The cosmic room grew colder and more still as the gathering of gods continued. The Cheshire Cat's grin, though wide and ever-present, quivered just slightly. The Man in the Moon loomed above them all, a celestial figure whose very presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air, making even the immortal shudder with unease. He was the strongest god, the right hand of the God of Eternity. No one dared to provoke his ire—not even the Cheshire Cat, who feared him above all else.
Zefron the Third, the God of Eternity, stood silently, adorned in attire befitting a medieval king. His gaze, though sightless, seemed to see through the very fabric of existence, weighing every being present. His presence was both commanding and indifferent, like an ancient monarch who had seen too much and cared for too little.
Then, a young child no older than thirteen entered the room, his aura crackling with a power that belied his innocent appearance. He was Oliver Ferdinand, the God of Spirit, his eyes shimmering with the light of countless souls. Despite his youthful visage, he carried himself with the poise of a deity who had lived countless lifetimes.
As Oliver took his place, the room felt fuller—ten of the thirteen gods had now appeared, each embodying a force that shaped the very cosmos:
- **Zefron the Third**: The God of Eternity, the God of Gods, whose every word carried the weight of infinite time and who had crafted the Man in the Moon himself.
- **The Man in the Moon**: The strongest god, with an unfathomable power that made even the gods tremble.
- **Oliver Ferdinand**: The Spirit God, a youthful deity whose essence danced with the souls of the living and the dead.
- **Jack Frost**: The Temperature God, a being of ice and chill whose mere presence froze the air.
- **Saint Nicholas**: The God of Joy, known to mortals as Santa Claus, his aura a beacon of warmth amidst the cosmic cold.
- **Tera**: The God of Human Ideas, whose form seemed to shift with every passing second, embodying the ever-changing nature of human thought.
- **Greg**: The God of Greed, his hands always twitching as if counting invisible gold, his gaze fixated on the potential for more—always more.
- **The Cheshire Cat**: The God of Insanity, whose grin threatened to split his face, a harbinger of madness that thrived on the chaos of existence.
- **Baba Yaga**: The Goddess of Darkness, cloaked in shadows and secrets, a mother to all things that lurked in the night.
Each god carried with them a presence that could warp reality itself, yet even amidst these titans, one figure commanded the most attention—the Man in the Moon. His expression was inscrutable, his glowing eyes scanning the room with a gaze that felt both dispassionate and omnipresent.
Zefron spoke first, his voice a deep, resonating echo that seemed to stretch across the cosmos. "We gather here… for a reason," he began, his tone indifferent yet undeniably powerful. "The fabric of reality is shifting, and we are at its center."
The Cheshire Cat, despite his fear, could not help but mutter, "A gathering of madness, truly," as his eyes darted cautiously toward the Man in the Moon, who remained silent but ever-watchful.
Saint Nicholas, or Santa as he was known among mortals, broke the tension with a gentle laugh. "Let us not forget why we are here," he said warmly, his eyes twinkling with a joy that seemed out of place in such a grim meeting. "To ensure that the balance is maintained… and that those who seek to disrupt it are dealt with."
Greg, the God of Greed, scoffed. "Balance, you say? There's no balance without profit," he sneered, his voice a hiss like a snake's whisper.
Before anyone could respond, a cold wind swept through the room, and all eyes turned to Jack Frost. "The balance of power is delicate," Jack murmured, his breath visible in the frigid air. "And it grows colder… colder still."
The Man in the Moon finally spoke, his voice like a blade cutting through the air. "The time for games is over. The cosmos demands order, and we shall provide it."
The Cheshire Cat swallowed hard, his grin never fading but his eyes filled with a flash of fear. He knew better than to challenge the will of the Man in the Moon. Even in his insanity, some truths were too great to ignore.
And as the gods continued their discourse, the room itself seemed to pulse with the tension of a thousand realities hanging in the balance, each of them waiting to see what this gathering of immortals would decide.
Zefron's voice, already commanding, took on a tone that silenced even the gods themselves. "The time has come," he declared, "for the Universe of Humans to undergo an Extinction Event."
