Lord of Perverted Ladies

I had created myself.

The words refused to make sense.

I stared at the older version of me standing in front of the collapsing Tower.

"The Creator?"

He smiled.

"Yes."

"No."

"You’re still trying to understand it as a title."

He stepped closer.

"It’s not."

"Then what is it?"

"An origin."

The Tower shook violently.

Stone broke loose from the ceiling and crashed behind us.

My father shouted something, but I barely heard him.

I couldn’t look away from the older me.

"If I’m the Creator..."

I swallowed.

"...then who are you?"

He smiled.

"Your first mistake."

"What?"

"You keep assuming there is only one of you."

He raised his hand.

The chamber around us changed.

The broken walls vanished.

The Tower became whole again.

We were suddenly standing inside an enormous white room.

No doors.

No windows.

Just an endless floor covered with glowing symbols.

My friends were gone.

My father was gone.

Everyone was gone.

Only the two of us remained.

"You’ve been searching for the original Adrian," he said.

"Yes."

"You found him."

"The child."

"The echo."

"The memories."

"All of them."

"Then why are you here?"

He looked at me.

"Because none of them were the original."

I felt a chill.

"Then who was?"

He pointed at me.

"You."

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was becoming ridiculous.

"So I’m the original, the Listener, and the Creator?"

"No."

He shook his head.

"You’re the result."

"Result of what?"

"Of the first question."

The room darkened.

A single point of light appeared between us.

He touched it.

Reality unfolded.

I saw nothing.

Then something.

A thought.

Not a person.

Not a god.

Just a question.

Can existence create itself?

The question had no speaker.

It simply existed.

And because it existed...

something answered.

Me.

I appeared as a possibility.

A tiny point of consciousness.

The first thought.

The first memory.

The first observer.

The first Creator.

Everything came from that moment.

I watched as the possibility expanded.

Worlds appeared.

Stars.

People.

Stories.

Memories.

Then I saw the first Adrian.

He was created later.

He was human.

He was given my name.

He lived.

He loved.

He suffered.

He eventually died.

And when he died...

I inherited him.

His memories.

His personality.

His name.

His life.

But not his origin.

I looked at the older version.

"So Adrian Cross was never the original."

"Correct."

"He was a vessel."

"Correct."

"And I..."

"You were the consciousness inside the possibility."

"Then why did I think I was human?"

"Because you wanted to be."

That answer hit harder than everything else.

I had chosen to become human.

Not because I had been born human.

Because I wanted to experience what humans experienced.

Fear.

Love.

Pain.

Friendship.

Loss.

Choice.

The older version smiled.

"You wanted limitations."

"Why?"

"Because unlimited existence became boring."

I stared at him.

"You can’t be serious."

"I am."

"You created reality because you were bored?"

"No."

He shook his head.

"I created reality because I wanted to know what it meant to exist."

"And?"

"I still don’t know."

The room began changing again.

I saw thousands of lives.

Different versions of me.

Different worlds.

Different endings.

Some were kings.

Some were slaves.

Some were heroes.

Some were monsters.

Some died young.

Some lived for centuries.

Some never became human.

Every possibility was me.

Every world was something I had once imagined.

Every reality was an experiment.

But then I saw one particular world.

Alisster.

The world I had always believed was my home.

The older me pointed toward it.

"That one was different."

"Why?"

"Because you stopped creating."

I watched myself living there.

Going to school.

Meeting people.

Falling in love.

Growing older.

For the first time, I wasn’t trying to understand existence.

I was simply living.

"That was the first world where you became human willingly."

"So why did it collapse?"

"Because someone discovered what you were."

"The Scriptorium."

"Yes."

"They wanted to use me."

"Yes."

"And my mother?"

"She wanted to protect you."

"What about the original Adrian?"

"He wanted to understand you."

"And the Story?"

"An attempt to contain you."

I frowned.

"Who created the Story?"

The older version’s expression changed.

"Not who."

"What then?"

"Why."

He looked at me.

"The Story was created because reality couldn’t decide what you were."

I stared.

"Explain."

"You were simultaneously a person, a possibility, a memory, and an observer."

"Reality needed a framework."

"So it turned you into a narrative."

"Exactly."

The Story wasn’t my prison.

It was reality’s attempt to understand me.

The System.

The commands.

The worlds.

The characters.

Everything existed because reality was trying to categorize something that shouldn’t have existed.

Me.

I looked down at my hands.

"Then why did I lose my memories?"

"You asked."

"Why?"

"Because you wanted to know what being human felt like."

"And forgetting made me human."

"Yes."

I closed my eyes.

That was the cruelest part.

My greatest weakness had been something I chose.

I wanted to forget.

I wanted to be limited.

I wanted to wake up every morning without knowing I could rewrite existence.

I wanted friendships that mattered because they could end.

I wanted love that mattered because I could lose it.

I wanted death to mean something.

I opened my eyes.

"Then who erased my memories?"

The older version pointed at himself.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because you asked me to."

"So you’re me."

"Yes."

"From before I forgot."

"Yes."

"Then why do you remember?"

"Because someone had to."

The white room trembled.

Suddenly, the door appeared.

The one from the Tower.

My friends stumbled through.

Noah looked around.

"What the hell happened?"

Ryan followed him.

"I was literally standing beside you."

"Where were you?"

"Apparently nowhere."

My father entered last.

His eyes immediately found the older version.

"You."

