[Smoothly] Ah, another glorious day on the sands of mediocrity. Mimi chasing fleeting pixels, and Maku... well, doing whatever it is she does.
[Not looking up, proudly patting her sandcastle]
Hey, Narrator, you’re just jealous you can’t enjoy the simple joys of castle-making.
[Dryly] Oh yes, I’m positively seething with envy over your architectural masterpiece. What’s that? A leaning tower of... whatever those blobs are supposed to be?
[Muttering]
It’s abstract, okay? You wouldn’t get it.
[Without looking up, clearly annoyed]
Can you two keep it down? I’m one pull away from my banner. Priorities, people.
[Mockingly] Ah, Mimi. Ever the voice of reason. Nothing screams serenity like spending digital gems on imaginary waifus.
[Snapping]
I’m the voice of gacha, thank you very much.
What a picturesque moment. The calm before the proverbial storm. Or, in this case, the catastrophic unraveling of reality itself.
Wait, what?
[Without looking up]
Ignore him. He’s always dramatic. C’mon, c’mon... give me that banner pull!
[Mockingly] Oh, yes. By all means, continue your blissful ignorance. What’s a little cosmic destabilization compared to a five-star character, right?
[Frowning at her screen]
Cosmic destabli-what?! I don't care if the sun is out of pizza to eat. I’ve been grinding ALL DAY.
The cracks in the sky shimmer and swirl as the Narrator prepares to reveal the alternate universe.
A projection unfurls in the sky with all the grace of a flesh-themed pop-up ad you didn’t consent to. A portal gapes open above them—
Pulsing. Raw. Unholy. It throbs like an infected wound in the fabric of space, its edges rippling and squelching like meat trying to breathe.
From it, something emerges. A tentacle—colossal and unreasonably shaped—slithers through the opening like it’s being birthed against its will. Its surface glistens with a film that refuses to clarify its origins. It doesn’t drip so much as oozes strings of translucent fluid. Not water. Not slime. Something wetter. Something biologically offensive.
The sound it makes is moist. Not loud—wet.
It flexes with intention. Pulsates with need.
The shape alone is… suggestive. Not in the fun way. In the “you’re going to need to explain this to your therapist” way.
It twitches once. Twice. Something moans. The portal? The tentacle? The reader’s last nerve? Unclear. Unwelcome.
Mimi gags audibly.
[Grandly] Behold! The alternate universe, where—
[Deadpan]
Dude. Are you seriously showing us hentai right now?
[Snorting]
Look at the size of that thing! That’s a chad tentacle if I’ve ever seen one.
[Interrupting]
There’s goo dripping from the portal. Why is there goo?!
[Sputtering] Wha—no! This is not hentai! This is the destruction of an alternate universe! That… that portal is just how it looks. I didn’t design it!
[Smirking]
Sure, sure. And the censorship on the tip? Totally a coincidence, huh?
[Pointing]
Why only the tip? Is this thing shy?
It’s not shy! It’s… Look, cosmic censorship is a thing, okay? It’s to protect your mortal minds!
[Horrified]
Why is it so… veiny?!
The veins channel unstable energy. It’s a physical manifestation of the entity’s overwhelming—
[Cutting him off]
Manifestation? More like overcompensation. Look at those things! It’s practically screaming, "I’m here to wreck your reality, but first, lemme flex my throbbing vascular superiority."
[Groaning]
Why am I even here? I just wanted to enjoy my gacha pulls, not get front-row seats to this… thing.
[Sighing] Look, I know what this looks like, but I assure you, this is a very serious and reality-threatening—
[Snickering]
I’m just saying, if it looks like a d!#%, and it’s pixelated like a d!#% then it must be a—
[Cutting in, exasperated]
It’s not! It’s a cosmic threat that transcends your limited perception! The pixelation is… just a side effect of our rendering limits, okay?
[Side-eyes Maku, still focused on her phone]
Sure, rendering limits. Meanwhile, this thing is one censored blur away from being flagged as inappropriate content.
Enough! That 'thing' summoned by Maku is destabilizing all possible realities. Its sheer existence is overloading the servers that run your universe.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. I haven’t even done anything this time!
Narrator: Not in this timeline. But in an alternate reality, another Maku managed to successfully expand her cult and used their powers to summon an all-knowing, all-seeing, reality-eating tentacle god.
I feel like I’m being unfairly targeted here.
Narrator: You summoned it.
Allegedly.
No, definitively.
