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Universe Man
Volume One of the Universe Games
Author's Note
Universe Man is an oddity. The plot is inspired by The Hunger Games; it takes place in the world of Keys to the Kingdom, and has characters drawn from twelve different series (mostly, but not entirely, Magical Girl anime). With so many worlds and characters involved, there will inevitably be inaccuracies, and I apologise in advance for those. I hope the story is enjoyable nonetheless.
PART I – MONDAY
You see, the Dark Ages tried to make a science about good people.
But our own humane and enlightened age is only interested in a science about bad ones.
Yet I think our general experience is that every conceivable sort of man has been a saint.
And I suspect you will find, too, that every conceivable sort of man has been a murderer.
G. K. Chesterton
1
The Dark Lord on His Dark Throne
The electrum throne sat on the surface of a dead sun at the very end of Time. There was no particular reason why the Lord of Creation had set up his throne there, but it sounded cool. One could not call oneself "Lord of Creation" and sit on a comfortable armchair in a mock Victorian sitting-room. It looked cool, as well: the stormy fires of the original sun had long since burned out, leaving only particles that fused into a sphere the size of a mortal city. Swirls of turquoise and white and misty grey span across its surface in fantastic spirals and vortices, like leftover paints merging together as they ran down the plughole. But the Lord of Creation had sat there for so long that the marvellous miasma beneath his feet no longer held any fascination for him. He spent most of his time looking outward, where in the boundless void above the star there hung a quadrillion screens, each showing one of the universes he ruled over, and so attuned to his thought that it could change to show any time and place within that world in less time than it took to blink.
Right now, though, he was not looking up at the screens, but down at his watch.
It was almost time.
This remarkable timepiece had three hands – a minute hand, a millennium hand and an aeon hand – all made of diamond, with impossibly sharp points, as they needed to reach out and touch the innumerable points around the rim one at a time. Now, the millennium hand and the aeon hand lay across each other at the number twelve, and the minute hand came tripping its sprightly dance around the circle to join them.
He called out into the void: "Let my Trustees appear before me!"
The minute hand slid over the final gap and touched the others with a clear note like a resounding bell, and then moved on. The screens folded and vanished in an instant, and a circle of light appeared in the space where they had been. There stood the Seven Trustees – or at least, six of them stood. Monday was in his wheelchair as usual.
He smiled. The Trustees were part of the previous Creation before he had taken over, but he had no regrets about resurrecting them. They were an odd assortment, each with their own desires and schemes and resentments, but that was part of what made them so fun to work with. If left to themselves, they would fall into quarrelling over petty matters until the whole world went to ruin; but with the right strictures in place, they could be forced to work together. It was difficult, but the challenge stimulated him as little else did.
Five of them bowed, each in their characteristic manner – Friday with an almost flirtatious flourish; Saturday more solemnly, simulating an all-too-fake servility. Sunday just nodded, with a supercilious smirk on his face. Monday reclined in his chair and looked bored.
His gaze travelled from one of them to another, and settled on Sunday.
"Tell me first, Lord Sunday, most trusted of my treacherous time-servers. How tarries the traitor in his timeless torment?"
Sunday was a fine and proud figure, ten feet tall, resplendent in silver armour with stars shining on his shoulders.
"My Lord, the termite who once had the temerity to style himself the New Architect remains tied, trussed and tethered to my timepiece. He wounded my pride once. In ten trillion years I should not tire of torturing him."
"Tremendous."
His gaze travelled on to the woman who stood at Sunday's side. She was a sylph of surpassing loveliness, her shape slender, smooth and sinuous. Her eyes sparkled like the shine of seven thousand suns, and her silvery hair streamed over her shoulders like a shawl of splendid silk. Yet even the sight of her flawless features failed to fascinate him now. He noted her presence, nothing more.
"Superior Saturday. Have you supervised the sorcerous safeguarding of the arena? Is everything set up to your satisfaction?"
"Most satisfactory, my Lord," she said. "The scaffolding has been sublimated, shields synchronised, and self-acting security sigils established. The sixth demesne of the House is now a spotless stronghold."
"Splendid." He leant forward towards her and stared straight into her eyes. "You know, of course, that this time the strain on your spells will be stronger?"
"I am aware," she said softly. "I assure you, my spells will suffice against any assault."
"Superb." He flashed a sardonic smile at her, and moved on.
The next Trustee in line, Lady Friday was less fair of face, but she feigned it behind a façade of flamboyant finery, her frock and footwear festooned with gems that sent flashes of light flickering out to form a veil over her whole figure.
"My dear friend Friday. How fare the preparations for our fashion parade?"
"The costumes are coming on with considerable celerity," she answered. "All chambers have been customised, and the cameras have been checked with all possible care."
"I congratulate you."
He turned to Sir Thursday, who stood arrayed in a suit of ancient armour. "And the army?" he said. "Are they alert and ready for action?"
"As alert as always," Thursday said angrily. "Any intimation of apathy would be anathema to the Glorious Army of the Architect."
"Most auspicious." His gaze moved on to Wednesday, or rather, her hair, which hid her face behind a heap of slithering strands like hissing serpents. Just one eye was visible, a glassy bead of dull blue-green that expressed no emotion.
"Duchess Wednesday," he said. "Have you decided whether you will do your duty? I seem to recall you had some doubt..."
Her one eye gave him a dour look.
"You know that I dislike dealing in deception –"
He gave a snort of contempt.
"That is your weakness, you woeful woman. What's a drop of deception when you look at the vastness of the universe? We need to keep the wheels of the world working smoothly."
Her face remained inscrutable.
"I have no choice. But I warn you that it may work against you in the end."
He threw his head back and laughed.
"We have no time for idle chitchat. Next! Cheerful Tuesday –"
Tuesday, clad in dark leather and tarnished silver gloves, his face blackened by soot, looked anything back cheerful. "Don't call me that!" he snarled.
"Chipper Tuesday, then," he said with a wave of his hand. "Are the young women's weapons well-forged and waiting to be wielded?"
Tuesday bit into his lip to hold back a retort. At length he said, "They are carved with the culmination of my craftsmanship."
He nodded.
"Everything is ready, then," he said. His eyes came alive with excitement.
He turned his attention to the last of the Trustees, who still sat idly in his wheelchair, watching the empty skies as though none of this conversation was any of his concern.
Sneezer, Monday's butler, stood solid and silent behind the wheelchair, a bulky shadow in a long black coat.
"So last and least we come to you, Sneezer, long-suffering lackey of my laziest loyalist. Have you the list?"
Sneezer stepped forward and produced a piece of paper.
He ran his eye over it, studying it with deep scrutiny, and then blinked in surprise.
"Are you sure these all fit the theme?"
Sneezer replied in his cultivated manservant's monotone. "They are all realms with magical maidens, as requested, my Lord," he said.
"These appear to be odd ones out –" He tapped a finger against the paper.
"They will add a varnish of variety."
He let out a long, luxuriant laugh. "You may be right. Very well, then!" He looked round at the Seven Trustees, and clapped his hands. "You may all go. Mister Monday!"
The young man in the wheelchair sat up sharply and swivelled his head.
"It is time for you to meddle once more in mortal affairs. Visit each of the worlds on the list, and give them the Challenge. Understood?"
Monday nodded.
"The dials are set. It is now Monday in each of these twelve worlds. You must go at once."
He handed Sneezer back the paper, and then clicked his fingers.
In a flash, the Trustees were gone.
