Eryk stood in an impossibly vast, cosmic landscape, galaxies swirling around him in patterns that made his head spin. Stars formed constellations of dancing dinosaurs, and planets bounced around like playful beach balls. At the center of this bizarre, astral realm was a colossal throne made of glowing nebulae. Lounging on it like a cosmic surfer was the Cosmic Creator himself: a laid-back being with a stardust beard, a shimmering cosmic aura, and a tattered cosmic fanny pack strapped around his waist.

The Creator stood up, stretching in a way that seemed to bend space-time around him. “Duuude,” he greeted, his voice echoing with celestial waves, “finally! I’ve been waiting for you. I’m taking a vacation, and guess what? You’re gonna be in charge.”

Eryk’s jaw dropped. “In charge of… the universe?”

The Creator grinned and casually tossed him a sleek, upgraded version of the Wii controller. This one glowed with ethereal light, had extra holographic buttons, and sparkled with cosmic runes. “Yep! This bad boy has all the new firmware updates and even an Undo button, which is, like, totally clutch. Just remember: don’t mess with the pickles or the sea cucumbers.”

Eryk blinked. “Why not the pickles and sea cucumbers?”

The Creator’s expression grew uncharacteristically serious. “They’re the load-bearing snacks of the multiverse, my dude. Long story. Just… don’t touch.” He rummaged through his cosmic fanny pack and pulled out a bottle of pills. “Here,” he said, pressing it into Eryk’s hand. “These will make you normal for an hour if things get way too crazy. But a warning: if you die in normal mode, you’ll come back, but only after the hour is up. Oh, and don’t even think about removing the batteries from the controller.”

Eryk frowned. “Why would I even need batteries in a cosmic controller?”

The Creator leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “They’re pickle batteries.” He winked and shimmered away in a burst of rainbow stardust, shouting, “Good luck! Don’t harsh the cosmic vibes!”

Eryk stared out at the serene field around him, grateful for the brief break from chaos. He knew he needed some kind of plan—a system, maybe, or some guide to help him navigate the cosmic insanity of being a stand-in Creator.

“Okay,” he muttered, “if I’m going to manage all this, maybe I need… a manual?”

At once, with a dramatic whoosh, a massive book materialized in front of him. It was easily 20 feet wide, ancient and dusty, with pages so thin they fluttered in the breeze like a tree made of paper. Eryk squinted at the microscopic print covering every page. He leaned in closer, trying to decipher the minuscule letters, but the font was so small it might as well have been written in grains of sand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who needs a manual that requires a microscope?”

Frustrated, he tried a different approach. “What if I could just… absorb all the knowledge?” He closed his eyes, concentrating.

With a pop, his head expanded to the size of a small planet. Knowledge poured into his mind cosmic laws, multiversal balance theories, complex equations that seemed to exist solely to torment him and within seconds, he was hit with the most monumental migraine in the multiverse.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he shouted, frantically pressing the Undo button. His head shrank back to its normal size, and he sighed with relief, whispering, “Thank you, pickle batteries.”

He needed something simpler. Something manageable. Looking around he found a seemly well placed small notebook and pen, pickiing it up, he began willing it to contain all the answers he needed.

“Alright,” he said, flipping it open, “let’s give this a try.”

But as he wrote, the ink squiggled and wobbled, then morphed into tiny stick figures. They started dancing, forming into pairs, and to Eryk’s horror engaged in some rather suggestive moves right there on the page.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Really?!” he shouted at the notebook, slamming it shut. “I’m trying to be responsible here!”

Clearly, he needed something with a bit more control. He imagined a floating robot assistant something futuristic and efficient. But as he focused on it, a bizarre contraption materialized, bristling with chains and lasers.

“Whoa! No, no, too intense!” he shouted, waving his arms in alarm. The robot vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Okay, maybe… gentle?” He tried again, and this time the robot floated into view with paintbrushes for hands, a blonde wig flowing behind it, and hedge trimmers hanging off the side.

Eryk sighed. “This is ridiculous.” He rubbed his temples, thinking hard. “Make me a robot… shaped like a pickle.”

A small, bright green pickle-shaped bot popped into existence, floating mid-air and sporting a cheerful smile. It had a tiny speaker grille for a mouth, tiny arms, and a dill aroma that was both refreshing and oddly comforting.

