The cosmic manager adjusted their headset, flipping their clipboard with a sigh that could shatter mountains.
"Alright, alright," the Manager said, voice booming like a thousand angry customer support calls rolled into one, "who authorized this... war? Because I have three refunds to process and a cosmic Yelp review to write."
Jake raised his hands. "Uh, that'd be me. Kind of an accident?"
The Manager's eyes glowed. "Accident or not, you're on hold. And trust me, I'm a universe-wide multitasker."
Suddenly, the Karen Federation's Supreme Overlady Karen materialized beside the Manager, wielding a smartphone like a medieval sword. She glared.
"Finally! Someone who understands my power! I DEMAND an immediate escalation to Tier 10 customer service!" she bellowed.
The Manager sighed. "Look, Karen, you're about to void your warranty on existence."
Karen smirked. "Funny. I've already filed a complaint on the multiverse's entire customer satisfaction index."
Behind them, the five factions froze, sensing a shift in the cosmic balance.
Suddenly, the BoomBoom Empire's Lord BoomBoom lit a cigar shaped like a grenade and blew a fiery ring through the air. "Enough chitchat. Time to detonate this nonsense."
The Meme Kingdom's Duchess Sassy snapped her fingers, summoning an army of viral dance zombies. They shuffled forward, arms flailing and chanting catchphrases.
The Moist Underground's Dr. Moist slithered through the battlefield, leaving slick puddles that made soldiers slip and slide in slapstick fashion.
Supreme Emperor Chad XIII flexed so hard the air trembled. "Bro, no way we let some cosmic manager tell us what to do. Let's show 'em how flexing ends wars."
Jake glanced at Greg. "You got a plan for this… cosmic customer service rep?"
Greg pulled out a tattered manual titled Universal Policies for the Apocalyptic CEO.
"Apparently," Greg whispered, "the Manager responds only to the Ultimate Complaint—a single grievance so epic, so perfectly justified, it can reset the entire war's script."
Jake squinted. "Like what?"
Greg swallowed. "I dunno. Maybe… a return on the entire existence of this war?"
Suddenly, the cosmic Manager raised a hand. "I hear that! Your time is almost up. This is your final warning before I escalate to 'Delete Existence' mode."
Jake had an idea.
He stepped forward, chest puffed, and yelled, "Wait! I have a complaint! This war is a total dumpster fire! The factions are insane, the weapons are ridiculous, and honestly, none of us even know why we're fighting!"
The Manager paused, headset crackling.
"Go on," they said.
Jake continued, "I want a refund on all this madness. I want peace, no more vending machine armies, no more explosive words, no more moist handshakes, and definitely no more angry Karens shutting down reality."
The Manager's glowing eyes flickered.
Greg whispered, "Sir, you're either about to be erased or… something else."
The Manager slowly nodded. "Valid complaint. Processing..."
Suddenly, a blinding light enveloped the battlefield. When it faded, all factions were gone—replaced by a giant universal customer service hotline billboard blinking: "Thank you for your feedback. Have a nice existence!"
Jake sighed in relief.
Greg cracked a smile. "Sir, you just filed the biggest complaint in cosmic history. And won."
Jake turned to look at the battlefield, now eerily quiet.
"Well," Jake said, adjusting his sunglasses, "time to make sure we never press 'replay' on that nightmare again."
Suddenly, a robotic pigeon landed on his shoulder, holding a tiny complaint form in its beak.
Jake groaned. "Greg… do you think I should file that one too?"
Greg smirked. "Sir… the universe's customer service never sleeps."