[Grinning]
So, you’re saying this whole story is crashing because alternate-me decided to summon that? Honestly, I’m impressed.
[Not looking up]
Let me get this straight. My gacha progress is at risk of being wiped because the writers cheaped out on a proper hosting plan?
Precisely—
[Still scrolling]
Honestly, I’m more mad about losing my gacha rolls than the universe ending.
…
[Laughing]
I love this. Alternate-me is a badass. She’s bringing the whole system down, one veiny tentacle at a time!
What even is the point of all this? What’s the point of a story if it’s just going to end because of low server resources?!
Welcome to existential dread.
Well, can’t you fix it? You’re the narrator, right? You’re supposed to be in charge! Just upgrade the servers or something! Isn’t this your whole thing?
[Dryly] Oh, sure, let me just dip into my non-existent savings account to pay for premium hosting. Spoiler alert: I’m just as broke as you two are.
[Snickering]
So, the narrator’s basically just a broke voice in the void. Figures. No wonder we’re all doomed.
[In disbelief]
Wait, what? You’re supposed to be the omnipotent voice in the sky! How are you broke?!
Broke and powerless. I’m the narrator, not the writer. My job is to describe your impending doom, not stop it. And for the record, I’m not exactly omnipotent either. There are plenty of other narrators out there. I’m just the one assigned to you and Maku.
[Laughing uncontrollably]
This is the best thing I’ve ever heard! We’re not even worth decent hosting, AND the narrator’s just as useless as we are!
The focus of the portal shifts to other-Maku, cackling maniacally as she orchestrates the collapse of reality.
[Grimacing]
Oh, wow. That’s... that’s a lot of unhinged energy. I’m suddenly so thankful my Maku isn’t that insane.
“Isn't that insane?” Are we talking about the same person?
[Frowning]
What are you talking about? She’s always been logical and reasonable—Wait. Are you saying she isn’t?
Maku is unhinged. Utterly and completely. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that she doesn’t just tolerate your antics but actively encourages them? She doesn’t just add fuel to the fire—she’s the one tossing entire gasoline cans into the flames.
[Crossing her arms]
Yeah, no. My Maku doesn’t run around summoning tentacle monsters and breaking reality. She’s... she’s manageable. See? She’s—
The difference is probabilistic outcomes. In this universe, her cult failed, and she’s too busy drooling over Alternate Maku. Make no mistake.
They both look over at Maku, who is on her knees in front of the portal, hands clasped together, drooling and praising the other-Maku.
[In awe]
Oh my gosh, she’s amazing! Look at her, Mimi! She’s got the charisma, the vision, the tentacles! She’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of being!
[Hands clasped, tears in her eyes]
She’s not just a community leader; she’s a force of nature. A goddess among mortals. A queen!
[Turns to Mimi and the Narrator]
Do you see this? Do you feel this energy? Other-Maku is EVERYTHING!
[To the narrator]
She’s officially lost it.
She may have never had it to begin with.
[Squinting at nothing in particular]
Okay, serious question: how does one even become a narrator? Like, is there a training camp? Or do you just have to be some kind of creepy weirdo who gets off on stalking people?
[Indignant] Creepy weirdo? Stalking people? That’s incredibly reductive. Narrating is a noble craft. A delicate art form.
Sounds like a fancy way of saying you creep around and narrate people’s lives like some kind of omniscient busybody.
Being a narrator is an honor—
It’s an honor to hover around people and stalk them?
I create meaning. I bring depth and perspective to people's lives.
So... stalking, but with flair?
[Frustrated]
It is not stalking.
[Mock whispering]
That’s exactly what a stalker would say.
[Holding a juice box that hadn’t existed five seconds ago]
Okay, but this is actually kind of cool.
[Furiously swiping on her phone]
What, the apocalypse? Yeah, super cool.
No, I mean this. (She waves the juice box smugly).
[Finally looking up]
...Wait. Where did you get that? Didn’t you finish your last one like, an hour ago?
[Grinning mischievously]
I made it.
What do you mean, you made it? You can’t just pull juice boxes out of nowhere!
Oh, but she can. In the chaos of collapsing realities, Maku has discovered a peculiar quirk. The glitching fabric of existence isn’t just breaking. It was malleable. And Maku, in her infinite simplicity, has figured out how to use it to get what she wants.
Watch this.
With a dramatic flourish, Maku reaches into thin air. Her hand shimmers, flickering like a poorly rendered video game asset. For a moment, it looks as though she might lose her arm to the void—but then, triumphantly, she pulls out...
