This is a non-canon, purely for-fun crossover one-shot featuring characters from Umineko and my own multiverse traveler, Nero Angelo. I love Featherine Augustus Aurora and the meta madness she brings, so this story is just a playful clash of ultimate beings. No disrespect to the original creators—just chaos and imagination!
Featherine Augustus Aurora gazed down at the uninvited anomaly standing in her space, her domain—a theater of fiction and reality bent to her will.
"You're… not written in," she said softly, eyes narrowing at the figure before her. "You have no place here."
Nero didn't respond. His pale silver irises scanned the surroundings, unimpressed, as if he'd walked into a particularly dull chapter of a children's book. Clucknor sat on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, clearly underwhelmed.
Featherine raised her pen—the one that rewrites entire fates, pasts, futures, concepts.
She wrote:
"Nero Angelo was never born. He did not exist. He could not exist."
But as the ink touched the page, it sizzled. Vanished.
The parchment caught fire.
Lines twisted. Burned. Screamed.
She tried again:
" Angelo is nothing but a dream…"
The dream devoured the sentence. Reality blinked. The page rejected her.
Again.
" concept is null. His origin, gone. His identity rewritten into—"
The paper combusted in her hands. The pen snapped.
The Book of One Truth slammed shut, trembling.
Featherine's face twitched.
Nero simply tilted his head. "Done?"
Then came silence.
And then chaos.
Featherine attacked—scripts and stories becoming spears, paradoxes turned to blades. Universes screamed as she wove them into weapons.
Nero stepped forward.
Nothing touched him.
She cast a rewrite that should have folded him into a fable—but Nero stepped out of the sentence before it could end.
She bent the multiverse, curved cause and effect—Nero didn't even flinch. Every attack twisted, curved, unhappened before reaching him.
Clucknor yawned. "Is this really the best the 'all-powerful author' has?"
Featherine screamed, summoning every aspect of her power.
And Nero… blinked.
Not away. Not toward her.
Just… blinked.
And reality tripped.
The threads of her story frayed. Sentences rewrote mid-line. Her throne flickered, unsure if it ever existed. The page she stood on rippled like a book caught in a storm.
Then—she was gone.
Not dead.
Not destroyed.
Just… kicked out of her own story.
The space she once occupied went blank.
Even the Book of One Truth cowered in silence.
Five minutes passed in that quiet nothing.
And then Nero snapped his fingers.
The narrative remembered her.
Featherine returned with a gasp, collapsing into ink and breath, eyes wide with terror she didn't know she could feel. She looked like someone who had just been unwritten—then reluctantly penciled back in.
"You… un-narrated me," she breathed.
Nero gave her a quiet nod.
"You brought me back."
"Mm."
"Why?"
His reply was simple. Dismissive.
"I was bored."
He turned, coat fluttering slightly as he walked into the nothingness of the Void.
Clucknor flapped after him, but paused halfway. With a smug glint in his eye, he reached into Nero's shadow, pulled out a shimmering egg, and waddled over to Featherine's reformed throne.
He placed it gently.
Then vanished.
Seconds later… it hatched.
A tiny, glowing figure emerged—Featherine's silhouette, but with Clucknor's chaotic expression. It held a crayon, giggled like a maniac, and waddled over to the fabric of reality.
It began scribbling.
Planets. Stars. Gods.