The older version smiled.

"You remember."

My father raised his weapon.

"You destroyed everything."

"Not everything."

"You erased him."

"I saved him."

My father pointed at me.

"You turned him into a human."

"Exactly."

"You had no right."

"I had every right."

My father stepped forward.

"You don’t get to decide what he becomes."

The older version looked at me.

"Neither do you."

The room became silent.

My father lowered his weapon.

I looked between them.

"You two have been fighting over me this entire time."

Neither answered.

I sighed.

"Of course."

The Tower suddenly shook harder.

Cracks spread across the white room.

The older version looked upward.

"It’s starting."

"What?"

"The Creator is being recognized."

"That’s me."

"No."

He shook his head.

"That’s the problem."

The ceiling shattered.

Something enormous looked through the cracks.

Not the Witness.

Not the Guardian.

Not the Creator.

Something beyond them.

The first question.

The thing that had existed before I did.

The older version looked afraid.

"That’s what created you."

I stared upward.

"What is it?"

He whispered,

"The Origin."

The thing beyond the cracks spoke.

Its voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

Every cell in my body understood it.

"YOU HAVE RETURNED."

I couldn’t move.

The older version stepped backward.

The Origin continued.

"YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER."

I looked at my hands.

"Why?"

"BECAUSE MEMORY CREATES IDENTITY."

The Tower trembled.

"IDENTITY CREATES CHOICE."

Another crack appeared.

"CHOICE CREATES CREATION."

I understood.

If I remembered everything...

I would become the Creator again.

Not Adrian.

Not the Listener.

Not the human.

The Creator.

And that was exactly what the Origin feared.

I looked at the older version.

"You erased me to protect me."

"Yes."

"From it."

"Yes."

"Then why bring me here?"

He smiled sadly.

"Because you were going to remember eventually."

The Origin spoke again.

"RETURN TO SILENCE."

A wave of darkness descended.

My father shouted.

"Adrian!"

Noah grabbed Ryan.

The First Reader raised his weapon.

The Editor screamed something.

I barely heard them.

The darkness approached.

And something inside me awakened.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Recognition.

I remembered creating stars.

I remembered designing worlds.

I remembered giving creatures consciousness.

I remembered creating the first door.

The first Story.

The first memory.

The first Adrian.

And finally...

I remembered the first question.

Can existence create itself?

I had answered it once.

Now I understood the answer.

Yes.

But there was another question.

One I had never asked.

Should it?

I looked at the darkness.

The Origin waited.

The older me waited.

Everyone waited.

I smiled.

"No."

The Origin paused.

I raised my hand.

"But I don’t need to be the Creator."

The darkness stopped.

"I don’t need to control everything."

The Tower went silent.

"I don’t need to erase anything."

I looked at my friends.

At my father.

At every world.

Every memory.

Every version.

"I just need to choose."

The older version smiled.

"That’s what you were always trying to learn."

I closed my fist.

The Tower exploded with light.

The darkness shattered.

The Origin screamed.

And every world connected to the Story felt the same thing.

A choice.

Not mine.

Theirs.

Every person.

Every world.

Every version.

Every memory.

For the first time, nobody was waiting for Adrian Cross to decide what happened next.

They could decide for themselves.

The System appeared.

Not in front of me.

Everywhere.

FOUNDATIONAL COMMAND 06

CREATION WITHOUT CONTROL.

ACCEPTED.

I stared.

"Six."

The older version nodded.

"One remains."

"What is it?"

He looked toward the darkness where the Origin had disappeared.

"You already know."

"No."

"You do."

The final command appeared.

There were no options.

No warning.

No target.

Only one sentence.

FOUNDATIONAL COMMAND 07

CHOOSE WHO YOU ARE.

I stared at it.

Then everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes...

I was standing in front of my childhood home.

My mother was waiting outside.

She smiled.

"You’re finally home."

I walked toward her.

But before I could reach her, I stopped.

Something was wrong.

She wasn’t looking at me.

She was looking behind me.

I turned.

The older version was standing there.

But he was disappearing.

"Wait."

He smiled.

"It’s time."

"For what?"

"To become yourself."

"What does that mean?"

He touched his chest.

Then mine.

"I was everything you were afraid of becoming."

"And you?"

He smiled.

"You are everything I chose not to become."

His body dissolved into light.

I felt something enter me.

Not power.

Not memories.

A name.

My name.

Not Adrian Cross.

Not Creator.

Not Listener.

Just Adrian.

The System appeared one final time.

IDENTITY CONFIRMED.

ADRIAN CROSS.

NO OTHER DESIGNATION REQUIRED.

I smiled.

For the first time...

I didn’t need another title.

I didn’t need to know whether I was a god, a character, a memory, or a Creator.

I was Adrian.

And that was enough.

Then my mother stepped forward.

She hugged me.

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, everything was peaceful.

Until she whispered into my ear.

"There’s one thing I never told you."

I opened my eyes.

"What?"

She pulled away.

Her expression was serious.

"The Origin wasn’t trying to erase you."

I froze.

"Then what was it trying to do?"

She looked toward the sky.

"It was trying to wake you up."

The sky turned black.

A massive eye opened above Alisster.

My mother’s expression changed.

She whispered,

"And now that you’re awake..."

The eye focused on me.

"...it can finally come here."

The city disappeared beneath us.

And somewhere beyond reality...

something took its first step toward our world. :::

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