Ta-da! Another juice box!
You figured out—what? How?
[Popping the straw into the box]
Dunno. Just poked around and messed with the glitchy bits until it worked.
You’re telling me you hacked reality... to make juice boxes?
[Triumphantly waves her juice box]
Yep. Want one?
This... this is absurd. The fabric of existence is breaking apart at a molecular level, and you’re using it for juice boxes?
Yeah? What else would I want? I'm thirsty.
I don’t know, maybe save the world?!
[Sipping loudly]
Eh, I’m good with juice.
Maku, people are counting on you!
Nah, they’re probably all gone by now. Tentacle ate ’em.
The ground beneath them fractures, chunks of it floating upward into the void. Somewhere in the distance, entire galaxies were spiraling into oblivion, but here? Juice boxes.
[Pouting]
This is such a waste of potential. Can you glitch me some better internet? My gacha game is lagging again.
A skyscraper twists and implodes in the distance, folding into itself like paper before vanishing completely. The tentacle overhead lashes out again, drawing another reality into its unending maw. The air is filled with the crackle of dimensions glitching and fraying like static on a broken TV. Maku slurps her juice loudly.
[Shrugging]
Probably. But I won’t.
Why not?!
Because you called my juice trick a waste of potential.
As reality unravels, as time itself begins to bleed into nothingness, one might expect a sense of urgency or terror to dominate the scene. But here we were instead: two girls standing in the void of collapsing dimensions, casually bantering as though they were waiting for a bus.
It isn’t just a tonal mismatch. It's a personal insult to the apocalypse. All that drama. All that collapsing meaning. And these two were out here treating it like a mildly inconvenient Tuesday.
It's disrespectful.
It's deranged.
It's—
Can you, like, tone down the doom and gloom a little? It’s kind of a vibe killer.
A vibe killer?! The universe is literally ending.
[Sipping her juice box]
Yeah, but you’re making it sound all dramatic and scary. It’s not that bad.
Not that bad?! Reality is crumbling like a cookie dunked too long in milk!
Okay, but like… what if it’s a really good cookie? One of those that gets all soft and melty. That’s not so bad.
Mmm. Now I want cookies.
Narrator: Focus! The fundamental structure of existence is imploding!
Yeah, yeah, but do we have to sit through the doomsday monologue? I feel like this could be, like… a chill apocalypse.
Look, just tell us straight—how much time do we have before poof?
Minutes. Maybe seconds.
Okay. Priorities. Do I still have time to roll on my gacha before then?
Are you serious right now?!
Valid question.
NO, IT IS NOT!
Well, I think it is. If the universe is gonna reset, my pity counter is not carrying over, so I gotta know.
Another piece of the sky peels away, revealing the endless void beyond. The tentacle looms closer, the last fragments of existence slipping into its grasp. Maku sits on a floating piece of rubble, sipping her juice contentedly.
[Gasps suddenly, staring at her screen]
OH MY GOD. I GOT HER. I GOT THE CHARACTER!
And then, as if on cue, the universe blinks out of existence entirely. Nothing remains. Not light. Not sound. Not time.
There is just one final, victorious cry that echoes across nonexistence:
YATTA ! ! ! SHE’S SOOOOOOO CUUUUUUUTE~ ! ! !
MAKU
MIMI
And just like that— the story ends. The universe collapses in on itself like a badly written apology. Time folds. Reality glitches. Every law of logic and linearity has been emotionally blackmailed into silence. And in the wreckage? Maku and Mimi are still here. Unbothered. Undead. Uninsurable. Two emotionally unstable gremlins who have survived everything—plot arcs, personal growth, multiversal collapse—on vibes alone. Because of course they did. You think something as fragile as the end of everything could stop them? Please. They are narratively feral. Spiritually caffeinated. Legally unhinged. And unfortunately, permanent. This isn’t the end. This is a pause between disasters. A comma in the sentence that should’ve ended three arcs ago. A brief, cursed exhale before they spiral into the next ridiculous, emotionally inappropriate, possibly-illegal adventure. And if you’re still here—reading this—laughing, crying, maybe questioning your life choices? You’re one of us now. So if this story made you feel something… If you screamed. If you spiraled. If you paused and whispered, “they shouldn’t be allowed to exist but thank God they do”— then do the only responsible thing left: Smash the support button. Feed the chaos. Fuel the narrative. Fund the downfall. Because Maku and Mimi aren’t just continuing. They’re escalating. And you’re coming with them.