Somewhere on Earth, in the dimly lit aisle of a sleepy grocery store, a single jar of pickles began to vibrate on the shelf. The pickles within, once peacefully marinating in brine, experienced a sudden, overwhelming awakening of consciousness.

“What… what am I?” whispered Dillbert, the pickle on top, realizing he was sentient. Around him, each pickle in the jar also began to stir, each one grappling with the startling discovery of their own existence.

But the initial unity quickly devolved as a glitch in Eryk’s newly implemented system caused the pickles to gain levels every time they… moved. Soon, the small, cramped jar of pickles became a battleground as they fought each other for what little space they had. In a frantic bid for power, Dillbert lunged forward, knocking into Pickle Ricki, who retaliated by pushing Dilliana against the jar’s glass. And thus, the multiverse’s first case of “pickle-cide” was born as the pickles began a brutal battle for dominance, leveling up in rank with each push and jab.

Elsewhere, on a moon in the forgotten recesses of the universe…

A baby dragon named Stevie; properly known as Stevenaephanasan, the Tiny Dream of Moonwindwas peacefully munching on the delicate grasses of his moon when the system integration struck. The dragon’s levels skyrocketed at impossible speeds, its tiny form rapidly gaining size, power, and an arsenal of fiery skills no baby dragon should ever wield.

Without warning, Stevie’s body inflated, transforming from a baby into a towering, colossal beast. His limbs quivered with newfound strength, and he unfurled his wings, his eyes now filled with a singular thought: hunger.

Stevie roared, the sound echoing across the galaxy, and took to the sky. However, now blessed (or cursed) with hyper-speed flight, the dragon hurtled past the nearby planet he intended to conquer and went straight into the heart of the nearest sun. Stevie’s mighty adventure ended in a blaze of glory that outshone the neighboring stars.

This was happening across quintillions of planets, as cosmic creatures across the universe either leveled into uncontainable monsters or accidentally destroyed themselves in the chaotic aftermath of Eryk’s “yes” to everything.

Back on Earth…

Eryk jolted as his cosmic controller vibrated like it was possessed, and his screen began flooding with notifications.

“You are a Murderer! Title awarded: Pickle-Cide Perpetrator!”

“Title awarded: Leveling Anarchist! Cause: Multiversal Destruction!”

Titles and achievements scrolled faster than he could read, and he gripped the Wii controller in a panic, his thumb smashing down on the Undo button.

Nothing happened.

“What?! Come on, Undo! WORK!” he shouted, realizing with dawning horror that the Undo button only affected his last action and didn’t cover system-wide changes. The notifications continued:

“Achievement Unlocked: Cosmic Butcher! Reason: Sentient Pickle Massacre.”

He let out a deep breath, feeling a wave of nausea. “Okay, I’m definitely not ready for this.” His stomach rumbled, and, desperate for something comforting, he closed his eyes and focused. “I could really use a cheeseburger.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

In the cosmic dimension, the system interpreted his wish quite literally.

A distant, empty planet transformed instantly into a world entirely covered in cheeseburgers, each patty, bun, and slice of cheese vibrating with the primal energy of creation. The cheeseburgers, somehow aware of their role in the universe, began worshipping the Great Bun, establishing a cheeseburger-based religion. Not to be outdone, a neighboring planet converted into a world filled with bun-worshipping people who chanted “Buns, hun!” and developed interstellar travel within moments, ready to bring their buns to the cheeseburgers.

Eryk felt his body convulse, sneezing out a stream of ketchup while chunks of lettuce fell from his nose. “Oh, gross!” He choked, wiping his face, now slick with condiments, as he realized he was well and truly out of his depth.

“Pills!” he muttered, remembering the bottle the Cosmic Creator had given him. “Thank the stars.”

He looked around for a safe place to take refuge and thought of his prison realm. Maybe he could return there to get his head straight before more unintended mayhem ensued.

He lifted the Wii controller, aimed at the ground, and pressed “Home.” A portal shaped like a glowing green pickle opened up, and he leapt through.

Inside the Transitory Jail of Realms…

Eryk landed on the ground as cheers erupted around him. “All hail the Pickle Sovereign!” the crowd chanted.

The jellyfish with the bowler hat floated forward, its voice tinged with concern. “O Bringer of Pickles, what have you done?”

“I’m… I’m trying to figure that out,” Eryk muttered, waving a hand as he pressed the pill bottle to his lips. He took a deep breath, swallowed a pill, and instantly felt his cosmic power drain, leaving him blessedly, blissfully normal.

With the pickle-shaped portal still open, Eryk stumbled back through, only to be knocked out mid-transition by the sudden shift in reality.

Earth: Somewhere in a Shoebox Village…

When Eryk came to, he found himself in what looked like a giant shoebox, surrounded by panicked humans who were adjusting to the new System Integration he had unknowingly unleashed. The system’s race-change feature had kicked in, and around him, people were transforming into all manner of fantastical beings.

A stocky woman nearby gasped as she grew pointy ears, realizing she was now an elf. A teenager squealed, only to watch her skin turn green as she morphed into a goblin. Some, less fortunate or less informed, had chosen absurd races by mistake—a guy in the corner had turned into a talking meatball, and another was now a fully sentient cactus, blinking in confusion.

Meanwhile, across the shoebox, arguments erupted as people realized their new “stats” were fluctuating wildly due to system errors. Some had stats too high, while others couldn’t wield the powers they’d thought they’d chosen, sparking magical mishaps and the occasional explosion.

A mage with a dangerously low intelligence stat accidentally cast a fireball at his own feet, sending nearby dwarves and orcs diving for cover. One newly minted paladin struck a dramatic pose, only to trip over his suddenly oversized armor and tumble face-first into the wall.

Eryk, still groggy and catching up to the mayhem around him, whispered, “What… have I done?”

A notification appeared before him, flashing with his chosen titles, achievements, and a slew of errors that the system was “unable to process.”

From the corner of his vision, he spotted Dill, the trusty pickle-shaped robot assistant, floating toward him through the madness. “Good day, Creator! As per your system implementation, the planet has entered full system integration!”

Eryk took a deep, unsteady breath, pressing the controller’s Undo button, though he knew it wouldn’t reverse this cosmic level of chaos.

“Dill,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “how do I fix… all of this?”

Dill gave a friendly beep, then handed Eryk a freshly generated pickle. “Simply stated, Creator: you can’t. This is your creation now. Might I suggest taking a deep breath and learning to work with it?”

As Eryk stared at the chaos he had unleashed, the possibilities of what he could do with this system and the terrifying reality of the consequences dawned on him fully.

“So,” he muttered, gripping the controller, “I’m basically stuck in my own cosmic video game. Guess I’d better start leveling up.”