The pulse of the universe hums in perfect resonance, a rhythm of light and sound binding together realities beyond comprehension. Across dimensions, from neon-lit spires of forgotten empires to the silent voids where the echoes of existence linger, beings turn their gaze toward a singular beacon.

A stage forms from the void, an impossibility of shifting prisms and cascading neon light, suspended above the abyss where time and fate intertwine. It thrums with anticipation, its presence undeniable, an event so significant it bends the fabric of reality. Even the stars themselves seem to hold their breath.

Then light. Neon brilliance ignites, flooding the stage in an explosion of energy that ripples across dimensions. The audience, seen and unseen, leans forward.

She is Luminara, the Goddess of Resonance, the living song of the cosmos. Every note ever played, every whispered story, every rebel’s anthem all are woven into her being. Her laughter is music, her words carry weight, and the very air vibrates in harmony with her presence.

A million voices cry out in jubilation across time and space.

“Oh, my Luminaries!” she calls, arms outstretched, her voice layered in harmonics that reverberate through the bones of existence itself. “My radiant watchers, my luminous seekers of truth and spectacle! Tonight, we begin a new journey, one so profound, so utterly electrifying, that even I hesitated to believe it could be done.”

A synth-wave crescendo erupts, and the stage shifts, bending the cosmos itself.

Luminara spins, basking in the energy of her audience, drinking in the anticipation like a melody waiting to be played.

“You’ve asked for tales,” she purrs, her tone shifting playful, knowing, dangerous. “Tales of meaning. Of struggle. Of choices that cut through eternity like a blade across the fabric of fate. And tonight, my dearest Luminaries…” she leans forward, neon fire in her eyes, “I. Have. Kept. My. Promise.”

With a flick of her wrist, the stage shifts again. The prismatic light dims, shadows curling at the edges like ink spilling into water. The music fades, replaced by a low, haunting melody, a spectral hum that seeps into the bones of every watching soul.

A figure steps forth from the shifting darkness.

He does not glow. He does not shimmer. He simply is. A constant. A weight. The stage bends subtly around him, as though even existence must acknowledge his presence.

“Behold!” Luminara’s voice rises, her hands sweeping toward him. “The keeper of stories. The collector of echoes long since forgotten. The weaver of fates lost to time itself.”

She smiles, wide and wild, her neon essence crackling around her.

“My luminous beings, I give you… Ventrix.”

The air thickens with unseen weight.

The man steps forward, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his cold, knowing eyes. His presence is quiet yet absolute. In his hands, he holds a deck of cards not just any deck, but one of many in his possession. Each card hums with an unseen weight, their edges pulsing faintly with the glow of history itself.

“Such theatrics,” Ventrix murmurs, his voice smooth and measured, slicing through Luminara’s energy like a scalpel. “You make it sound as though I’ve returned from the dead.”

Luminara laughs, a sound like a thousand shimmering bells cascading into eternity. “Oh, Ventrix,” she teases, stepping closer, her glow crackling with playful menace. “Don’t be modest. You are the collector. You hold the stories of existence itself, and tonight, you will share one with us.”

Ventrix tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”

Luminara leans in, her grin widening. “Perhaps you didn’t,” she whispers. “But my Luminaries demand the best… and you, dear Ventrix, are the best.”

He exhales, the slightest sigh of resignation. But there is no true reluctance in his stance. Only purpose.

He reaches into his coat and draws a deck, the surface of the cards flickering like the pages of a forgotten book, waiting to be read.

Just as the tension reaches its peak, a bright neon sign blazes into existence above the stage.

“A Message From Our Sponsor.”

Luminara’s grin widens, her neon-lit eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, my dear Luminaries, we must never begin without a word from those who keep the cosmic wheels turning. A special message for those… concerned about certain legal matters.”

Oblivion & Sons: Interdimensional Attorneys at Law

The air inside the office of Oblivion & Sons was thick—not with dust, nor smoke, but with the weight of too many signatures. Contracts, agreements, deals forged in whispers and broken promises lined the walls, shifting, sighing, their ink still wet, still binding. Staircases curled into themselves, leading nowhere but deeper into obligation. Shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers that remembered everything, even the things their owners had long tried to forget.

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A neon sign buzzed in the corner, flickering erratically. "OPEN 24/7 (EXCEPT WHEN ERASED FROM TIME)."

Behind an impossibly large desk, its polished obsidian surface absorbing all light, sat a figure. Their face remained obscured, an outline more than a presence, a suggestion more than a certainty. A single, thin tendril of smoke curled from a cigarette that never burned down, its ash drifting upward, defying gravity, defying logic.

The voice, when it came, was smooth. Dark. Oozing the kind of unsettling charm that only comes from knowing exactly how much someone owes—and exactly how much they are willing to pay.

"Ever had an… incident you'd rather keep off the divine record?"

Somewhere Else.

A warlord sat sweating, staring at an unraveling contract signed in his own blood. The ink hissed as it began listing, line by line, every orphan involved. He swallowed hard. He didn’t remember agreeing to that part.

