The Overvoid trembled.
Again.
Not because of war.
Not because of cosmic imbalance.
Not because of some new existential threat clawing at the fabric of creation.
No.
It was shaking because Imaginatio was having—according to Lady Death's tally board, which she kept in a delicate ebony notebook—the 100,316th tantrum of this Eon alone.
Which was, admittedly, a record.
But not the good kind.
Imaginatio howled like a toddler with infinite power.
> "BUT I WANT A STORY NOOOOOWWWW!"
The cry echoed across the conceptual planes, making lesser concepts cry, higher gods wince, and several universes hiccup into briefly gaining color palettes they weren't supposed to have.
A nearby cluster of embryonic universes split open like cracked eggs, releasing a flock of rainbow sparks that fluttered away like startled birds.
Lady Death—Domina Mors in the older Latin tongue—stood silently at the edge of the collapsing resonance storm. Her skeletal figure was robed in flowing black vellum that reflected the quiet dignity of endings. She held a cup of tea in one hand, because if she didn't, she would have strangled Imaginatio several quadrillion years ago.
Beside her stood her brother, Master Order—Magister Ordo—draped in golden robes lined with the script of the First Law, eyes glowing like condensed rules. He adjusted the rim of his immaculate collar, suppressing the twitch that always appeared when Imaginatio began breaking metaphysical stability.
Together, they watched Imaginatio thrash about like a cosmic puppy denied a chew toy.
The God of Imagination's body flickered through forms—giant baby, clown king, animated doodle, sentient paint splash, a five-dimensional imp with rainbow smoke hair—before finally collapsing into a wailing mound of swirling colors.
> "I WAITED, AND I WAITED, AND I WAITED! YOU SAID A NEW STORY WOULD HAPPEN, AND IT DIDN'T, AND I WANT ONE!"
He hiccuped, and a chain reaction erupted.
Every hic created a randomized pocket reality.
Every tear formed a new eldritch creature that screamed in twelve languages, none invented yet.
Every sob cracked the borders of universes like glass dipped in cold water.
This was why they were here.
Domina Mors sighed and took a sip of tea.
"Make it stop," she murmured, though she knew it was pointless.
Magister Ordo rubbed the bridge of his nose, which technically didn't exist unless he willed it.
"This is the 100,316th time, sister."
"Yes," Lady Death muttered. "And every time it happens, three afterlives melt, twelve rivers of souls overflow, and at least one apprentice tries to quit."
As if to prove her point, one of Imaginatio's hiccups burst into a swirling fractal monstrosity shaped like an octopus made of crayons. It screamed, "HUG ME," and sprinted off to terrorize a cluster of young deities.
Lady Death nodded at it.
"See?"
Magister Ordo inhaled sharply.
"Imaginatio," he said in the most fatherly voice a conceptual embodiment of cosmic order could muster, "You were told to wait because the Omniverse is still recovering from your Eldritch Reality #52,909."
Imaginatio hiccuped again.
A new reality burst out of him shaped like a soap bubble the size of the Milky Way—except the bubble was filled with dinosaurs wearing business suits and every building was made of jelly. A moment later, it popped.
He sniffled.
> "I SAID I WAS SORRY ABOUT THAT ONE! I JUST WANTED TO MAKE A SOAP OPERA WITH DINOSAURS, OKAY?"
Domina Mors sipped quietly.
"It was the screaming jelly skyscrapers that upset most Observers," she said.
"How could I know they would become sentient and seek equal rights?!" Imaginatio wailed.
"You are the Concept of Imagination," Ordo said dryly. "You are literally the reason unpredictability exists."
Imaginatio pouted at him, then immediately devolved into a ball of swirling neon.
> "I WANT FUN! I WANT ENTERTAINMENT! YOU CAN'T JUST TELL ME TO WAIT FOR A NEW STORY! STORIES TAKE TOO LONG TO FORM NATURALLY!"
He thrashed again, limbs reshaping, eyes turning into spirals, hair becoming paintbrush strokes.
He was one of the first concepts.
One of the most powerful.
One of the most dangerous.
But also—tragically—one of the most immature.
And boredom was his greatest tantrum trigger.
Lady Death knelt down beside him, her voice soft.
"Imaginatio. If you keep this up, you will accidentally create another Eldritch Reality. I have no desire to reap another plane of screaming animated mythologies."
"And I," added Magister Ordo, "would rather not rewrite the Laws of Structure again. I still have a headache from the last time."
Imaginatio curled into a fetal position, floating in the void like a sulking star-child.
> "But I want a new story."
Lady Death sighed. "We know."
> "I want a big story."
Order nodded. "We know."
> "With battles and love and comedy and drama and superpowers and plot armor and plot holes and character arcs and character deaths and character revivals and, and and—"
"Yes, yes," Lady Death interrupted, waving her hand. "We KNOW."
Imaginatio sniffled, nose dripping raw creativity onto the void floor.
