Bill Cipher floated through the confusing-dimensional muck that was Terraria with distaste.
Normally, spatial dimensions are represented by a number, like two, or three, or nine. But Terraria, a two-dimensional plane that had been only a short time ago liberated into three dimensions, was trickier to talk about. Bill was fascinated by Terraria for this quality — the idea of revelation, ascending the cosmic ladder, opening eyes to new perceptions, was something he could get behind. Something he’d tried to tell many others to get behind. So the fact that the Godmodder, or Alpha, or whatever you wanted to call him, had accomplished so effortlessly something Bill had only dreamed of rubbed him the wrong way quite immensely.
He’d thought of Terraria being a realm of absolute unbridled creativity, much like how Minecraft had been before it was crushed into an absolute singularity. Truth be told, there was plenty of the stuff to go around. It was rare for Bill to let loose the way he had in Alpha’s war. Even though Bill could never be a Descendant, he was good enough at their job to pass for one. He could pass for lots of things. But one thing he refused to be called was passive. Bill wasn’t the type of amorphous conglomerate of energy to sit back. If something was going to happen, he was going to have a hand, or eight, in it.
So it was that Bill eventually realized if he was going to put his ultimate plan into action, he was going to have to branch out a bit. Bill floated across the sector of the Void just outside of Terraria’s reach and shoved his hand into a plane beyond spacetime — you know, like you do — in order to summon one of his potentially greatest allies. Straining his arm through the interdimensional nooks and crannies of the ether and reaching into the vast omelette of all potential existences, he held a singular egg in his grasp, and pulled it back out.
A SHAFT SUNK INTO THE GROUND TO ACHIEVE WATER, OIL, OR GAS THREE TIMES! HOW’S IT HANGING, HARD-BOILED FLUMPTY? Bill’s harsh voice boomed across the Void. It stampeded over Hard-Boiled Flumpty Bumpty, one of the most powerful and influential eggs in existence, like a... a stampede. His black, hardened shell split at the seams, revealing a pit of sickly purple colors under the cracks. The choir invisible hangs reality from the noose, its body swaying to the howling wind. Bill blinked. I MEAN, YOU AREN’T WRONG, BUT WOULD IT KILL YOU TO BE ON-TOPIC FOR ONCE? Upon hearing the word ‘kill,’ Flumpty took out a shining golden gun and fired it directly at himself. Instead of resulting in Scrambled Flumpty, the bullet seemed to sink into the egg’s body as though it was a liquid. Bill blinked once more.
REMIND ME TO CALL YOU UP THE NEXT TIME I WANT TO PLAN A WEIRDMAGEDDON! I MEAN, YEESH! I’VE BEEN SITTING HERE FOR LITERAL EONS THINKING I’M THE CRAZIEST ALMOND THIS SIDE OF THE NUT HOUSE, BUT EVERY TIME I SEE YOU I’M AMAZED! HOW CAN ONE BREAKFAST MEAL BE SO INCOMPREHENSIBLE?? Flumpty’s cavernous mouth opened once more. If Cinnamon Toast Crunch can fool you, so can a hollow eggshell. Bill shrugged. CAN’T ARGUE WITH THAT LOGIC, CAN I? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THAT INFERNAL FOODSTUFF, HUH?? ITS SWIRLS OF PURE CINNAMON LITERALLY DEFY THE LAWS OF SACRED GEOMETRY! THEY SPIT ON THE GOLDEN RATIO AND DISTORT IT INTO A VORTEX OF FRACTALLINE HELL! DO YOU REALLY THINK GOD INTENDED FOR SOME FREAKISH THING LIKE THAT TO EXIST??
Did you know that General Mills, the company that owns Betty Crocker, is behind Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Bill’s eye blinked, turning into an image of a white fork on a red background. WHY DOES THAT NOT SURPRISE ME? LEMME BREAK IT TO YOU THIS WAY, EGGHEAD. I CAN ACCEPT THE IDEA THAT THE ALIEN TASTE OF CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH WAS DESIGNED BY A CIVILIZATION OF INTERGALACTIC CONQUERORS, BUT I CAN’T ACCEPT THE IDEA THAT THEY’RE AWARE OF ITS REALITY-BENDING TASTE! IF I CAN’T STOMACH IT, NO ONE CAN. Flumpty laughed at that, sounding like a pulsating wave of clown horns. Trolls don’t have stomachs. A silence attempting to be profound followed these words.
WOULDN’T THEY JUST CALL IT SOMETHING ELSE IF THEY HAD ONE? AND I’M SURE THEY DO HAVE ONE. I MEAN, YOU CAN’T EXPECT EVERY LIVING ORGANISM TO HAVE A BLACK HOLE IN PLACE OF A DIGESTIVE TRACT! AS HILARIOUS AS IT WOULD BE TO WATCH, THE FOOD SHAPE WOULD STAB ITSELF IN THE BACK IN A MATTER OF SECONDS IF THAT WAS THE CASE. ...HM, NEXT TIME I WANT TO OBLITERATE AN ECOSPHERE, I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND. Flumpty shrugged, his arms twitching and cracking. Why not start now? The past is far behind us, the future doesn’t exist. The now is forever and lasts for a day, I swear on the River of Styx. Somewhere throughout the annals of aeons, thunder rang out in a starlit sky.
