Ezekiel stared at his father in confusion. The elder dwarf was pointing at him like he'd seen a ghost. A large-headed ghost.
Void—utterly unbothered by this little domestic implosion—raised his hand and condensed a water mirror mid-air. Just to be polite. Let the boy see what all the fuss was about.
Ezekiel peeked.
Then shrieked.
His head. It had become comically huge. His neck strained like it had entered a weightlifting competition it never agreed to. The moment he tilted forward to confirm if it was real, he faceplanted into a mouthful of thorny grass.
He stayed there a moment before groaning:
"I'm done for…
Father, if you make it back home… take my will.
Oh wait—I don't have a will.
I have nothing to give you.
Waaaaaaaah…"
Void blinked.
Frederick blinked.
And then the Crazy Dwarf fell to his knees, assuming his patented "fervent believer" expression, and begged Void—dramatically—for his son's restoration.
Void, a godlike being who had lived through cosmic wars and forgotten eras of time, felt his lips twitch. He had to actively resist laughing. It was… difficult.
He could snap his fingers and fix the boy in a blink—but honestly? The dwarven comedy was almost healing.
Eventually, for his own sanity, Void restored Ezekiel's proportions.
Then he spoke—his voice like calm thunder:
"Let me explain how laws work. Try to keep up."
The dwarves, now upright and emotionally bruised, nodded furiously.
⸻
Void's Lecture of Mild Cosmic Horror
"There are 9 major realms before you even think about becoming a god," Void began. "Each realm has its own stages. They aren't equal. Life's unfair. Surprise."
Realm 1: The Tempering Realm.
• Stage 1: Filth Cleansing
You literally rot. You shed mortal decay. It's gross. It hurts. You'll cry.
• Stage 2: Baptismal Stage
The World Will washes your filth away, compresses your bloodline, and—if you survive—you'll awaken a drop of Golden Blood. One drop. Maybe two if you're lucky and your ancestors didn't suck.
• Stage 3: Law Condensation
Feel the laws. Touch them. Not in a weird way. Just… bond with one. Hopefully a good one. If you have affinity with multiple, you're blessed. Unless they're weak. Then you're just annoying.
• Stage 4: Energy Bonding
Soul-based. The law gives you a little trial. If your soul breaks, that's on you.
Void continued down the list of stages, but honestly, Ezekiel and Frederick were mentally writing wills they still didn't have.
⸻
Then Ezekiel asked the question that derailed everything:
"Sir God, are you from a higher plane? Are there more worlds out there?"
Void looked at him like one might look at a confused puppy trying to chew a sword.
"No. I'm not from a plane. I'm the embodiment of destruction."
He paused, letting that settle in.
"I grow stronger through chaos. The Forbidden Passage? The shattered realms? The broken planes?
All that?
Me."
Frederick, usually unshakable, looked like he'd just been told gravity was optional.
His proud, scientific expression fell into disbelief.
And then into reverence.
Void let it happen. He wanted Frederick on his side. A mad dwarf with an understanding of creation was too useful to waste.
⸻
They continued their journey.
Despite it being a low-level Mysterious Plane, the distance was substantial. Void could've warped them, but he wanted them to see everything. Feel everything.
They encountered creatures—some bizarre, some vicious. None intelligent.
Void didn't lift a hand to fight.
He just looked at them.
And they froze, then exploded into blood mist.
At some point, Ezekiel and Frederick stopped reacting.
When reality makes you numb, you're either ascending or in shock.
Void sensed something up ahead.
A strange distortion.
A rare sight.
"A law pool…? In a plane like this?"
He called over the dwarves.
They were still some distance away—about five miles—but Void waved his hand, warping space around them. They were now ten feet from the source.
The pressure hit them like a falling mountain.
A swirling vortex of pure laws, coexisting without conflict, sat before them—glowing, humming, radiating raw potential.
Frederick's knees shook.
His lips trembled.
"S-Sir Void… w-what is… that…?"
Void, eyes glowing with ancient calm, looked toward the law pool.
"That," he said softly,
"Is opportunity."
———
Void's Journal – Entry #38
"On Gods: Why They Shouldn't Be Left Unattended"
⸻
Today I remembered gods exist.
Unfortunate.
⸻
Summary:
The so-called "gods" of the World Realm are just mortals with better marketing. Their resumes include:
• Being baptized by orthodox laws.
• Glowing.
• Speaking slowly in public.
They walk around with golden bloodlines and act like they're not one divine wedgie away from panic. The only real difference between a mortal noble and a god is that the god takes longer to get to the point.
⸻
The Great Traits of the Gods:
1. Self-importance.
Some of them call themselves "Celestial Overlords" unironically. I once asked one if he wanted to be called that or if he just forgot his actual name. He blinked for six seconds and then started glowing harder. That was his response.
2. Paranoia.
The moment I even breathe, they start hosting secret meetings about "stabilizing the realm." One of them literally faked a retreat just so they wouldn't be the first to get vaporized if I coughed in their direction.
3. Fashion crimes.
Flowing robes are fine. But if you wear six layers of star-dyed silk just to make your aura look puffier, you deserve to trip on your hemline and fall off your floating temple.
4. Memory issues.
Every time I reincarnate and do literally anything, they panic like it's the first time.
"The Void has moved."
"The Void has spoken."
"The Void looked at a dwarf. Is this a sign?"
Yes, it's a sign. A sign that I'm tired of all of you.
⸻
Favorite Moments Involving Gods:
• The time I sneezed and six of them accidentally ascended into premature retirement.
• The council meeting where one suggested "making friends with me," and the room went dead silent for twenty seconds like he'd committed verbal treason.
• The god who tried to recruit me.
He's still running. I haven't even chased him.
⸻
They once thought they could suppress my name with ethereal chains.
They forgot I invented the laws they use to chain things.
Adorable.
⸻
In conclusion:
The gods exist.
They're loud, shiny, and mostly harmless—until they form committees.
I will tolerate them. For now.
Unless one more of them tries to "guide" me.
If they do, I will give Ezekiel a sharp stick and full permission.
⸻
End of entry.
(Next page: "Things That Are Less Annoying Than Gods" – includes swarming void beetles and dwarf invention prototypes that explode on ignition.)