabric of existence itself. Marvel — Sorcerer Supreme Arcane Fundamentals (Reality Manipulation via Structured Will)."
Panel text:
5) Marvel — Sorcerer Supreme Fundamentals (Property: Reality).
Shared property with 4: Spirit/will channeled through energy. New property: Shaping external laws (reality manipulation).
Validator glows green, harder this time. It's an almost emerald color now.
#$&@ leans forward. "You're building all crazy chain. From anger to will to clarity to spirit to shaping reality. I can't lie, you aren't as incompetent as you look."
"Looks can be deceiving, man. I wasn't Valorant's #1 player for no reason. Now, Slot six," I say.
"From Reality to Transcendence. It'll get to evolve into something more. Once you start shaping reality long enough, you'll break it. My link: JoJo — Made in Heaven (Time Acceleration & Universal Reset)."
Panel updates:
6) JJBA — Made in Heaven (Property: Time).
Shared property with 5: Reality manipulation. New property: Time acceleration, temporal transcendence.
The Validator hums, glyphs spinning, logic engines grinding like gods at their desks. This time, it took quite a long while before a decision was made.
GREEN.
With a sneaky smirk, I rub my hands together.
'Hehe, yeah boi. Hehe."
I exhale slowly, then laugh. "There. I did it. I created the impossible chain."
Abalon's golden eyes are unreadable. "Ikari rage → Willpower → Mind → Spirit → Reality → Time. You've built a straight progression of power that complements one another very well. Primitive fury growing into control, into power, into law, into breaking the law. This is quite unprecedented. My 16 million streak is broken."
"Which means?"
"Which means," #$&@ says, " you've passed the validation. Now, if the die loves you, you will be terrifying. If it doesn't, you'll be a toddler with anger issues or nothing at all."
Something loosens in his shoulders for half a second, then tightens again. "Before you commit: disclaimers. One: choosing a chain consumes all points. Two: whatever you get will not override the laws of the destination reality. If you land in a place that doesn't allow Stands, the system will downshift the concepts into what does fit—traits, instincts, potentials, echoes. Three: you do not get plot armor. You're not that guy and the universe doesn't give a shit about you. Four: you will still be born into a Saiyan nursery pod and assessed with the others. Your birth power will be what it is and totally dependent upon genes."
"Probably gonna be average," I say, already knowing.
He chuckles a bit and shrugs. "Average among Saiyans, sure. Which in retrospect you'll be lethal compared to most species, still bite-sized to anyone with a name and fame."
"Yeah, I figured. Even a power level of 100 would put u among the elites on Earth," I agree.
Adding more, I say, "I believe average with a memory and an edge is better than gifted on rails. If I can think three steps out from the culture, I live. If I live, I grow. If I grow long enough, everyone better watch their backs because daddy's coming."
#$&@ turns the mug in his hand. The caption cycles: WORLD'S OKAYEST GOD → I HATE MEETINGS → THIS IS FINE (FIRE). He sets it down on nothing. "You'll be starting where the Legate sits on the throne, the twelve Primarchs carve sectors of stars into Houses. They yank you at two or three, let you sniff your parents so you remember what ambition smells like, then they ship you on a solo test mission to a soft world."
"Soft for them," I say.
"For them," he agrees. "For you? We will see."
I hover my finger over CONFIRM. "One more question."
"Make it good."
"Why do you do this job?"
He blinks, taken aback at my question. The gold in his eyes dims for a heartbeat, almost a bit vulnerable. I looked a bit deeper, and saw a man who stood for God knows how many years doing this job. Somehow,, I could see him worn but persistent. This powerful being standing before me seems a bit more human than I thought.
Even when you've become so powerful as to decide the fates of others, there's still some humanity in you that will never truly leave.
"Because someone has to. Because I have six trillion years to retirement. Because tradition is a prison with excellent branding. Because when this works, it reminds me realities aren't just loops. They are choices many souls have made over countless lives lived. That this isn't all for a waste and that existence as we know it is progressing. Besides, I like watching one of you Carnators punch above your weight every now again."
I'm smiling now. This guy is actually holding such sentiments? "Okay," I respond, ready to cement it all.
I hit CONFIRM.
The store explodes into light and then into absence. The points counter drains to zero with a sound like a coin falling down a well. The Builder locks. The Validator stamps FINAL. Above us, something ancient clicks into place.
#$&@ lifts his arm. The air thickens. A die grows out of it, huge, perfect, each face a window into a different dawn: six suns in six colors, six screams echoing from six edges. Sigils crawl along the corners. With each rotation, it shows me things I didn't ask to see: someone laughing on a battlefield with blood on their teeth; a palace under a black sky; a child's hand pressed to cold glass; a planet wide as grief.
"This isn't theatrical," #$&@ says. "It's just what it looks like from this side."
"What happens if I get a six?" I ask, even though I know the math and the math knows me.
"You get all six," he says. "You will not be a god. You will be tilted. The universe still hates anyone who tries to skip the line to power. So, prepared for disaster if you get all six. Heck, if you get four you'll still be spotted."
"And a one?"
"You get the first. Ikari. That would…not be the worst thing."
"And a zero?"
He meets my eyes. "You won't remember me."
I blow out a breath I don't have. "Roll it."
He does not roll with his hand. He opens his palm and lets go of whatever it is that keeps forever from moving. The die drops, slow, slow, then fast, a streak of color and decision, its faces flashing logic down the sides of reality. It spins through us, through the desks, through the coffee mug that somehow never spills. The office blurs to a long smear. My senses stretch like taffy and snap back again.
I think about all the times I made bad bets. I think about a life where I was the avatar of "good enough." I think about waking up average on Sadala Prime, gravity crushing me into shape, pod glass fogged with my breath, the hum of machines and the cold of a culture that believes strength is proof of worth.
I think about a planet I won't conquer on my test mission, a sky I won't own, a body that will break and mend and break better. I think about a name I will be given in a steel cradle.
The die slows.
It hits the invisible floor with a sound like a distant door shutting. One edge bites, the cube rocks up on a corner, hesitates, and then tips—softly, decisively. It lands.
The glowing face looks up at me.
Abalon's expression does not change. It is deliberately neutral in the way of judges and gods and dealers who must not tell you they are rooting for you.
Between us, the number burns.