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if the very concept of existence recoiled at his words. An Extinction Event was no mere spectacle; it was a cataclysm that permitted the demons—beings of unfathomable, incomprehensible evil—to roam freely across a designated universe. Such events were rare and devastating, a divine decree that would allow chaos to reign unchecked.
"The demons will roam free," Zefron continued, his blind eyes somehow seeing all. "And yet… I will grant humanity a chance. I shall bestow upon them the gift of dreams, the power to hope—to hope so deeply, so fervently, that their dreams may become reality."
With that, Zefron moved with the grace of a sovereign over to Hansel, still asleep and cradled in the arms of the Cheshire Cat. His hand reached out, ethereal and cold, and touched Hansel's forehead. Instantly, the boy's body seemed to glow, a strange light emanating from within, as if Zefron had ignited a spark inside him—a dreamer.
The room erupted.
"No!" cried Saint Nicholas, his warm, joyful demeanor replaced by a rare fury. "You cannot use the boy as a pawn for this!"
The Cheshire Cat, though still smiling, bared his teeth, a low growl escaping from his throat. "A game is fine, Zefron, but this is no game. You'll make them dream only to crush them beneath the weight of reality. I will not stand for it."
Baba Yaga's shadowy form flickered, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Hope is a cruel thing to give, only to rip away when the demons come," she hissed. "I do not agree to this."
Tera, the God of Human Ideas, seemed almost physically pained, as if he could feel the weight of every human thought buckling under the proposal. "You speak of dreams, but what are dreams against demons?" Tera's form shifted, becoming a swirling mass of conflicted ideas. "This is madness."
Zefron, undeterred, kept his hand on Hansel's forehead, the glow intensifying as if he were pouring more and more of his essence into the boy. "Dreams," he intoned, "are the only power left to them. They shall dream… or they shall perish."
Santa stepped forward, his aura flaring with a light that momentarily pushed back the shadows cast by the Man in the Moon. "You play a dangerous game, Zefron," he warned, his tone no longer filled with the cheer and warmth he was known for, but with a cold steel that mirrored the deity's resolve. "Dreams may defy even the gods."
The Man in the Moon watched, his expression unreadable, as the room seemed to vibrate with divine tension. It was rare for so many gods to openly defy Zefron, but this was no ordinary situation.
Tera added with desperation, "You know this could mean the end of everything."
Zefron, with a faint smile that was almost human, turned his gaze towards them. "And perhaps that is exactly what is needed—a new beginning, born from the ashes of their dreams."
The Cheshire Cat's grin widened again, but his eyes remained dark. "Careful, Zefron. Even gods should be wary of those who have nothing left to lose."
And there, in the cosmic room, the future of humanity hung by the fragile thread of a child's dream, the gods divided, the demons waiting, and a decision yet to be made.
As Zefron's hand remained on Hansel's forehead, the glow grew brighter, spreading through the boy's body like veins of molten light. For a moment, it seemed as if Hansel was merely glowing, a sleeping child touched by the divine. But then, something shifted—a subtle yet unmistakable change rippled across his face, like a breeze disturbing the surface of still water.
Hansel's breathing, once steady and slow, quickened. His eyelids fluttered, and beneath them, his eyes darted back and forth as if dreaming at a feverish pace. A soft gasp escaped his lips, his hands twitching as though reaching for something unseen. The gods, who had been locked in their heated debate, paused, sensing the shift. Zefron's smile widened ever so slightly, but it was a smile that spoke of plans unfolding, of layers upon layers yet to be revealed.
Inside Hansel, something was awakening. His consciousness—once a dim ember buried beneath layers of fear, trauma, and despair—now flickered, brightened, and finally flared to life. His dreams, fragmented and scattered like broken glass, began to coalesce. The memories of torture, the darkness of the lab, the Cheshire Cat's enigmatic grin, and even the warmth of Mrs. Claus's cookies—all merged into a kaleidoscope of thoughts and emotions.
In an instant, his consciousness was no longer the same. The childlike innocence, the blankness of the nameless boy known only as "0202," was gone. In its place, a new awareness formed—an awareness sharpened by pain but softened by a yearning for something more. His mind expanded, stretching out into the vast unknown, beyond the confines of the room, beyond the gods, into the very fabric of the universe.
