#### Chapter 4: The Boring Climax no one wanted
Finally, the inevitable confrontation approached. The celestial realms trembled. The grand prophecy of God's demise was about to be fulfilled. God, a truly magnificent and omnipotent being who was, frankly, a bit tired of all the paperwork, watched Zenith approach through a tear in reality.
"So, you're the one," God said, a booming voice that resonated through all dimensions. "The prophecy states you will end me."
Zenith merely raised an eyebrow. "Prophecy? That's rather cliché, isn't it? Honestly, I was just going to tidy up the cosmos a bit. Things are a mess."
God chuckled, a sound like a thousand dying suns. "And how do you propose to 'tidy' me?"
Zenith blinked. He didn't even need to think. He simply reached out a finger, and with a delicate, almost imperceptible flick, he nudged reality.
God didn't explode. God didn't vanish. God didn't even suffer. God, the very concept, simply... shifted. One moment, there was a supreme being. The next, there was a perfectly manicured lawn, complete with a perpetually blooming rose bush and a tiny, impeccably painted birdhouse. The universe, in that instant, became significantly more organized.
And then, the ultimate, most egregious trope of all: the Author Self-Insert. A small, nervous figure materialized beside Zenith, clutching a tattered notebook. "Remarkable! Truly remarkable! I'm the author, you see, and I just wanted to personally thank you for fulfilling the narrative arc so... thoroughly! And for making my protagonist so incredibly, unbelievably—"
Zenith turned his head, a flicker of genuine annoyance in his eyes. He didn't even need to move. The author's notebook burst into flames, and the author himself, mid-sentence, transformed into a perfectly rendered, miniature statue of a garden gnome, complete with a fishing pole.
Zenith sighed. The universe was quiet. All prophecies were fulfilled, all threats neutralized, all tropes lampooned into oblivion. He had soloed the verse, killed God, and even dispatched the meta-narrative.
"Now," Zenith murmured to himself, looking out into the perfectly tidy cosmos, "what's for lunch?"