The Card's Legacy

In the middle of a void so dark it felt like the universe had forgotten how to exist, a faint light flickered. The glow came from a computer screen, illuminating a hunched figure. His desk, if you could call it that, was chaos incarnate.

Papers floated lazily in the void, covered in scribbles and diagrams that made no sense, some burned at the edges, others frozen solid.

A mug labeled "#1 Overlord" hovered nearby, coffee swirling endlessly inside.

He leaned forward, eyes squinting at the screen. "This makes no sense," he muttered, one hand scratching his head while the other hammered the keyboard. "If he gets this power, then what's the catch? Ugh, balance, balance!"

His fingers paused as he stared at his work. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he flopped back into his chair. "Maybe I'm overthinking this."

From the nothingness around him, a head popped into view. No body, just a head. Its face was featureless except for a knowing smirk. "You think?"

The man groaned, slouching even further. "Not now."

Another head appeared, this one tilting as if trying to look at the screen upside down. "Still at it, huh? Thought you'd have something fun cooked up by now."

"This isn't easy, you know!" he snapped, gesturing at the screen. "Everything has to fit. The powers, the characters, the world… It can't just be some thrown-together nonsense."

"But isn't that your thing?" the first head teased. "Thrown-together nonsense?"

Ignoring them, he leaned back toward the keyboard. The screen was a mess of diagrams, charts, and lines of text that could have been code or maybe just really weird prose. Either way, it wasn't working. He muttered something under his breath, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to type or smash the keys out of frustration.

The second head whistled. "Look, not to question your process, but… what's the point of all this?"

"The point," he began, turning to glare at the heads, "is to create something unique. No more generic heroes. No more predictable arcs. Something chaotic!"

"Oh, sure," said the first head, smirking. "Like you haven't said that a thousand times. What's it this time? Superpowers? Magical artifacts? Some kind of cosmic reset button?"

He hesitated. "Cards," he said finally. "A deck of cards. Each one represents a character. Whoever draws gets everything that character has; powers, skills, memories, the works."

"And?" the second head asked, already looking bored.

"And," he continued, leaning forward as if this was the most exciting thing he'd ever said, "they also get the drawbacks. Pull Dracula, and congratulations, you're immortal! But now you have a thirst for blood and a serious sunlight allergy."

The first head chuckled. "Okay, that's not bad."

"Not bad? It's brilliant," he declared, pointing at the screen. "It's chaotic, it's unpredictable, and it's…"

"More work," interrupted the second head. "You're building all this from scratch. Again."

He froze, blinking at the screen. "Well, yeah. How else would I—"

"Why bother?" the first head cut in. "You've got a whole library of worlds and characters just sitting there. Use one of those."

The man frowned. "Use what?"

"Earth," the second head said, spinning lazily. "Books, movies, games. They've already done all the heavy lifting. Pick a world, throw some unlucky mortal in, and watch the fireworks."

"That… sounds lazy," he said, but there was a flicker of interest in his voice.

"No," the first head corrected. "It sounds efficient. Think about it. No need to balance the whole world. Just drop someone into a story that's already balanced."

He leaned back, rubbing his chin. "It would save time."

"And be way more fun," added the third head, which had just appeared, grinning ear to ear. "You don't even have to tell them the rules. Let them figure it out."

"Too boring." A frown appeared on his face as he threw away the deck of cards behind him. "I will give him that.... But."

He stared at the screen, fingers tapping absently against the edge of his chair. The glow of the monitor flickered in his eyes. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. "Alright. Let's do it."

The first head whooped. "Now we're talking!"

The man cracked his knuckles and started typing again, this time with renewed enthusiasm. Names flashed across the screen in rapid succession, each one accompanied by a snapshot of its owner, some smiling, some frowning, most blissfully unaware they were being considered for whatever madness he was cooking up.

"What about this one?" the second head asked, nudging a name that appeared briefly before vanishing into the shuffle.

"Nah," he said. "Too… hero-y."

"What about her?" the third head suggested as another name flickered by.

"Too prepared. I want someone clueless. Someone ordinary," he said, his fingers still flying. "No chosen ones. Just… some random guy."

Finally, the spinning wheel of names slowed, the names flickering less rapidly now. It clicked once, twice, and stopped. Ethan Wright.

The man leaned forward, his grin widening. "Ethan Wright. You're up."

"What's his deal?" the first head asked, peering at the screen.

"Doesn't matter," he replied. "What matters is that he's about to have the weirdest day of his life."

With a final keystroke, the screen rippled like water. Somewhere in the void, a faint scream echoed, and a figure was sucked into the monitor, disappearing without a trace.

The heads exchanged glances, their expressions somewhere between amusement and morbid curiosity.

"Think he'll survive?" the second head asked.

"Maybe," the man replied with a shrug. "But that's what makes it fun."

The heads slowly faded back into the void, leaving him alone with the glow of the monitor. He stretched, cracking his neck as though he'd just finished a particularly good workout.

"Let's see how this plays out," he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. The void hummed softly, as if in agreement. Then the light of the monitor flickered once more, and the rest of the darkness swallowed him whole.