A sequel.
I was fighting the angry, orphaned antagonist from a story I hadn't even written yet. The sheer, magnificent, time-fucked absurdity of it was a work of art.
The Collector, the living bug from a future, deleted reality, stared at me, his eyes holding a billion years of cold, patient hatred. "You," he hissed, the word a poison dart across time. "You are the one. The Author. The reckless god who creates and abandons. I have waited for this moment. The moment I would finally meet my own, careless creator."
"Well," I said, a slow, appreciative smile on my face. "It's always nice to meet a fan. Though I have to say, your review of my work seems a little... harsh."
He did not appreciate the joke. A wave of pure, conceptual 'nullity', the very essence of a deleted reality, washed towards me. It was not an attack. It was an attempt to unwrite me, to drag me back into the forgotten, deleted story he had come from.
But I was not a character in his story anymore. I was the author of the entire library.
I met his wave of nullity with a simple, powerful concept of my own.
The concept of a "retcon."
"Your backstory is tragic," I said, my voice resonating with the absolute authority of a Creator. "But I think it could use a little rewrite."
I did not fight his power. I edited it.
I reached into the conceptual source code of his being, the narrative of his own, forgotten existence. And I changed a single, crucial detail.
I changed the ending.
In his original story, his reality was deleted, and he was the sole, vengeful survivor. A tragic, bitter, and powerful villain.
In my new, edited version, his reality was not deleted. It was... "archived for a future reboot." And he was not its sole survivor. He was its designated "Guardian," tasked with preserving its memory until the day of its glorious return.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute.
The wave of nullity, of pure, nihilistic rage, simply… stopped. The cold, ancient hatred in The Collector's eyes was replaced by a dawning, profound, and utterly peaceful sense of purpose.
He was no longer a villain seeking revenge on his creator.
He was a hero, a guardian, a patient king waiting for the return of his kingdom.
"I… I have a purpose," he whispered, the words a prayer.
"You do," I confirmed with a magnanimous, authorial nod. "A noble, and very, very long-term one. Now, about that throne..."
He looked at the obsidian throne, then back at me. "It is yours," he said, and it was not a surrender. It was a gift. A willing transfer of power from one sovereign to another. He bowed his head, a gesture of profound, cosmic respect. "My long watch begins now."
He faded away, not into nothingness, but into a quiet, peaceful corner of the void, a guardian returning to his post, to a vigil that would last for eternity.
I had not just defeated my enemy. I had given him a happy ending. It was the most brutally efficient, and strangely merciful, act of conquest I had ever performed.
I walked to the obsidian throne, the seat of power of the most feared faction in Nexus Prime. And I sat.
My authority was now absolute.
A moment later, a figure appeared in the throne room, kneeling before me. It was a terrified, blood-spattered bounty hunter, one of the countless thugs who had participated in my "recruitment drive." And in his hands, he held the severed, still-screaming head of the Void Syndicate's old, now-irrelevant second-in-command.
"My… my Lord Sovereign," the thug stammered. "As you commanded. The head of the old boss."
He had come to claim his prize, the position of my new right-hand man.
I looked down at him from my new throne.
[SOVEREIGN'S WHIM: A FINAL, SHAMELESS ACT]
[Description: You have conquered Nexus Prime's underworld. You have established your absolute authority. It is time to make your first, official act as the new Boss.]
[Objective: Promote this random, blood-soaked, and utterly terrified thug to the position of your Second-in-Command. Right in front of your two, infinitely more qualified, and now deeply confused companions, The Champion and Lia.]
[Purpose: To establish that your new regime will not be based on logic, merit, or reason. It will be based on your own, absolute, and gloriously unpredictable whims. And also, because it's funny.]
"Congratulations," I said to the stunned bounty hunter, my voice booming with regal authority. "You're hired."
The Champion and Lia, who had just entered the throne room, stared, their expressions a perfect, beautiful mixture of disbelief and profound, weary resignation.
I had won. I had conquered the city's most powerful faction. I had neutralized a threat from my own, forgotten future. I was the new, undisputed king of this cosmic, criminal underworld.
My power was secure. My position was absolute.
But as I sat on my new throne, a new, final, and utterly unexpected notification appeared in my System. It was a message, not from a player, not from a god.
It was from the multiverse itself.
The twist was not a new threat. It was not a new enemy.
It was an invoice.
[UNIVERSAL ANNOUNCEMENT: 'THE SOVEREIGN'S SYNDICATE' HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY RECOGNIZED AS A 'PLATINUM-TIER' COSMIC FACTION.]
[Congratulations, Administrator Kaelen.]
[Your monthly 'Reality Maintenance and Zoning Fees' are now due.]
[AMOUNT DUE: 10 TRILLION QUINTESSENCE.]
[Payment is due on the first of every cosmic cycle. Failure to pay will result in... penalties.]
The final, ultimate, and most inescapable twist of my entire, insane, and glorious journey was not a monster, not a god, not a rival.
It was cosmic taxes. And I, the new, undisputed king of everything, was flat, fucking broke.