The world of Xylos was perfect. Disgustingly, sickeningly, boringly perfect.
The sky was a flawless, cloudless azure. The cities were elegant spires of living wood and crystal, humming with a gentle, harmonious magic. The elves—or what passed for elves here—spent their days composing poetry, contemplating the beauty of a sunset, and being insufferably nice to each other. There hadn't been a war in ten thousand years.
It was the most profoundly evil place I had ever seen.
I sat at an outdoor cafe, sipping a cup of nectar that tasted like liquid sunshine and self-righteousness. It was my third day in this reality. I had chosen it at random, a quiet little pocket dimension tucked away in a forgotten corner of the multiverse, the perfect place to test out my new role as a 'Narrative Catalyst'.
My own form was whatever I wished it to be. Today, I was a handsome, roguish-looking traveler with a hint of danger in my eyes, just enough to be interesting but not enough to cause a panic. My power, the complete Omnistructure, was a quiet, sleeping giant within me. I didn't need to flex. My very presence was already a subtle poison in this world of perfect harmony.
My new, fully-realized System was no longer a frantic mess of quests and alerts. It was a calm, elegant interface that offered 'Narrative Suggestions' and tracked 'Chaos Points'.
[NARRATIVE SUGGESTION: THE PERFECTION OF XYLOs is maintained by the 'Aegis of Serenity', a planetary-level enchantment powered by the 'Well of Tranquility' at the heart of their capital city. Disrupting the Well would be… interesting.]
[Current Chaos Points: 0]
"Interesting is my middle name," I mused to myself.
My first act of divine vandalism was beautifully simple. I walked to the central plaza of the capital city. In the center, a fountain of pure, shimmering, tranquil energy—the Well—gushed forth, its calming aura the source of the entire planet's insufferable peace.
I strolled up to it, a casual tourist. I looked into its placid depths. And I introduced a new concept to its perfect, harmonious programming.
I used my authority as the former master of the Chaos fragment, and I gave the Well of Tranquility a severe, incurable case of anxiety.
The effect was immediate. The calm, shimmering water began to bubble, to hiss. The gentle, harmonious hum of the city's magic developed a frantic, nervous tremor. The elves in the plaza suddenly stopped their poetry recitals, a strange, unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in their perfect souls. Irritation. Impatience.
One elf bumped into another. For the first time in millennia, the words "Hey, watch it, you pointed-eared bastard," were uttered on Xylos.
A small, beautiful flame of chaos had been lit.
[Chaos Points: +1,000]
I smiled. This was going to be fun.
I spent the next week as a tourist from hell. I taught the city's most renowned bard the concept of "death metal." I introduced the city's greatest artist to the joys of abstract, angry graffiti. I paid the royal chef a fortune to replace the ambrosia at the Queen's banquet with a dish of my own creation: an aggressively spicy burrito.
The perfect, serene society of Xylos began to unravel. Arguments broke out. Factions formed between the 'traditionalists' and the new, exciting 'chaotics'. The city guard, who had spent the last ten thousand years mostly directing traffic, suddenly had to deal with a mosh pit.
[Chaos Points: +50,000]
I was having the time of my eternal life.
My final act was to be my masterpiece. I was going to give this world its first, genuine, bona fide 'Hero's Journey'.
I "discovered" an ancient, forgotten prophecy (which I had written myself and planted in the royal library the day before). It spoke of a 'Blade of Ultimate Harmony', a mythical sword hidden in the 'Whispering Mountains', the only artifact that could restore the Well of Tranquility's peace.
Then, I chose my hero. A young, idealistic, and utterly naive palace guard named Faelan. I visited him in a "dream," appearing as a golden, god-like figure, and told him that he was the chosen one, the only one who could undertake this sacred quest.
The next morning, the boy, his heart filled with a holy purpose, took the ancient (and completely normal) sword from the castle's armory and set off on his grand adventure, ready to face the "terrors" of the mountains (a few grumpy, territorial squirrels I had personally hyped up with a jolt of aggressive energy).
It was a perfect, self-contained story. A world in turmoil, a chosen hero, a noble quest. I had given this boring utopia a narrative. A purpose.
I sat back at my cafe, sipping my now-anxiety-infused nectar, ready to watch the story unfold.
My work was done. It was time to find a new, boring world to vandalize.
But as I prepared to leave, a new, unforeseen variable entered my perfect, chaotic equation. A variable I had created, and then forgotten.
A shimmering, silver-blue portal tore open in the middle of the plaza. It was not the chaotic tear of my own making. It was a clean, logical, and perfectly executed gateway.
A figure stepped out. She was dressed in sleek, silver armor that seemed to hum with a quiet, analytical power. Her face was a mask of cold, serene logic. It was a face I knew intimately.
It was my Echo. Lia. The Queen of my abandoned empire on the Third Floor.
But she was not alone.
Behind her, an army marched out of the portal. An army of my own vassals—the stoic knights of Lord Corvus's Shadow Syndicate, the fanatical paladins of Elara's Crusade, and the hulking, monstrous disciples of the hundred gods I had conquered.
My ghost-kingdom had come to find me.
Lia's logical, ancient eyes, a perfect copy of my own will, swept over the now-chaotic city. She saw the graffiti. She saw the arguing elves. She saw the young, foolish "hero" marching off on his fake quest.
Her gaze finally landed on me, sitting at my cafe, and a new, unfamiliar emotion flickered across her perfect face. It was an emotion that a perfect, logical echo of myself should not have been capable of.
Disappointment.
Sovereign, her telepathic voice was no longer a perfect mirror of my own. It was cold. It was judgmental. I have spent the last fifty years consolidating your power. I have conquered three more floors in your name. I have been preparing for our war against the great cosmic powers.
She gestured to the chaotic, vibrant, and now thoroughly interesting city around us.
And you have been here… playing with dolls.
The twist was not that my army had found me.
It was that my perfect, logical Echo, my own creation, had spent fifty years evolving in my absence. And she had developed something I had long since discarded.
A sense of fucking responsibility. And she was not impressed with my new hobby.