In a sterile containment lab, a scientist stood frozen in horror. The test tube in front of them whispered softly. It spoke of possibilities that should not be. It called them by name, a name they had never given it.

A spectral figure stood in a courtroom that never should have existed, shackled in chains of cause and consequence. The judges, eyeless, lipless, sat in grim silence as their gavels struck in perfect unison. The sound was not a sound—it was something deeper, something that rattled through every moment of their existence.

And then, in the space between moments—a business card appeared.

OBLIVION & SONS.

No Soul? No Problem.

Back at the Office.

The lawyer tilted their head, exhaling a long, slow breath of smoke that refused to dissipate.

"A little moral mishap that certain cosmic authorities might hold against you?"

The room darkened.

"Maybe an unfortunate run-in with a god, an eldritch being, or the laws of time itself? Perhaps you simply borrowed something that wasn’t meant to be borrowed—like a relic, an identity… or an entire timeline."

Somewhere Else. Again.

A being composed entirely of shifting void energy sat in a chair that wasn’t there moments ago. It fidgeted nervously, glancing down at the parchment in front of it. The words burned, shifting even as it read them.

Name: [REDACTED]

New Name: Greg

The void-being shuddered as the ink set itself into permanence. A lawyer leaned forward, grinning. Too many teeth.

"Congratulations, Greg. You now have a legal identity. And, regrettably, a tax bracket."

Back at the Office. Again.

"At Oblivion & Sons, we specialize in making your problems disappear—before they become existential nightmares."

A snap of fingers. The sound of paper un-writing itself.

A black hole where a courtroom used to be.

A celestial being blinked, confused, as the memory of its lawsuit dissolved into nothing.

A mortal signed a contract, and immediately, their criminal past was neatly packaged into a pocket dimension labeled:

“Pending Litigation – See You Never.”

The Lawyer Smirked.

"Laws of reality? Flexible."

"Judgments of higher powers? Negotiable."

"Your soul? Well… let’s just say we can arrange creative payment plans."

Somewhere Else. (You Should Really Stop Asking Where.)

A nervous-looking customer slid a single, ancient coin across the table. The lawyer picked it up, bit down gently to check authenticity, then nodded in approval.

"This’ll do."

The customer exhaled in relief.

"Oh. Thank the gods—"

The lawyer raised a hand, stopping them mid-sentence.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t bring them into this. You don’t wanna know how much they charge in processing fees."

Meanwhile.

A man opened his fridge.

Inside, instead of food, his own face stared back at him, blinking in confusion.

Both of them screamed.

Elsewhere.

A demon lord clasped hands with a lawyer, watching in grim satisfaction as a contract burned away in green fire. Off to the side, a small imp clutched its head, wailing,

"But I owned that soul!"

The lawyer turned, flicking a single coin toward the imp. It bit down. Paused.

Then, begrudgingly, nodded in silent acceptance.

Back at the Office. One Last Time.

The lawyer leaned back, exhaling smoke that twisted into binding sigils before vanishing into the stale air.

"Call now, and receive a free initial consultation—because everyone deserves a second chance… no matter how many times you've died."

A business card flickered into existence, appearing in front of every listener, every watcher, every being that even remotely considered needing it.

The letters did not stay still.

OBLIVION & SONS

NO SOUL? NO PROBLEM.

(If you see this ad, we already know where you are.)

The ad flickers away, and Luminara throws her head back in laughter, the neon fire of her form pulsing with delight.

“Oh, my Luminaries, wasn’t that just deliciously corrupt? Remember, darlings, the first consultation is free—but read the fine print before you sell what you can’t get back.”

She twirls, turning back toward Ventrix, her eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Now then… let’s see what the cards have to say.”

The audience leans forward. The stage darkens.

The first card flips.

A window. A flash of light. A shadow stretching across the pane.

“Echoes of Judgment.” His voice is steady, but the air shifts, growing thick with the weight of something unseen. “A moment frozen in time. A choice made in the dark. The whisper of fate before the hammer falls.”

“The second card the force looming over him, unseen yet inevitable.”

A void looms, swallowing the stars.

“Prelude to Dominion.” His tone is quiet, yet unshakable. “A presence unseen, but felt. A shadow stretching across the heavens, its hunger infinite.”

“The third card his stage, the place where fate will test him.”

A guitar waits, resting on an empty platform, the air charged with silence.

“The Hollow Stage.” His voice softens. “A moment of hesitation. A note left unplayed. The space where echoes linger, waiting to be answered.”

Luminara exhales, her expression briefly somber, before she snaps back with an excited grin. “Oh, my Luminaries, do you see it? The shape of fate itself.”

“And the final card.”

The room holds its breath.

A dimly lit alley. A single spotlight in the dark.

“Curtain Call.” Ventrix’s words settle into the air like the final chord of a song. “The moment when the stage fades, and only shadows remain.”

Luminara spreads her arms wide, her laughter ringing through the infinite void of the stage.

“Well, my dear Luminaries, it seems fate has spoken.”

The synthwave swells, low and haunting, vibrating through reality itself.

Ventrix meets her gaze, his expression unchanging.

“It has.”

The stage fades.

The story begins.