And then, Hansel's eyes snapped open.
They were no longer the eyes of a terrified child. They were filled with a strange, ethereal light, both ancient and newborn, reflecting a myriad of emotions—fear, hope, curiosity, and something else, something profound and indescribable.
The Cheshire Cat, always smiling, felt a shiver run down his spine. He had seen madness, chaos, and infinite possibilities, but this…this was different. His grin remained, but his eyes grew darker, more contemplative.
Saint Nicholas felt it too—a tremor in the air, a ripple that spread through the cosmos. "Hansel?" he whispered, as if afraid to speak louder, not knowing who or what might answer.
Hansel looked around, blinking as if seeing the world anew, his gaze drifting over the gods. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but clear, filled with a calm certainty that sent chills down the spines of even the divine.
"I see…everything," he murmured, almost to himself. "I see the dreams, the nightmares…the demons, and the gods. I see a world that could be…and one that mustn't be."
Zefron's hand pulled away, the glow dimming, but his smile remained. "Yes," he said softly, "that is the power of a dreamer."
Hansel's gaze turned to Zefron, and there was a flicker of something new—an understanding, a challenge, perhaps even defiance. "A dreamer," he repeated, and then added with a hint of a smile, "but whose dreams?"
The gods shifted uncomfortably. For they realized then that this boy, this child who was once just a number, now stood at the crossroads of fate. And whatever happened next, it would be decided not by gods or demons, but by the dreams of a child who had seen both darkness and light.
And Hansel, no longer a mere boy, but something more—something undefined and limitless—continued to stare into the cosmos, as if daring it to dream with him.
Hansel's gaze fixed sharply on Zefron, his newfound awareness bristling with an edge that hadn't been there before. His eyes, still glowing with that strange, ethereal light, narrowed as he took in the imposing figure of the god who had just altered his very essence.
"When the fuck am I?" he demanded, his voice surprisingly steady for a child—a child who had just crossed a threshold that most mortals couldn't even fathom.
The room fell silent, the other gods momentarily stunned by the unexpected profanity. Even the Cheshire Cat, who reveled in chaos, blinked, his grin momentarily faltering as he watched this sudden challenge unfold.
Zefron, the God of Eternity, tilted his head slightly, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker, something that danced just beneath the surface of his otherwise calm demeanor. "When?" he echoed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the cosmos contained in the room. "That is your question?"
Hansel's eyes did not waver. He felt the weight of the divine stares on him, the combined pressure of ten gods, each with their own agenda, their own designs. But in that moment, he didn't care. The confusion, the anger, and the disorientation churned within him, and he wanted—no, needed—answers.
"Yeah," Hansel snapped, his voice tinged with defiance. "I know where I am, and I know who all of you are. But I don't know when I am. What time is this? What era? How long have I been… asleep?" The last word came out with a tremor, a quiver that betrayed the undercurrent of fear that still lingered beneath his newfound strength.
Zefron's smile widened, but there was something almost predatory in the way he did it, as if savoring the taste of this unexpected development. "Ah, little dreamer," he said softly, almost mockingly, "you are not bound by time as you once were. You stand outside of it now, at the edge of eternity, where past, present, and future collide in a beautiful, chaotic dance. You are wherever and whenever you choose to be."
Hansel frowned, not satisfied with the cryptic answer. He felt the god's words pressing down on him, thick with meaning he couldn't yet grasp. "So, what?" he challenged, "I'm just supposed to accept that I'm… nowhere and everywhere? Is that it?"
The God of Eternity chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo in the vastness of the cosmos. "Exactly," he replied. "You are a dreamer now, Hansel. Your reality is no longer linear. You are in a place where dreams shape reality, and where time… is merely a suggestion."
Hansel's jaw clenched, his fists tightening as he processed this. The anger, the frustration of not understanding, of being played with by beings so far beyond his comprehension, bubbled up within him. "That's not an answer," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Zefron's eyes gleamed, sensing the spark of rebellion. "It is the only answer you'll get—for now. Unless," he paused, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you are ready to see more, to know more… to become more."