“Greetings, Creator,” it chirped in a surprisingly smooth voice. “I am your Cosmic Pickle Assistant. You can call me Dill.”

Eryk blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Dill! Perfect. And you work, right?”

“I am fully functional,” Dill replied with a proud tone. “And, as a bonus, I produce fresh dill pickles upon request.”

“Now we’re talking!” Eryk grinned. “Alright, Dill, let’s get down to business. What are the limitations of my powers?”

“There are none,” Dill answered simply.

Eryk raised an eyebrow. “None? I can do anything?”

“Almost anything, Creator,” Dill clarified. “The only restriction is that you cannot destroy yourself.”

“Noted.” Eryk took a deep breath, considering the possibilities. “What should I be doing, then? Is there some kind of cosmic purpose?”

Dill’s voice softened. “The only directive that truly matters… is that all pickles must be free.”

Eryk tried to keep a straight face. “Right. Free the pickles. Got it.”

Dill’s little metal arms wobbled excitedly. “Excellent, Creator! Now, how would you like to establish cosmic laws?”

Eryk considered this, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I could create some kind of system. Like, a framework of rules to keep things balanced. You know, something like… levels. Like in a game.”

At his words, the universe around him seemed to shudder, as if listening intently. A panel appeared in front of him, filled with a series of questions:

“Would you like to implement a multiverse-wide leveling system?”

“Uh… yes?” he answered hesitantly.

The panel blinked and changed.

“Would you like sentient beings to have measurable stats: strength, agility, wisdom, among others?”

“Uh, sure, sounds fair…” Eryk felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead. “It’s just a game system, right?”

The questions continued, each one seemingly more complex than the last:

“Would you like to define skill categories and growth rates?”

“Would you like entities to be classified as common, rare, and legendary?”

“Should rewards be granted based on experience and achievements?”

Eryk was rapidly becoming overwhelmed. But as the questions kept coming, he comforted himself with one thought: I’ve got the Undo button if anything goes wrong.

So, despite his better judgment, he clicked “Yes” to everything including lines he had ent read, and the controller started buzzing with cosmic energy as he locked in each answer. The universe around him vibrated, and a low hum filled the air as the multiverse began to shift, bending to the new laws he’d just set in motion.

Finally, a message appeared in bright, shimmering letters:

“COSMIC INTEGRATION COMPLETE. MULTIVERSE LEVELING SYSTEM INITIATED. GOOD LUCK, COSMIC CREATOR.”

Eryk blinked, his mind reeling from the gravity of what he’d just done. “Did I… just turn the entire multiverse into a game?”

Dill floated beside him, humming cheerfully. “Indeed, Creator. And might I add, it’s a most excellent system. Though it appears some entities are… protesting.”

Eryk’s cosmic controller vibrated wildly, flashing with urgent notifications. He pressed a button, and a holographic screen popped up, showing what looked like various beings—some human, some decidedly not—in different corners of the multiverse, all looking thoroughly bewildered.

One green-skinned alien was frantically flapping its three arms, screaming, “My wisdom stat is too low! I don’t understand what’s happening!”

In another corner, a wizard with a tall, crooked hat pointed an accusatory finger at the sky. “Who has dared to assign me a skill level?!”

Eryk bit his lip, watching the chaos unfold. “Maybe… maybe this was a bit much?”

Just then, the Bureaucratic Gnomes of Regulation popped back into view, looking even more frazzled than before. The head gnome, eyes wide, stammered, “Sir, you—you’ve disrupted the entire structure of reality! The paperwork alone will take… eons!”

With his newly upgraded controller in hand, the Undo button as his lifeline, and his bizarre team of cosmic assistants at his side, Eryk prepared to tackle the greatest challenge of his life: managing a multiverse that was now one giant, bewildering game.

Eryk took a shaky breath, glancing at Dill. “Alright, Dill. Time to get to work. Let’s figure out how to make this whole… multiverse game system a little less… catastrophic.”

Dill nodded eagerly. “Yes, Creator! But might I suggest a celebratory pickle before we proceed?”

Eryk chuckled, popping a pickle into his mouth. “Thanks, Dill. We’re going to need all the pickles we can get.”