Frederick—known far and wide (and mostly mockingly) as the Crazy Dwarf—was being carefully lowered by his crew to the ocean's surface. Just another day researching oceanic law fragments and hopefully not dying.
That plan didn't last long.
The moment his boots hit the water's edge, reality blurred.
In front of him appeared two figures—floating in mid-air. One looked like he belonged in a divine drama about ruining timelines for fun: silver hair, robes that whispered of annihilation, and a face so handsome it could get mortals excommunicated.
The other?
Small. Dwarven.
Frederick didn't bother noticing the second guy at first. His entire body screamed kneel, but Frederick, being built like a walking keg with balance issues, wasn't about to drown himself in the name of reverence. Not without a floaty.
Then the real horror struck.
A monstrous beast from the deep surged up behind the mighty figure, ready to claw him into oblivion—
—and instantly dropped, unconscious, as if reality itself decided it wasn't worth the effort.
Frederick's soul shivered. His beard nearly recoiled.
Then the floating god spoke.
"Crazy dwarf?"
"Uhm," Frederick replied helpfully, blinking like a man who had just been personally threatened by the laws of physics.
Behind the god, Ezekiel was vibrating with suppressed glee.
Yes, Father. Welcome to the Void Experience.
Frederick, still in awe, turned toward the smaller figure—and froze.
He squinted.
That familiar dwarf-shaped silhouette…
"EZEKIEL!?"
Immediately, all his awe for the divine entity vanished into the seafoam.
"You little nugget-headed embarrassment! Did you sneak aboard my ship?! You better not have—WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Void watched this unfold, unblinking.
…Did I just get ignored by a dwarf in favor of parental scolding?
It was so absurd, he didn't even get offended. His estimation of Frederick rose instantly.
Yes. This one really is crazy.
Eventually—after what felt like a 30-minute uninterrupted lecture—Frederick realized they were still in the presence of a being who could erase continents by blinking too hard.
He turned back, cleared his throat, and—yes—blushed under the god's galaxy-swirled gaze.
"Erm… This Lord… I mean, my name's Frederick. People call me the Crazy Dwarf. I'm not actually crazy, I just ask questions that make people uncomfortable."
Void remained expressionless, but something flickered in his eyes—admiration, maybe. Or mild amusement. Hard to tell with someone who could unmake reality for a hobby.
Frederick blinked again. Time… had stopped?
His ship crew was frozen mid-motion.
…Powerful. Frederick smacked his lips. "I had a hunch beings like you existed. Kinda hypothesized it during my second failed soul-transplant experiment."
Void didn't respond. Just lifted a hand casually.
"Frederick, I'll take you to the Mysterious Plane. Your crew will be fine. Let's go."
"This Lor—"
"Void," the entity corrected, calm as ever.
The moment he said his name, the World Realm groaned.
Chains of law formed midair—ethereal, ancient, and furious. The name itself was a taboo.
Void merely flicked his sleeve. The chains shattered like glass.
Then he extended one index finger and drew in the air, slicing open the Void itself. A spatial crack formed—rippling, ancient, hungry.
He waved.
Ezekiel and Frederick were pulled in.
⸻
For Void, the passage took a heartbeat.
For Ezekiel and Frederick?
An eternity.
Their minds screamed. Their bodies aged and un-aged and aged again. They saw dreams they never had, heard songs that hadn't been written, tasted time.
Then—light.
They fell, face-first, onto a grassy plane.
Void hovered upright, of course. Effortlessly. Silently.
The dwarven duo groaned on the turf like bloated fish, eyes spinning.
Ezekiel staggered upright, stumbled toward a nearby rock, and threw up like a dwarven volcano.
Frederick pointed at him with horror in his eyes.
"You—YOU'RE MY SON?! That explains… everything."
Void folded his arms and looked around.
One of them's a genius. The other's a biological accident with great comic timing. Excellent. We're off to a good start.
Void's Journal – Entry #37
"On Dwarves: The Chaos of Beard-Bearing Mortals"
⸻
Today I acquired a dwarf.
Two, technically.
The first one—Ezekiel—is a short-limbed noise machine who managed to nearly die in a mecha arena and cry himself into my favor. He calls me "Master-God" with a sincerity that would be touching if it wasn't so blatantly desperate. He may or may not have a gland that secretes incompetence.
The second one—Frederick, a.k.a. the so-called Crazy Dwarf—may genuinely be the most accidentally fascinating mortal I've met since that elf tried to seduce a leyline.
He scolded his son in front of me.
Me.
The person who deleted a continent last week.
Didn't even flinch.
⸻
Observations on Dwarves:
1. They all appear to be slightly drunk—even when sober.
2. Beards are not facial hair. They are social currency, ancestral pride, and part-time storage compartments.
3. Emotional regulation is not their strong suit. However, emotional volume is.
4. Logic is optional. Explosions are mandatory.
5. They classify "creating a sentient bone fragment" as a "fun weekend project."
⸻
Frederick is walking the Path of Creation. Somehow. He doesn't realize that his odd little experiments and absurd questions about "why bones bend this way" are scraping the edge of divine comprehension. Mortals call him mad. I call him… dangerously useful.
Ezekiel's contribution so far:
• Puked on his boots.
• Screamed "fott" once.
• Confused me enough to let him live.
I plan to keep both.
Why?
Because watching mortals trip over godhood is far more amusing than just destroying them.
And besides…
If this Frederick manages to touch the Creation Principle with that unwashed beard and forge-stained hammer, I may not need to unmake this realm after all.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
He still might blow himself up trying to attach lungs to a robot.
Again.
⸻
End of entry.
(Next page: A diagram labeled "Ezekiel's Brain? Possibly Fungus-Based.")