The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers, a deceptive serenity cloaking the realm in an illusion of peace. The unknown figure, cloaked in shadow, stepped into this verdant sanctuary, his boots sinking into the soft moss that carpeted the winding path. Towering trees, their gnarled branches interwoven like skeletal fingers, stretched toward a sky bruised with twilight hues—violet and crimson bleeding into one another. A faint mist curled around the trunks, whispering secrets in a language older than time. Deer grazed in the distance, their eyes glinting with an eerie intelligence, while birds with feathers like molten silver flitted through the canopy, their songs hauntingly dissonant. This was no ordinary place. It was a dreamscape, a fragile bubble of tranquility suspended in a multiverse teetering on the edge of collapse.
The figure's breath hitched as he walked, each step echoing with purpose and dread. His face remained hidden beneath a hood, but his eyes—sharp, restless, and burdened—scanned the horizon. A house emerged from the mist, its wooden facade weathered yet warm, glowing faintly as if lit by an unseen hearth. Ivy clung to its walls, pulsing faintly, as though the house itself were alive, breathing. The figure paused, his hand hovering over the iron doorknob, the metal cold and slick beneath his touch. A shiver ran through him, not from the chill but from the weight of what lay beyond that threshold. He was not here for peace.
The door creaked open, and a voice, warm yet laced with an undercurrent of knowing, greeted him. "Welcome, stranger." The man inside stood by a crackling fireplace, his silhouette framed against the flickering flames. He was tall, his presence commanding, yet there was a weariness in his posture, as if the weight of centuries pressed against his spine. He turned, revealing a face that seemed to shift in the firelight—smooth one moment, then wrinkled and ancient the next. His eyes, deep and fathomless, locked onto the figure. "Or should I say, welcome, Unknown Man?"
The figure stiffened, his voice low and edged with frost. "You know my identity, yet you insist on games. Call me Unknown Man, then. It suits me." He stepped inside, the door groaning shut behind him, sealing them in a space that felt both intimate and oppressive. The air grew heavier, the scent of coffee mingling with something acrid, like burnt ozone. The man—the Creator—smiled faintly, his fingers curling around a steaming mug as he gestured to a bench outside.
"Come," he said, his voice a velvet blade. "Let us sit and speak of things that matter."
They stepped onto the porch, where the world seemed to hum with a life of its own. The bench, carved from a single slab of obsidian, gleamed under the fading light. Beyond it, the realm unfolded in breathtaking vistas: rolling hills draped in emerald, rivers that shimmered like liquid starlight, and distant mountains jagged as broken teeth. Yet, there was a wrongness here, subtle but undeniable. The colors were too vivid, the silence too absolute. It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for something to shatter its fragile facade.
The Creator handed the Unknown Man a mug, the coffee's warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into his bones. They sat, the bench creaking under their weight, and for a moment, silence reigned. Then the Creator spoke, his voice soft but resonant, carrying the weight of eons. "Look at this place. A sanctuary. A dream I wove from the threads of my longing—a peaceful haven where I can sit, sip my coffee, and forget the chaos beyond these borders."
The Unknown Man's lips curled into a sneer, his grip tightening on the mug. "Peaceful? You sit here, basking in your dreamscape, while the multiverse burns. Timelines collapse, worlds drown in blood, and people slaughter each other for power, for rubies, for a chance to claw their way back to what they've lost." His voice trembled, not with anger but with something deeper—grief, raw and unhealed. "You call this peace? It's cowardice."
The Creator's face shifted, the illusion of youth peeling away to reveal the truth: an old man, his skin like crumpled parchment, his white beard flowing like a river of frost. His eyes, though, burned with a clarity that belied his age. He was David, or a version of him, ancient and eternal, a god who had seen the birth and death of countless realities. "I gave them a choice," he said, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "I gave Original David the power to shape his world, to find peace or sow destruction. I walked their path once, felt their rage, their hunger for vengeance. But I chose this." He gestured to the realm, his hand trembling slightly. "I chose peace."
The Unknown Man laughed, a cold, hollow sound that seemed to fracture the air. "Peace? You didn't choose peace. You abandoned them. You let the multiverse tear itself apart while you hid here, sipping your coffee, pretending your hands are clean." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "But they're not. You're the Creator, the architect of this nightmare. Every death, every river of blood—it's on you."
The Creator's eyes darkened, and for a moment, the realm seemed to flicker. The trees swayed without wind, their branches clawing at the sky. The rivers pulsed red, then clear, then red again. "You're right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I am the reason. The war, the death, the blood—it all flows from me. But I am neither happy nor sad. I am… empty." His words hung in the air, heavy with a despair that seemed to seep into the very earth.
The Unknown Man stood, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the porch. "Empty? That's your excuse? You gave Original David the power, knowing what it could do. You could've gone back to Timeline No. 2, brought back your Ruby, fixed what was broken. But you didn't. And now, if Original David dies, everything ends—every universe, every timeline, gone." His voice cracked, betraying the fear he tried to bury. "I won't let that happen. I'll protect him, no matter the cost, because Timeline No. 3 is all I have left."
The Creator's gaze softened, but there was a glint of something else—pity, perhaps, or amusement. "You have a fragment of my power, David of Timeline No. 3. A spark, but enough. You can protect him. You can try to save your world." He leaned back, his smile faint but chilling. "But know this: every choice you make ripples across the multiverse. Save Ruby, save the world, or destroy it all—it's on you."
The Unknown Man—David of Timeline No. 3—slammed his mug onto the bench, the ceramic shattering into jagged shards. "You think this is a game? You sit here, playing god, while I fight, bleed, and beg for scraps of hope. I'm done with your riddles, your sanctimonious bullshit. I'm leaving." He raised his hand, and the air tore open, a portal swirling with chaotic energy—blacks and reds, streaked with the screams of dying stars. The realm shuddered, the ground cracking beneath his feet, as if rejecting his departure.
"Fuck this," he spat, stepping toward the portal. "You want to watch the multiverse burn? Watch from your pretty little bench. I'll do what you never could."
The portal swallowed him, and the realm snapped back into stillness, the cracks in the earth sealing as if they'd never been. The Creator sat alone, his eyes distant, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. "Whether you save Ruby or the world, Original David, it's all on you," he murmured. "And it will be… entertaining."
A shadow stirred in the corner of the porch, unseen until now. Red eyes, glowing like twin embers, blinked into existence, their gaze piercing the veil of the realm. A voice, low and guttural, slithered through the air, dripping with malice. "Whether you destroy the multiverse or save it, Original David, I'll be watching. And oh, it will be exhilarating." The eyes vanished, leaving only a faint echo of laughter, sharp and cruel, as the Creator rose and returned to his house.
The door closed, and the realm held its breath once more. But beyond its borders, the multiverse screamed. Worlds crumbled into ash, their skies torn apart by fissures of raw, chaotic energy. Cities burned, their spires melting into rivers of molten steel, while the cries of the dying mingled with the roars of those who fought for power, for survival, for rubies that pulsed with the essence of creation itself. Timeline No. 3 flickered, its edges fraying like a tapestry unraveling, and at its heart stood David of Timeline No. 3, his hands stained with blood, his heart heavy with the weight of a choice he could not escape.
The chapter ended, but the story was far from over. The multiverse trembled, and the red eyes watched, waiting for the moment when everything would break.