Hansel's gaze burned into Zefron's, defiance and determination mingling in those young, fierce eyes. "Fine," he said, his voice a low, steady challenge. "Show me, then. Show me everything."
The gods exchanged glances, and a ripple of unease passed through them. The Cheshire Cat's grin widened again, delighted by the unfolding drama, while Saint Nicholas, the God of Joy, watched with a growing sense of concern. Baba Yaga remained silent, her expression inscrutable.
Zefron nodded, his smile never wavering. "Very well, dreamer. Prepare yourself… for the truth."
Zefron, still savoring the tension in the room, raised his hand with a grand gesture, drawing all eyes to him. His voice, both commanding and calm, echoed through the vast chamber that seemed to contain the very essence of the cosmos. "Then it is decided," he announced, a sly smile curling at his lips. "A new god is born today."
He turned his gaze to Hansel, whose confusion was slowly giving way to a mix of fear and defiance. "Hansel," Zefron continued, "you have been chosen… molded by fate, and now shaped by my hand. You shall be the God of Time."
A hush fell over the room. Even the Cheshire Cat, always quick to revel in madness, seemed momentarily struck by the gravity of Zefron's declaration. The other gods exchanged looks—some curious, others wary, and a few clearly displeased. Saint Nicholas, the God of Joy, frowned deeply, his brow furrowing with concern. Baba Yaga's eyes narrowed, her dark aura shifting slightly, as if preparing for what might come next.
Hansel, still reeling from everything, felt a strange sensation wash over him. The words "God of Time" rang in his ears, and with them came a rush of images—memories not his own, events unfolding in reverse, stars being born and dying in an instant, entire civilizations rising and falling in mere heartbeats. The universe seemed to expand and contract all around him, as if time itself were flexing its muscles, acknowledging its new master.
"Me?" Hansel breathed, his voice a whisper, barely audible. "The God of Time?"
Zefron's eyes gleamed with something between pride and a sinister amusement. "Yes, Hansel. You, who have crossed the boundaries of mortality, who have touched the edge of eternity. You, who dared to defy a god and demand answers… You shall now wield time itself."
Hansel felt the weight of those words settle onto him like a mantle—both a burden and a strange liberation. He could feel the fabric of time stretching, yielding to his newfound awareness. He could see the past and future intertwined in a tapestry of moments, all waiting to be shaped, all waiting for his command.
The room seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, the gods watching intently. The Cheshire Cat leaned in closer, his grin widening once more, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, the things you will see… and the things you will do," he murmured, his tone a mix of excitement and foreboding.
Saint Nicholas finally spoke up, his voice firm yet filled with concern. "Zefron," he began, "you cannot just grant him such power without understanding the consequences. Time is a dangerous force, a force that—"
Zefron cut him off with a sharp glance. "I know the risks, Saint Nicholas," he replied, his voice cold and authoritative. "But this is necessary. The universe faces an extinction event, and we need a dreamer who can challenge fate itself."
Baba Yaga, silent until now, finally spoke, her voice deep and enigmatic. "Hansel, do you truly wish to accept this mantle?" she asked, her eyes boring into his. "To be the God of Time is not just to wield power… It is to carry the weight of all moments, all possibilities, both light and dark."
Hansel looked around, feeling the enormity of what was happening. He could sense the fear, the expectation, the doubt in the air. But within himself, he felt a spark—a small, burning ember of something… new. Something that wanted to know more, to see more, to change everything.
He lifted his chin, meeting Baba Yaga's gaze with a fierce determination. "Yes," he said, voice steady. "I accept."
A ripple of energy coursed through the room, a shockwave that seemed to bend reality itself. Zefron nodded approvingly, while the other gods looked on, knowing that the universe had just shifted in a profound, irreversible way.
Zefron then raised his voice once more, announcing to the assembly, "Behold, Hansel—the God of Time. Let the world tremble… for time shall bow to him."