Bill reached behind himself and pulled out a glass full of volatile, popping liquid. The Tumor in his eye severed its two halves, turning into a mouth of plasma and fury. As the liquid rushed into his fractalline insides, it vaporized and boiled into the clouds of truth showers. NOTHERNLION, IF YOU’RE GONNA PULL THAT CARD, THEN I’LL START SOMETHING OF ACTUAL CONSEQUENCE NOW! Bill’s eye narrowed, seething with fire. THERE ARE STILL DEALS TO MAKE! PEOPLE TO VISIT! FIRES TO START! THOUGH THE FLAMES BEHIND THE SCREEN MAY FLICKER AND WAVER, THE REFINER’S FIRE WILL BURN ETERNAL! NOW... Bill turned to look at Flumpty eagerly, but quickly backed away, confusion defacing the cancer in his eye. ...WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU??
Flumpty’s entire body was shaking violently, and seemingly involuntarily. Globules of pink liquid were trailing from his eyes, and his mouth was ejecting glowing foam of some kind. Though his skull-like face could barely emote at the best of times, it still managed to convey a sense of utter fear. Many terrible nights throughout our solemn friendship, entire earths interred themselves across open tombs. Screaming for breaks to organize death, lest hell lend the son Adam the metachronistic plenary. Consider— As this stream of unending knowledge poured from Flumpty’s innermost being, Bill rose to a tremendous height, his body contorting into a pyramid. Locking his stolen souls to some interdimensional chakra sandwich, Bill grew ten more arms, curled his hands into fists, and swung at Flumpty with all his might.
The hard-boiled egg careened through the harsh, uncaring abyss, snapping out of his reverie entirely. He blinked several times, looking around with complete confusion as Bill materialized into existence next to him. COME ON, ROBOTNIK! WHAT HAPPENED BACK THERE? ONE MINUTE YOU WERE SPOUTING OMINOUS NON-SEQUITURS, AND THE NEXT MINUTE YOU WERE SPOUTING OTHER OMINOUS NON-SEQUITURS! Flumpty wiped the trailing liquid from his eyes. I heard me. WELL, OF COURSE YOU DID! IF YOU CAN’T HEAR WHAT YOU’RE SAYING THEN YOU PROBABLY NEED YOUR EAR-ANALOGUE CHECKED OUT.
Bill’s eye blinked, and he shone a holographic image of unfolding carnage for Flumpty to see. COME HERE, BUD. THIS IS A METATOPOGRAPHICAL FLUCTUATION OF WHAT THE ENTIRETY OF FICTION COULD HYPOTHETICALLY LOOK LIKE AT THE EXACT MOMENT IN WHICH I SUMMONED IT. TECHNICALLY THE VOID HAS NO DISTINCT SHAPE AND IS CONSTANTLY WRITHING IN A SEA OF PERPETUAL UNCERTAINTY, BUT LOOK. YOU’RE A GUY OUTSIDE OF TIME AND SPACE, AREN’T YOU? IF YOU REALLY ARE (AND I KNOW YOU ARE), THEN YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO POINT OUT WHERE YOU HEARD... YOU. Flumpty examined the multidimensional chart with interest, and after giving the matter intense thought, pointed to a location on the very outskirts of the chart — what seemed like the outermost ring of the Void.
Trifected geometrics beckoned, calling the Ends of the Earth, Flumpty sagely recited. He turned to Bill, with war in his eyes. It’s calling me, Enoch, it’s calling me. Bill twitched. WHAT DID YOU JUST... LOOK, ALRIGHT, FORGET IT. I’M SURE THAT THYME SCRAMBLED YOUR BRAINS, YOU PROBABLY AREN’T ALEPH NULL PERCENT AWARE OF WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. DO YOU EVEN HAVE A BRAIN? When it pleases me. Flumpty seemed satisfied at these words. Bill folded existence back into his eye and gave what seemed like a heaving sigh. WELLLLL THEN. ARE YOU READY TO TAKE A ROADTRIP? BECAUSE IF YOU’RE SERIOUS ABOUT CHASING WHAT YOU HEARD, WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE A TRIP ACROSS THE ENTIRETY OF THE VOID. YOU THINK YOU COULD HANDLE THAT? I could cross the stretch of eternity we call prison in a single step if I willed it. All of time and space, and the space outside of space, is ephemeral. Bill rolled his eye, and the limitless Void rolled a full three hundred and sixty degrees with him. SURE. YOU COULD DO THAT. OR, YOU COULD BE THE FLUMPTY I KNOW AND ADMIRE WITH A STALKER-ESQUE VIBE AND PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD BEFORE YOU EAT IT! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE THEATRICS? THE GAMES? THE SCENERY??
Do you want this story to be done in time for September 1st? Because my way will get it done in time. Bill’s entire body fluctuated with static, his bricks spinning in on themselves. ...TONE IT DOWN WITH THE META THERE, WISE GUY. THE POWERS THAT BE DON’T EXACTLY APPRECIATE IT FROM WHAT I’VE HEARD. SOOO, IF WE HAVE NO OTHER COMPLAINTS, I’D LIKE TO FORMALLY SAY— The formal wear is but a formality. —THAT BILL AND FLUMPTY’S EGGCELLENT ODDVENTURE HAS BEGUN! ONWARDS!
And unfortunately for everyone else spiraling around in an imaginary existence, it had begun indeed.
< [x] | 1.1: THAT LOGIC | 1.2: HOPE RIDES ALONE >