Fate. Fate is such a bitch.
And you know what? She's my bitch!
There's this one saying about how every choice you make creates a world where that choice is totally different. Every single discretion births another world. Another time. Another fate. Simple it may seem, but the equation itself is one hell of a complex code. A magnificent blueprint of endless design. A boundless continuity without terminus. Without end.
You get where I'm going with this?
Sounds a bit pretentious when I say it. And that's just one theory of the multiverse!
But, before I get into all of that—and why your logic is about to get railed-pretty like an alabaster broad plowed by a mandingo in a smut show—I was born over a hundred and fifty years ago. Yes. That's right. Take a moment to swallow that down. You could say that I sort of stopped giving a damn about my age—reasons—but I do know that I'm well over the expiration date of your type and can service a sweet elven ass in a long hauled ballroom blitz and crack not one wrinkle.
In case I've lost you on that last part: I age like an elf...sort of.
Look good, too. You know... Like an elf?
I say this all because, in my long years of existence, I've seen some things. Strange things. Incredible things! The goddamn improbable of things! I've borne witness to shit that will fuck your whole brain up. And I've survived it all. Unscathed like a motherfucker. Because I'm the man. The fucking unstoppable. Crown ruler of my own fate and none could tell me a damn thing. Until that bombshell went off.
That's when I realized that such a thing could never be as true as I wanted it to be...and that I was Fate's bitch instead. Wishful thinking, right?
Lesson: fate has this almighty fucked up way of working her strings around you. You can't feel it. Can't even smell it. Sure shit can't touch it, but she's there. Playing you good like a blind ass puppet all the way to the shears and ain't shit you can do about it.
Throw in the whole multiverse equation I spoke about earlier, and you got Fate in all her unpredictable glory having one HELL of a field day with my ass!
But guess what? I'm not alone in this realm-jumping extravaganza.
Standing by my side—through hell and high water—I come busting in blazing with a merry band of extraordinary ass-kickers. Rolling deep with friends forged in the fires of our enemies! We are strong. We are brave. We fight to avoid our graves. For it's good to have friends, dungeon buddies fit for any campaign chucked at us for we're always rolling critical on that ass!
And the game gets harder every saga.
Shit's getting real. The world of worlds is encroaching on a one-way ticket to oblivion. Ignorant to what's pulling them in like a creeper in a candy truck. No words are good enough or flashy enough to explain how everybody and their mama—across the faces of the multiverse—are about to get damsel'd. Remember when I said that each choice kickstarts a world where said choice is made differently? Well, that isn't the case when you've lived outside of the common science of what the multiverse is.
Every verse has its own story to tell. Worlds different in every meaning of the word. One moment, you're dancing naked with a bunch of overly friendly tree-hugger elves, then next you find yourself breaking like hell from some sentient full metal maniac with a puritan conscience. Things could go from cream and peaches to OH LORDY, LORDY THE WORLD'S COMING TO AN END in zero-point-one seconds! And that's just me random world-hopping on a speed rush.
This is the life I live, people!
And to add the abominable marinade on this butterball of meaty events, something very old and ugly rises from the depths of that which was once buried away. Forgotten to time. Unknown and untold. Its origins dwell before time itself, and the verses that be...are totally fucked.
The real challenge: the fuck am I to save them all?!
My name is Ricven Tavius McQueen, a Sepian of Eirtha realm. I was born on the twenty-fourth of Mar during the great Year of the Giant and raised by mama-dearest. You know most kids dream of becoming architects or practitioners. Or pilots and engineers. Once upon a time, I wanted to become a knight. But no... I was forced—without a damn choice—to become what world-wanderers call a damn Multiverser. Wardens of the Worlds Beyond.
And I do this shit with fucking style!
-Ricven T. McQueen
Journal Log
YOU ARE READING
The|MULTIVERSE
FantasyWARNING! This novel is an unconventional work of fiction. Anything you may read in the following episodes is solely created out of sheer satirical coincidence and is NOT to be taken out of ANY context OTHER than it being RIDICULOUSLY entertaining as...