It sizzled like neon acid.
Lady Death stepped backward before it touched her robes.
She had lost a pair last millennium to a similar incident.
Magister Ordo raised a glowing golden hand and sealed the creativity drops in a containment sigil.
"You cannot simply FORCE a story to happen. You must allow existence time to generate natural inspiration."
Imaginatio screamed:
> "BUT NATURAL TAKES TOO LOOOOOOOONG!"
And then—
A rift appeared behind him.
A calming, orderly void.
Black and white.
Clean.
Surgical.
Cold.
Someone stepped through.
Tall. Slender.
Hair of pure antimatter forming a cascading void.
Eyes of absence.
A presence older than stars.
Anti-Matter.
Imaginatio's older sister.
Her Latin name was Sororia Contramateria—though she hated when anyone used it.
She looked down at her younger brother, who was still emitting rainbow lightning out of frustration.
"Oh for the love of the Primordial Spark," she muttered. "Still crying?"
Lady Death pointed with her cup.
"Tantrum number 100,316."
Anti-Matter clicked her tongue.
"Pathetic."
Magister Ordo nodded in agreement.
Imaginatio puffed up, looking insulted.
> "I'm NOT pathetic! I'm BORED!"
"Yes, yes, you've said that for the past eon," Anti-Matter replied, waving a dismissive hand. She stared him down with the exhausted patience of an older sibling forced to babysit a godling capable of rewriting causality when upset.
"Imaginatio, why don't you simply… copy a story?"
He blinked.
> "…Copy?"
"Yes," she said slowly, as if speaking to a cosmically powerful toddler—which, to be fair, she was.
"There are countless universes out there. Just ask a Multiversal God if they'll allow you to borrow their reality. Happens all the time for testing purposes."
Lady Death raised an eyebrow.
"Does it really?"
Anti-Matter nodded.
"Oh, absolutely. You'd be shocked how many creation gods make backups of their universes. Some even reboot entire eras just to see what happens if they change one historical event. It's practically a hobby."
Magister Ordo looked horrified.
"That is extremely irresponsible."
Anti-Matter shrugged.
"Welcome to creation."
Imaginatio sat up, hiccuping out a small galaxy that screamed "Daddy?" before evaporating.
He wiped his eyes.
> "So… I can just take someone ELSE'S story?"
"No," Anti-Matter corrected sternly.
"Not take. Copy.
Duplicate.
Make a sandbox version.
You keep the original untouched. The host universe stays safe."
Imaginatio blinked again.
"That's… ALLOWED?"
Lady Death and Order exchanged glances.
Order frowned. "Technically yes but ideologically—"
"Yes," Anti-Matter said loudly, cutting him off.
Imaginatio's eyes sparkled.
> "A COPY… OF A WHOLE REALITY… JUST FOR ME?"
He vibrated like a microwave full of fireworks.
Anti-Matter crossed her arms.
"Go ask someone. Not me. I don't care what reality you ruin, as long as you don't break mine."
Imaginatio shot upward, leaving trails of neon stardust.
> "OKAY!!! I'M GONNA GO ASK EVERY MULTIVERSE!"
Lady Death sighed.
Order pinched the bridge of his nose again.
Anti-Matter shrugged and stepped back into her void.
The Multiversal Odyssey (Or: Everyone Says "No")
Imaginatio popped into the Warhammer 40K Omniverse first.
He asked politely (for once).
Very politely.
He even brought cookies.
The Emperor stared down at him with glowing golden eyes.
"No."
Imaginatio tried to offer a 2-for-1 story deal.
The Emperor's aura intensified.
"No."
Imaginatio left in a hurry.
Next, he visited the Pokémon Multiverse.
Arceus listened with patience.
He even considered the proposal.
Then he shook his head.
"I must decline. Your presence would… destabilize things."
Imaginatio pouted but accepted the refusal.
(He took a Rowlet plushie on the way out.)
Last, he went to Marvel.
The Living Tribunal stared at him with three silent faces.
The One Above All flicked him on the forehead.
"No."
Imaginatio spun through six dimensions like a kicked rubber ball.
Finally, he stood before the DC Omniverse.
He asked.
He rambled.
He begged.
He promised.
He offered to keep the mainline continuity TOTALLY UNTOUCHED.
There was a long pause.
The Presence sighed.
"…Fine.
Just copy it.
Do NOT mess with ours."
Imaginatio froze.
Then shook.
Then vibrated.
Then exploded into sparkles.
> "YESYESYESYESYES! THANK YOU MISTER BIG-GUY-WHO-DOESN'T-SHOW-UP-OFTEN!"
And thus…
The Imagination Crisis was born.
A full DC reality, copied perfectly and handed to the most chaotic Celestial Concept imaginable…
Ready to become his sandbox.
His playground.
His theater.
His story.
And Imaginatio?
He was already giggling.
> "IT'S TIME FOR FUUUUUUN!"