Eryk slumped against his cart, exhaustion pulling at every bone and muscle he had. The shoebox realm around him seemed to blur and sway as if it were closing in. Or maybe he was getting bigger? Or smaller? He rubbed his eyes, trying to blink away the strangeness, only to hear a loud ding echo through the cosmic chaos.

“TUTORIAL COMPLETE! OPENING SHOEBOX FOR FINAL INTEGRATION IN…”

A countdown began, starting from 5, 4, 3… and then bizarrely slowed, counting down in minuscule fractions like milliseconds, nanoseconds, picoseconds until suddenly it sped up, racing toward zero in a blur of digits.

“Anyone who wishes to change their current race, please raise your right hand, place your left foot back, and shake it all about!” the voice boomed.

The bewildered adventurers around Eryk barely had time to process what was happening, let alone raise a hand or shake a foot. “For anyone else who desires a change later, please present 10,000,000 cosmic coins to the Pickle Sovereign.”

“Seriously?” Eryk muttered to himself. “What’s with all these cosmic coins and… pickles?”

But before he could think further, the system’s voice cut back in, stuck on repeat. “Well, well, well, well, well… Do we have a surprise for the Cosmic Creator!”

A blinding flash appeared at Eryk’s feet, revealing a brand new pair of shoes: vivid green, fuzzy sneakers adorned with tiny pickles in place of laces. Each pickle seemed to pulse with cosmic energy, a pair of tiny green pickle leaves on top.

“Congratulations!” the system voice continued. “You have unlocked the Pickle Shoes! These magnificent kicks allow you to straddle across universes and multiverses with unparalleled ease!”

Before Eryk could even contemplate the sheer ridiculousness of Pickle Shoes, the system dinged again:

“You’re needed on Aisle 6, Universe 17484839393. Stand by.”

Without warning, a trap door opened beneath his feet. Eryk let out a strangled yelp before plummeting into the void, spiraling through dimensions at a speed that defied all logic. The sudden gravitational shift sent blood rushing to his head, and he promptly blacked out, floating limply in a wild, cosmic free-fall.

As he drifted, unconscious, the Wii controller in his hand continued to bump into stray cosmic objects, accidentally triggering chaos in random universes. One unfortunate collision created a system-wide quest that read “Buffering… 1% out of 10,000,000%” and seemed to loop indefinitely. Another tap on the controller spawned a tiny blood moon in a garden-based world, triggering a war between vampiric rabbits and carrot-creatures for control of the sentient “Garden of Eve.”

Finally, Eryk’s eyes fluttered open, his vision still hazy. As his senses returned, he found himself staring at something utterly bizarre—a massive, fleshy mound with eyes perched atop and tiny, stubby hands. The “face” was…well, in an unfortunate location, with a deep crack serving as its mouth. The creature blinked its large eyes at him, gave a cheerful wave with its stubby hands, then… farted.

The smell hit Eryk like a cosmic sledgehammer, and he promptly passed out again.

When he finally came to, Eryk found himself slumped over in a chair, his head throbbing, a faint hint of pickles still lingering in his nose. The room around him was vast, cold, and dimly lit, with walls made of stone and the faint hum of something ominous in the distance.

“Where… where am I?” he muttered, sitting up and glancing around.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Dill floated beside him, his pickle-shaped form twitching nervously. “You’re on Universe 17484839393, Aisle 6. The system notified you that you’re needed here. And, well… it looks like you’re just in time.”

Eryk squinted ahead, where a massive, towering gargoyle stood. Chains clinked in its hands, and it was furiously wrapping them around a trembling jar of pickles, its contents shivering with terror. The jar dangled precariously above a pit of roaring fire, and the gargoyle, with its stone teeth bared, was muttering strange pickle-themed curses.

“Pickled fiends! Kosher-dill swine! I’ll roast every brined one of you!” the gargoyle roared, tightening the chains as the jar squeaked in terror.

