In the grand, sprawling, often bewildering tapestry of existence, there are countless threads. Some are spun from glorious heroism, others from tragic romance, and a surprising number are just… beige. Arthur Pendelton's thread, for the better part of three decades, had been a particularly beige one. It smelled faintly of stale pizza and had a distinct indent where a gaming chair had rested for far too long.
Up in the celestial filing cabinets, where the fates of trillions were meticulously (and often haphazardly) cataloged, a minor deity named Unit 734-B was having a bad day. Unit 734-B was responsible for the 'Unremarkable Departures' department, a sector notorious for its sheer volume of paperwork and distinct lack of dramatic flair. Most souls under his purview simply faded away, quietly, predictably. But Arthur Pendelton? Arthur Pendelton had been an anomaly.
"A heart attack," Unit 734-B muttered, adjusting his celestial spectacles, which were perpetually fogged with existential ennui. He tapped a glowing tablet. "While playing 'Legends of Eldoria: The Abyssal Devourer's Revenge.' At 3:17 AM. On a Tuesday." He sighed, a sound that echoed like a cosmic deflating balloon. "Not even a heroic sacrifice. Just… a sudden cessation of vital functions due to prolonged sedentary activity and questionable dietary choices."
His colleague, Unit 901-C, a perpetually cheerful entity from the 'Dramatic Reincarnations' department, floated by. "Oh, a new one for you, 734-B? Anything juicy? A soul tragically lost saving a bus full of puppies?"
"No," 734-B grumbled, pointing a spectral finger at Arthur's file. "This one died trying to get a legendary loot drop. Mid-boss fight. The Abyssal Devourer, no less. Imagine the disappointment."
901-C peered at the file, a mischievous twinkle appearing in her ethereal eyes. "Hmm, 'Arthur Pendelton.' Notes here say 'high sarcasm quotient,' 'unflappable cynicism,' and 'unnatural affinity for cheese-flavored snacks.' Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
"He's slated for standard dissolution," 734-B stated, already reaching for the 'Recycle Soul Essence' stamp. "Reintegrate into the cosmic consciousness. Nothing special."
"But wait!" 901-C exclaimed, her voice suddenly taking on the tone of a game show host discovering a surprise bonus round. "Look at this! A rare alignment! His 'Sarcasm Resonance Signature' is off the charts! And his 'Internal Monologue Rating' is a solid 9.8 out of 10 for pure comedic potential!"
734-B squinted. "Sarcasm Resonance? Internal Monologue Rating? What gibberish are you spouting now, 901-C?"
"It's not gibberish, it's potential!" 901-C practically vibrated with excitement. "This soul… this Arthur Pendelton… he's wasted on standard dissolution! He's got the raw material for a truly hilarious reincarnation! We could pair him with a brand new, experimental interface! The 'Chuckle-Verse Interface' project needs a test subject!"
734-B shuddered. "The CVI? That chaotic mess? The one that caused the 'Great Celestial Pie Fight of '97'?"
"Exactly!" 901-C beamed. "It needs a soul with enough inherent comedic resilience to handle its… unique demands. Someone who won't just break down crying when asked to make a dragon tell knock-knock jokes. Someone who'd probably enjoy it, deep down, while complaining loudly."
She gestured dramatically at Arthur's inert soul-thread. "This is it! The perfect match! His death was unremarkable, yes, but his life was a masterclass in understated, self-deprecating humor. He's a diamond in the rough, 734-B! A comedic goldmine waiting to be excavated!"
734-B hesitated. The paperwork for a 'Dramatic Reincarnation with Experimental Interface' was a nightmare. But… the thought of Arthur Pendelton, the cheese-puff connoisseur, being forced into a life of slapstick and forced hilarity… a tiny, un-deity-like smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It would be amusing. And it would get him off his desk for a bit.
"Fine," 734-B conceded, with a sigh that was only 80% genuine. "But if he turns the new world into a giant clown college, it's on your head, 901-C."
"Deal!" 901-C chirped, already pulling up the reincarnation protocols. "Initiating Soul Transfer Protocol: Operation Chuckle-Blast! Destination: Aethelgard! Target Vessel: Elian, son of the minor noble House of Valerius, currently suffering from a mild case of plot convenience!"
And so, Arthur Pendelton, who had died a truly unremarkable death, was about to embark on a remarkably un-heroic, utterly hilarious second life. He had no idea what was coming. He just knew, vaguely, that he missed his gaming chair. And maybe, just maybe, a fresh bag of cheese puffs.
The cosmic bureaucracy had spoken. And it had a surprisingly twisted sense of humor.