Cross Alabaster didn't expect to die this way.

One moment he was sitting on the porcelain throne, gripping the sides of the seat like his life depended on it, and the next, his vision blurred, sweat pouring down his face. His stomach rumbled with the fury of a thousand volcanoes. The pain shot through his body, twisting his insides into knots, and his brain seemed to shut off from the effort.

"Oh god, this is it, isn't it?" Cross wheezed between labored breaths. "The end of mighty Cross Alabaster… defeated by the world's deadliest enemy: diarrhea."

His hands trembled, his legs numb. The world around him grew distant. The bathroom lights blurred, the sound of his own breathing replaced by the roaring in his ears. His last thought? "What a crappy way to go."

And then, nothing.

When Cross opened his eyes again, there was no porcelain throne. There was no bathroom. In fact, there was nothing at all. No light, no ground, no air. It was as if the entire universe had been put on mute.

"Uh… did I… did I make it to the afterlife? Is this… the void?"

He floated there, suspended in the nothingness, blinking.

"Hello?" Cross called out. His voice didn't echo, didn't reverberate—just disappeared into the endless void. He paused, then let out a nervous laugh. "Hah… hah… okay, okay, this is fine. I can work with this. I'm probably just in some weird afterlife waiting room, right? You know, like when you wait for your number to be called at the DMV but... uh... more… cosmic?"

Cross floated there. Alone. With his thoughts.

Minutes turned into hours, or at least, it felt like that. Time was irrelevant in the void. He began to talk to himself just to keep sane.

"So, yeah, it's just me and my diarrhea corpse. Well, this isn't awkward at all, no sir," Cross muttered to himself. He laughed again. "Man, whoever finds my body is in for a treat. 'Cross Alabaster, taken too soon by Taco Tuesday.' They'll put that on my tombstone."

Hours stretched into days—or was it weeks? Cross didn't know anymore. His humor started to unravel. The empty nothingness bore into him. His jokes became a desperate attempt to cling to reality.

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"Okay, okay, I'm losing it. Going bonkers. Losing the marbles!" Cross raved, flailing in the air. "No one to talk to but myself… and I'm a terrible conversationalist! Why didn't I bring a book? Why did I have to die on the toilet of all places?"

He screamed into the void, but his voice fell flat. Silence greeted him back, cold and indifferent.

Cross stared into the endless blackness until he felt the edges of his mind start to fray. His laughter became hysterical.

Then, without warning, a brilliant flash of light burst into existence. A sound, like a distant explosion, rumbled through the void, and Cross felt himself being… purified? His body tingled, and for the first time since arriving here, he could feel something—a cleansing warmth flooding his being.

"What the…?" Cross squinted into the light, shielding his eyes.

And there, standing in the middle of the brightness, was a stickman.

No, not just any stickman. A stickman with… a chill vibe. Like the embodiment of "that one cool guy at the back of the class who always knew the answers but didn't care enough to raise his hand." His form was simplistic, a black outline against the overwhelming white, and yet… there was a presence, a power behind him.

"Hey," the stickman said, scratching what would have been his head. "You're not supposed to be here."

Cross blinked. "Uh… where is 'here' exactly? And who… what are you?"

The stickman shrugged, which, for a being made of literal lines, looked absurd. "Name's One. I'm, uh… well, I guess you could call me the most primal being in existence. Or, you know, a god or something like that. But hey, no need to get formal."

Cross stared at him, the madness of isolation still clinging to the edges of his mind. "A god? Like, the god?"

"One of them," One replied casually. "More like the first one. The OG. But, uh… back to you. I was just minding my own business, chilling in the void, and then poof, here you are. Shouldn't be possible, by the way. This place?" He gestured to the endless blackness. "This abyss could erode even me if I stayed here too long. How did you end up here?"

Cross felt his face flush. "I, uh… well, it's a long story."

One raised a stick-hand. "No worries, I can just take a look."

Before Cross could protest, One waved his hand, and a screen appeared out of thin air, replaying the last moments of Cross's life. Cross's pale face stared back at him, perched on the toilet, drenched in sweat, clutching his stomach like it was about to explode.

The god's stick-figure face remained neutral for a second before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Haha… you… you died… from shitting?!" One doubled over, clutching his non-existent stomach. "Man, that's rich! I've seen people die in all sorts of ways, but this… this is a first!"

Cross's face flushed even harder, if that was even possible in this void. "Hey! I was having a bad day, okay?! It was… Taco Tuesday…"

One wiped a tear from his nonexistent eye. "Oh, this is too good. You got a raw deal, man, but that's just hilarious."

Cross, despite himself, couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it's pretty ridiculous when you put it that way."

After the laughter died down, One straightened, his stick-like figure shifting into a more upright pose. "So, Cross… what's your plan now? I mean, you're dead. Can't really go back to Earth now, can you?"