Chapter 24: "The Crater of Discarded Plot Twists (Abandon Logic, All Ye Who Enter)"
There are places in the world that defy logic.
And then there's the Crater of Discarded Plot Twists.
It didn't just defy logic. It threw it in a blender, added glitter, and set the blender on fire.
We stood on the edge of a vast chasm, shaped like a question mark that someone had scribbled aggressively into the landscape. Steam rose from below. Rocks floated sideways. One tree was growing upside down while holding a "Do Not Disturb" sign.
> "This is where narrative structure goes to die," Arcanos muttered.
> "And where bad ideas learn to walk," Lyria added, shielding her eyes from a particularly angry pun cloud drifting by.
Petunia held up the prophecy scroll.
> "It says the lost voice must find its final chorus down there."
> "Down where plot twists are buried alive?" I asked.
> "Yes," she said.
> "Cool," I replied, lying through my teeth.
Greg, our reformed-ish villain, adjusted his cloak and tried to look dignified. The ferret on his shoulder, whom he'd named "Sir Snarkalot," hissed at a rock that tried to monologue at us.
We descended the spiraling path into the crater.
The deeper we went, the weirder it got.
Signs littered the ground:
"The hero was the villain all along!"
"Turns out it was all a dream. Sorry."
"Clone reveal: again."
"Time travel logic error. Please reboot."
Grubnuk tripped over a subplot. Literally.
It squealed and scurried away into a crevice.
> "Should we be concerned that the cave is rewriting itself as we walk?" Kevin asked, watching a wall turn into a synopsis mid-sentence.
> "We should always be concerned," I said. "But especially now."
Eventually, we arrived at a platform carved from what looked like unused dialogue. In the center stood a glowing orb, suspended above a pedestal made of plot threads knotted into an interpretive sculpture.
The orb pulsed. And then it spoke.
> "Welcome, Authors of the Unwritten Ending."
> "Oh no," Arcanos whispered. "It's sentient."
> "Of course I'm sentient," the orb snapped. "You think a glowing prophecy node just runs on auto-pilot? I have a name, thank you."
> "What's your name?" Lyria asked politely.
> "Plotty."
There was a moment of silence. Then I nodded.
> "Yup. That tracks."
Plotty hovered closer.
> "You have come seeking the final chorus. The fate of your world may depend on it. But first... you must pass a test."
> "Please tell me it's a written exam," Greg groaned.
> "No. It's worse. You must each face... your rejected selves."
Before we could react, mirrors shot up from the ground. Each reflected a warped version of us.
Petunia's reflection was a brooding rogue with a tragic backstory and a heavy eyeliner budget. Grubnuk's wore a tuxedo and had an MBA in culinary diplomacy. Arcanos's stood dramatically atop a pile of unpaid library fines. Kevin's alternate self was... actually just a goose in a tiny cape.
Mine? It was me. But edgier.
Like, really edgy.
He had fingerless gloves, glowing red eyes, and was monologuing about betrayal and dessert-based revenge.
> "Oh no," I whispered. "I was almost that guy?"
> "This is the darkest timeline," Lyria confirmed.
Each of us had to face our reflections. Not with violence. But with conversation.
> "Why do you monologue so much?" I asked mine.
> "Because pain is the only frosting I know," it replied.
> "You need therapy. And pie."
One by one, we talked to our unwanted selves. Some ended with hugs. Others with awkward high-fives. Arcanos's just paid its fines and left.
Once finished, Plotty pulsed again.
> "You have passed. You have faced the paths not taken. The endings not written. Now you may claim the Final Chorus."
A scroll floated down from the heavens. Wrapped in musical notes and glittery tape.
It read:
> "When the world burns and songs falter, let the voice that was never heard become the echo that saves all."
We stood in silence. Even Greg looked somber.
> "So... now what?" Petunia asked.
> "Now," I said, "we figure out whose voice was never heard... and make sure they sing loud enough to save the world."
The crater rumbled. The prophecy faded. And somewhere, far off in the tangled threads of fate, something began to awaken.
---
We turned to leave. The echoes of the crater still humming like the last verse of a forgotten song.
But then...
He was there.
Standing just behind us. A shadow. A presence so heavy it choked the air.
A darker version of me.
He didn't speak. Didn't smirk. He just existed—and that alone made the light around him falter.
He reached to his back. Pulled out a sword. But not Arc.
A darker version. Twisted. Oozing with shadow. And when he drove it into the ground—
Everything broke.
The platform beneath us shattered like glass.
We fell. Into black. Into silence.
And above, still as death, the dark version of me just watched.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
> "Let's see," he whispered, voice like a closing coffin lid, "if your chorus can drown out the silence I bring."
---
End of Chapter 24 (Reflections faced. Twists twisted. But the darkest tale has just begun.)