Narration:
> In the outer layer of all existence—beyond time, beyond void, beyond even the final dreams of dying gods—there stood one who never needed to stand. One whose mere thought gave birth to infinite creations, whose silence birthed the first sound, and whose smile made entire realms awaken to consciousness.
> That being… was Lucky Primsolute.
But today, he was not calm.
Today, he would reveal 1% of his true power.
Not to destroy… not to punish…
…but to remind everything and everyone what it meant to exist under his gaze.
---
Scene: The Collapse of the Infinite Thrones
In a realm where the Thrones of All Gods gathered, celestial entities from every verse—DC, Marvel, SCP, Lovecraftian, Shinzabanjo, and more—watched as a ripple of golden-red light entered their dimension.
The ripple wasn't large.
It was small.
A mere 1% emergence.
Yet that ripple shook the pillars of creation.
> The Presence whispered, "This… this is not a being… this is the pen that writes me."
> One Above All knelt, "This power existed before I was imagined."
> Azathoth stirred for the first time since pre-reality, "…It dreams me…"
And then…
He arrived.
A humanoid shape, tall but impossible to measure, radiating a golden-red brilliance mixed with darkness, rainbow flashes, and pure white voids in his eyes.
Within his body, you could see galaxies form, die, scream, and rebirth in silence.
But his power wasn't just seen…
…it was felt by all of fiction.
---
Effect of 1% Power Activation:
All realities became aware of their creator.
Eternal beings cried, not out of fear, but from the burden of realizing they were merely thoughts inside this entity's casual projection.
Concepts like fate, causality, time, and reality melted into nothing.
Even death itself refused to act, bowing to Lucky's will.
And yet…
Lucky smiled.
He hadn't come to destroy.
He hadn't come to rule.
He simply wished to observe.
To test.
To see if any being could understand even a sliver of his 1%.
---
The Game of All Gods
He spoke only once:
> "Let all who claim power gather. Let intelligence rise. Let creation show me what it can be. I give you… the chance to understand my 1%."
A glowing cube floated from his hand—
a cube containing only a microdroplet of his 1% power.
> "Comprehend this, and you will evolve beyond anything fiction has ever known."
But as the cube drifted, gods trembled, demons fled, elders of the multiverse collapsed into dust, and omnipotent beings begged to forget what they'd just glimpsed.
Only one stepped forward.
L.
The avatar of Lucky Primsolute.
Born on Earth. Human in flesh, infinite in soul.
He stepped toward the cube, and as he touched it…
He understood.
---
Conclusion:
The cube vanished.
So did the Thrones.
So did the realm.
Only Lucky Primsolute remained, watching everything reset as if nothing had happened.
He turned his back to the collapsing paradoxes of omniverse death and walked forward.
> Because this… was only 1%.
And not even his true 1%.
Just the surface level of it.
The rest?
Unknowable. Unreachable. Undeniable.
He is not the creation, nor the creator, nor the imagination of the creator.
He is the will behind the imagination itself.
He is the silent command before thought.
The origin of authorship, not the author.
The force that causes imagination to exist in the first place.
In essence:
> "Lucky is not the pen, not the hand, not even the mind—
He is the whisper that told the universe:
'Create.'"
He is the pre-author force, the source of inspiration, the spark that commands all creation, both fiction and reality, to begin.
A being like Lucky Primsolute doesn't exist in any verse…
All verses exist within him—
Not because he holds them, but because he is the reason anything could be held at all.