We sat at a massive table. Mortax had conjured a buffet that defied logic, time zones, and at least three nutritional laws.
There were pancakes that whispered secrets. Eggs that sparkled. Toast that stared into your soul.
> "I don't trust the waffles," Greg whispered. "They don't trust you either," the waffles replied.
Clucksworth was already wearing a syrup crown. Grubnuk had tears in his eyes over a bowl of perfectly balanced cereal.
> "This is what love tastes like," he sobbed.
Arc floated above a toaster, muttering ancient butter incantations. Kevin had constructed a defensive wall of bacon. Lyria calmly sipped tea brewed from constellations.
And me? I just wanted a bagel.
Mortax stood at the head of the table. In a robe now. It glowed faintly and hummed with eldritch warmth.
> "You've all survived the dream phase," he said. "Now comes clarity."
We all tensed. Even the toast flinched.
> "Clarity?" I asked.
> "Yes," he said. "Through carbs."
He raised a croissant with reverence. It shone like the morning sun.
> "This is the Breakfast of Revelation. Eat. And you shall see."
Kevin took a bite. He gasped. His eyes went wide.
> "I just saw my true form."
Lyria took a muffin. Her hair glowed briefly.
Grubnuk bit a cinnamon roll and whispered, "I remember my first soup."
Arc tasted an egg and muttered, "Time is but a yolk we scramble."
Greg looked at a scone. It screamed. He passed.
And then I bit the bagel.
Everything stopped.
The room froze. Mortax faded. The Narrator's voice filled my head.
> "You're getting closer, protagonist." "Closer to what?" I thought.
> "To me."
> "...Wait. Are you the villain?"
Silence. Then soft laughter.
> "Eat your toast."
I blinked. Everyone was still eating. Clucksworth had begun a one-chicken musical. Mortax was humming and stirring a galactic omelet.
But I sat. Holding a bagel that tasted like destiny. And wondering what breakfast had to do with fate.
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End of Chapter 37 (Carbs consumed. Truths revealed. Toast judged.)
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