Hansel's body remained still, his young face masked in an unsettling calm, but his eyes—those once-childlike eyes—now carried an ageless weight, a flicker of knowledge far beyond his years. He felt the world around him slow, each moment dragging as if caught in the relentless pull of a black hole. Deep within, he could feel the echo of his true self, the Hansel of the future—a god not of time, but of destruction.
The room was silent, the other gods unaware of the secret exchange that had just taken place. Zefron, the God of Eternity, stood with a knowing smirk. He alone understood the reality of this twisted bargain. In this very moment, he had fulfilled his end of a pact struck in shadows—a pact that would alter the very fabric of existence.
Hansel, the child, was merely a vessel now, a hollow shell occupied by his older self—a version of Hansel who had once rejected the title of God of Time, choosing instead a darker path, one of pure and absolute destruction. The future Hansel had seen the madness of gods, their capricious games, and decided there was only one true answer to their chaos: the annihilation of everything. But to achieve that, he needed a new beginning, a way to return to a time before he became the embodiment of ruin.
And so, he made a deal with Zefron.
"I'll offer you something," Hansel had whispered in a future long lost to time. "Send me back into my younger self, let me start again… let me break fate's hold on me."
Zefron, omniscient and omnipotent, had listened, intrigued. "And what do I gain from this… act of rebellion?" he had asked, his voice echoing across eons.
Hansel, unafraid, had stared back into the void of Zefron's all-seeing gaze. "The chance to see how far your game can really go," he answered. "You get to witness the end of everything... or its rebirth."
The God of Eternity, amused by the audacity of a mortal-turned-god, had agreed. "Very well," Zefron had said. "Let's see if you, Hansel, can defy even me."
Now, in this room filled with the greatest gods of the cosmos, Zefron's eyes gleamed with understanding and satisfaction. The child Hansel, no longer just a child, felt a surge of power coursing through his veins—a power older than the stars, raw and wild, waiting to be unleashed.
He knew every face here, knew the secrets hidden behind their divine masks, their deepest fears, their forbidden desires. He knew because he had seen them in a future where he was their destroyer.
Zefron watched with his unsettling, all-knowing smile. He knew every outcome, every branching possibility. To him, this game was all that mattered—an eternal, unfolding drama where every piece moved at his will, every ending known and unknown all at once.
Saint Nicholas, Baba Yaga, and the Cheshire Cat sensed the change in the air but couldn't comprehend the true depth of what had transpired. The aura around Hansel was different, older, darker. There was a flicker of something ancient and malevolent behind his youthful eyes.
The child god spoke, his voice layered, resonating with the timbre of someone far older, someone who had seen universes collapse and stars fade into cold nothingness. "So, it begins," Hansel said, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "Time… Destruction… it's all the same to me now."
Baba Yaga narrowed her eyes, sensing the shift. "What are you?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Zefron's laughter cut through the silence, deep and filled with both amusement and a hint of mockery. "What indeed," he echoed, his gaze never leaving Hansel. "A god remade. A god reborn. And soon, a god unleashed."
Hansel turned to Zefron, his younger face contorted with a grin that seemed almost too wide, too knowing. "Don't think I'm playing your game, Zefron," he murmured softly, his voice dripping with a cold defiance. "I'll make my own rules… and rewrite this universe as I see fit."
The gods shifted uneasily. The air grew tense, filled with a dark promise. In this twisted theater of divinity, the stakes had never been higher. And Zefron, the god who saw all, smiled because he knew, no matter what path Hansel took, it would all lead back to him.
For he was Zefron the Third, the God of Eternity. All-knowing, all-seeing, and undefeatable. And this was his game, his cosmic masterpiece, his eternal jest. But even he, in the depths of his omniscience, wondered… just how far would this god of destruction go?
Hansel stared at Zefron, his small hands trembling ever so slightly. Fear—real, primal fear—gripped his heart. In all the futures he had seen, in all the timelines he had traversed, there was one constant: Zefron, the God of Eternity. The Fool, as some whispered in secret, but not because he was to be underestimated. No, it was because he was the blind idiot god, the one who saw everything and nothing, who played with the cosmos like a child with toys.
