Disclaimer: I don't own anything that doesn't belong to me.
…
Touma smiled radiantly, the Wonder Almighty Ride Book clutched firmly in his hand as the voices of all his friends, his comrades, his neighbors, everyone he'd ever known, everyone he'd never met, filled the void, each of them eagerly recounting their favorite story, each of them telling the tale that mattered the most to them and had inspired them in some fashion.
(He'd be lying if he said he weren't at least a little flattered that many of those stories were ones he'd written.)
"Thank you… Everyone," he whispered, tearing up.
The stories just kept on coming, story after story after story washing over him as more voices filled the void. It should have been an incomprehensible cacophony, a chaotic mess, but…
As Touma listened, all the voices seem to blend together, all the stories seamlessly merging into a single tale, the ur-story from which all other stories were born.
A story, he realized, as inspiration struck, that needed to be put down on paper.
He frantically searched his pockets for a tissue, a napkin, anything he could scribble on-
Suddenly, he noticed a writing desk sitting next to him. A very familiar writing desk.
Face lighting up, not bothering to wonder how his desk had found its way here, Touma quickly sat down – his favorite chair waiting for him the instant he started to move – reached for a pen – which looked rather a lot like Kaenken Rekka, strangely enough – and frantically began writing, setting Wonder Almighty to the side as he filled sheet after sheet with the stories being dictated to him.
He wrote every story he'd ever known, and every story he'd never heard of before.
He wrote everything he knew about the world, and everything he didn't.
He wrote of science and magic, history and fantasy, of animals and plants and cities and forests and oceans and deserts and mountains and stars and moons and galaxies and world after world after world and all those silly, monstrously flawed, absolutely wonderful humans who gave these worlds and stories meaning.
He wrote of a noble lion and the fair maiden he was enamored with, of a golden djinn who sought to free himself from the darkness that had plagued his family.
Of a breezy ninja who struggled to understand what it meant to be strong, and the lonely monster who saw in him a kindred spirit.
Of a stalwart, stony tortoise who lived for his family, and the musical swordsmith who lived for his craft.
Of a noble but tragic Dragon who fell to shadow, and a bitter Phoenix who sought to destroy all to end his own sorrow.
Of a man that was a sword, or a sword that was a man.
Of siblings of smoke and spider silk and oceans of time, who shared an unbreakable bond.
Of a lonely Dragon who finally found a friend, and a woman who cared for all humans despite not truly being one herself.
Of monsters that were men and men that were monsters, of madmen and sages and beasts and a poet who had lost all faith and believed the end was the only thing worth looking forward to.
Of heroes and villains and swords, so very many swords, and the stories they were lovingly sheathed in.
Of Kamen Riders.
Of friendships.
Of stories.
Of a fiery Dragon who learned what it meant to be a hero, forging his own destiny and becoming the author of his fate, the saber in his hand a pen to write down the words that changed the world.
And of a trio of children who read stories beneath the tree and promised to always be friends.
As Touma wrote and wrote and wrote, gradually the voices faded away as their stories were painstakingly inscribed, until finally the only noise left in the void was the scratching of pen on paper.
And then, finally, after an eternity had passed, Touma finished his manuscript. Setting down his pen, he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath, exhausted but proud. "I think this might be my best work yet," he said to nobody.
He picked up Wonder Almighty, which had been patiently waiting all this time, and flipped it open, putting his manuscript inside. Either the pages shrank or the book grew – or possibly both, it didn't matter – but it fit perfectly, and he smiled proudly at the familiar cover of the Omniscient Tome.
He rose from his seat, stretching to work out all the kinks in his body from his lengthy writing session, shook out his hand, then tucked the completed book under one arm as he walked towards the exit of his bookstore, making sure to grab his hat and jacket before he headed outside.
The door of Fantastic Kamiyama closing behind him, he smiled as he stared out at the boundless landscape of Wonder World, of the mountains and trains and castles and dragons and airships and whales and giant swords and other creatures filling the magical realm, an almost exact match for the diorama in his store.
(That's because it was, in fact, the diorama in his store, and he knew that if he went back inside looked close enough, he would see a tiny replica of his home in the model, with a tiny version of himself looking at a tiny diorama in his own bookstore, with an even tinier version inside that one, and on and on and on.)
Waving away some of the ubiquitous bubbles, he walked over to a nearby tree, where a beautiful woman in a white dress was sitting there, waiting for him.
She glanced up, a beaming smile on her face when she saw him approach. "You're finished?"
"That's right," Touma said, sitting down next to her and handing her the book. "Want to see?"
An eager expression on her face, she flipped open the book and started poring through the pages. He sat there patiently, smiling as he waited for her to finish.
An eternity later, she closed the book and handed it back to him. "It's all right," she said.
He gave her a shocked look. "'All right?!'"
She shrugged. "It was okay, but not your best work."
He pouted at her, causing her to giggle. Everyone was a critic.
"What was wrong with it?" He complained.
"Well, you had a few too many characters, and not all of them got the development they deserved," she began. "The ninja's character arc felt undercooked, when the djinn came back as a dark Dragon he didn't really do a lot, the part where everyone was fighting for no good reason dragged on too long, and I kind of felt like the only reason the final villain got as far as he did in his plans was not due to competence but the fact that everyone was too distracted fighting each other or the more compelling madman with a God complex to remember he existed half the time." She frowned. "Also, I kind of felt like there was some weird incest subtext between the siblings?"
"That was not my intention!" Touma protested. He paused and made a face. "But thanks for pointing it out, now I can't stop thinking about it."
"Sorry," she apologized, not sending very sorry.
"Well, I guess I've penned worse stories," he admitted.
She nodded. "Shall we send it off?"
He nodded back. "Let's."
They put their hands on the cover of the book and concentrated, as they had so many times before, and would do so many times again. In a flash of light, it disappeared.
With a twinkle, a new star formed in the sky.
Their work done, the two of them lay back for a moment, relaxing and enjoying each other's company.
And then Touma got up and headed back inside.
"Where are you going?" She complained.
He laughed. "I just got a great idea for a sequel!"