Eryk’s stomach twisted. “Nope. Nope. I’m not doing this. Dill, what the hell am I looking at? Why all these… pickles?”

Dill hesitated, his tiny voice hesitant. “Creator, when the system asked me for a theme that represented the noblest and purest beings in existence, I… I suggested pickles.”

Eryk’s jaw dropped. “Pickles? Noble and pure? Of course you did…”

Dill gave a bashful little shrug, his briny arms waving apologetically. “They’re my people, Creator.”

Eryk rolled his eyes. “Alright. Well, it looks like our noble pickles are in serious danger.”

He looked down at the controller, fingers hesitating over the buttons. Just then, the system dinged again, and his familiar vendor cart materialized beside him, filled with cosmic pickles ready for sale. This time, a new option flashed on his interface: “Offer Quest Rewards: Experience or Items.”

His mind raced. He needed something clever, something that would turn the tables on this gargoyle and save the poor pickles. With a flash of inspiration, he selected the quest option and entered the simplest challenge he could think of the hardest thing for a hulking stone gargoyle to accomplish.

A screen popped up in front of the gargoyle, who glared at it in confusion.

“Quest Available!” the screen announced. “Dance for the Pickle Sovereign. Reward: What All Gargoyles Desire Most.”

The gargoyle froze, its rocky eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Dance? Why would I…” It trailed off, glancing at the reward listed below. Its eyes gleamed with unexpected longing. “The secret to softer stone skin?”

Dill buzzed approvingly beside Eryk. “Very clever, Creator. All gargoyles aspire to achieve smoother, softer skin.”

Eryk grinned. “I figured.”

The gargoyle took a hesitant step back, glancing from the pickles to the quest screen, a fierce internal struggle playing out across its stony face. Finally, it squared its shoulders, letting the chains drop, and took a step forward.

The entire room fell silent as the gargoyle began to sway from side to side, its movements stiff and awkward. It raised its arms, waggling them like wings, then spun around, attempting what looked like a pirouette, only to stumble and nearly knock itself over. Each attempt at a dance move was more disastrous than the last—a twirl turned into a spin-out, a foot shuffle nearly tripped it, and a clumsy attempt at the worm looked more like it was trying to dig its way into the floor.

The watching adventurers exchanged bewildered looks, some stifling laughs while others looked on in awe at the bizarre spectacle. The jar of pickles dangled safely to the side, quivering in relief.

After a solid minute of awkward gargoyle boogie, the system dinged, announcing, “Quest Complete! Reward Granted: Stone Softener.”

A gleaming bottle of “Stone Soft” materialized before the gargoyle, who snatched it up eagerly. Without hesitation, it uncorked the bottle and began dabbing the lotion over its rough skin, sighing contentedly as its craggy exterior softened into a smooth, polished finish.

“Oh, the supple texture!” the gargoyle murmured, nearly forgetting its rage against the pickles. “I’m like a newborn pebble.”

Eryk chuckled, feeling a strange sense of pride. “See? Problem solved without a single freeze button.”

The gargoyle gave Eryk a look of admiration. “Thank you, Pickle Sovereign. Perhaps… perhaps I misjudged you.” With a deep bow, the gargoyle lumbered off, rubbing lotion into its elbows.

The adventurers cheered, and Dill floated beside Eryk, beaming with pride. “Creator, you handled that magnificently!”

Eryk allowed himself a smile, savoring the moment of calm. “Yeah, well, let’s hope I can keep this up.”

Just then, a new system notification popped up:

“Congratulations! You’ve unlocked the Multiversal Shoe Strider skill. Your Pickle Shoes now allow you to cross realms at will. Tap the heels together three times and say, ‘There’s no place like home’ to return to base.”

Eryk stared down at the ridiculous shoes on his feet, wondering if the system could get any more surreal. But for now, with his cart full of pickles, his pickle robot by his side, and an army of adventurers ready for their next quest, he felt… almost at peace.

With a deep breath, he turned back to the crowd and grinned. “Alright, who’s next for a quest?”