Hansel's new, older soul shuddered in its borrowed body. The chants from the future echoed in his mind, haunting him like a ghost of inevitability: *"Praise the Fool, for the Fool is all. Praise the Fool, for the Fool sees all."* Those words had been carved into the walls of ruined temples, whispered by the last remnants of dying civilizations, even sung by mad prophets who had glimpsed the cosmic truth.
*Praise the Fool.*
The thought chilled Hansel to his very core. He knew the terrible truth hidden behind those words. Zefron, for all his strange and playful nature, was beyond comprehension. A force of existence itself. And there was no escaping him.
Hansel's fear grew, bubbling up from within. The room seemed to twist and distort around him as if the very fabric of reality were bending to Zefron's will. The gods looked on, oblivious to the true nature of Zefron's game. Only Hansel understood the gravity of it all. He had been chosen, not for some great destiny, but to be a pawn in a game so vast, so unfathomable, that even eternity itself was just another turn.
*"I guess the chants were true,"* Hansel thought bitterly, *"Praise the Fool."*
Zefron's eyes bore into him, his smile as infuriatingly serene as ever. "Do you understand now, child?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You are mine, Hansel. You are all mine."
Hansel swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. *How do you fight something that knows every move you will ever make? How do you outmaneuver the universe itself?*
And yet, deep inside, a flicker of defiance remained. Even knowing the futility, even knowing the madness, Hansel couldn't help but think… there had to be a way. A way to defy the Fool, to break free of his game.
For now, though, he could only tremble and nod, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. "I… I understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Zefron's smile widened. "Good," he replied softly, almost affectionately. "Then let the game begin."
The room seemed to hum with anticipation, the other gods watching, waiting. But only Hansel and Zefron knew the true stakes. Only they understood that this was more than a game. It was a dance with the infinite, a gamble against eternity itself.
And somewhere, in the back of Hansel's mind, those chants from the future kept echoing, over and over, a reminder of the terrifying truth: *Praise the Fool.*
The conversation between Hansel and Zefron unfolded silently, a dialogue shared not with words but with thoughts that pierced the very fabric of the mind. Hansel stood there, his expression outwardly calm, but his eyes betrayed the storm of emotion within him. Zefron's gaze seemed to penetrate Hansel's soul, his lips unmoving, but his voice reverberated inside Hansel's head like a cosmic bell.
*"Do you understand now, child?"* Zefron's voice echoed through the recesses of Hansel's mind, carrying with it a weight that felt like a thousand lifetimes compressed into a single moment.
Hansel's heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing. He tried to keep his fear in check, but the enormity of the presence before him was overwhelming. *"I guess the chants were true,"* Hansel thought, a bitter realization settling in. *"Praise the Fool… for the Fool sees all."*
Zefron's mental presence grew even more intense, his amusement seeping into Hansel's consciousness like a thick fog. *"Ah, so you've heard the chants,"* Zefron projected, his tone dripping with a dark, playful energy. *"And yet, you stand here, still defiant. You think you can escape me?"*
Hansel's thoughts wavered, fear gripping tighter, but he refused to back down. *"I know what you are,"* he mentally whispered back, each word laced with a fragile courage. *"You're not just a god… you're… something more."*
A soft, almost amused laugh echoed through his mind—Zefron's laugh, full of the cosmos and eternity. *"Indeed, little one. I am everything. And you… are mine."*
Hansel felt a chill run down his spine, his mind reeling. There was no escaping Zefron, no hiding from his gaze. The Fool who knew all, saw all, and twisted reality to his whims.
*"Do you understand now?"* Zefron's mental voice was softer this time, almost a whisper that cut through Hansel's very essence.
Hansel nodded, his thoughts trembling as he answered, *"I… I understand."*
*"Good,"* came the reply, a sinister satisfaction coursing through it. *"Then let the game begin."*
The telepathic link snapped shut like a steel trap, leaving Hansel feeling cold and empty. The other gods remained oblivious to the silent exchange that had just transpired, their attention elsewhere. But Hansel knew, deep in his soul, that he had just been marked. Marked by the Fool.
And somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, the chant continued to echo, a constant reminder of the impossible game he had just been drawn into: *Praise the Fool.*