Chapter 5: Divine Dodgeball and the Apostle of Madness

Somewhere between Hogwarts and New York, nestled inside a rift in space-time shaped like a screaming goose, floated a forgotten library-temple called the Palace of Origin.

It wasn't supposed to be accessible.

It wasn't even supposed to exist anymore.

But Rick Wyllis was never great with "supposed to."

Earlier that day, back at Hogwarts:

Rick was in the middle of dodgeball practice.

By himself.

In the Forbidden Forest.

Against an angry Ent possessed by a dream fragment of an Outer Deity.

"Alright, buddy," Rick said, bouncing a glowing, runed-up dodgeball in his hand. "You tried to eat a Hufflepuff, so I'm legally allowed to yeet you into another plane."

The Ent roared, bark twisting into screaming sigils.

Rick threw the ball.

It spun once.

Twice.

And then it teleported midair, reappearing behind the Ent's skull and hitting with the force of a small meteor.

KRAKOWM!

Wood, shadow, and void energy exploded in every direction.

From the trees, Deadpool yelled, "SIXTY POINTS! And three style bonuses!"

Rick wiped sweat off his brow and muttered, "Okay, so rune-infused dodgeballs do work as divine projectiles. Good to know."

Later, in the Room of Requirement (which had turned into a suspiciously familiar Sanctum-style meditation chamber), Rick examined the new tarot card he'd found.

Still blank.

Still humming with raw potential.

Loki entered without knocking, carrying a drink made of sparkles and sarcasm.

"That card," Loki said, "is what's known as a proto-sequence anchor."

Rick looked up. "Sounds important. Do I eat it?"

"No. Well… probably not. It's tied to you. Something about your chaotic resonance is creating its own sequence. And worse... it's attracting attention."

Rick grinned. "What kind of attention?"

The wall exploded before Loki could answer.

Out walked a figure clad in a twisted black-and-gold robe, his face hidden behind a mirrored mask. The aura around him screamed corrupted Seer, distorted Warrior, and something even older.

Loki sighed. "That kind."

"Name's Morvax," the figure said, voice like glass breaking in reverse. "Apostle of the True Madness. You're unbound, Rick. And the Path calls for you."

Rick raised his hand.

"Okay, real quick: how do you feel about dodgeballs?"

Morvax tilted his head. "What?"

Too late.

Rick launched the divine dodgeball again.

This time, it whistled with chaotic energy, temporarily warped into a screaming eagle, and hit Morvax so hard the surrounding magic inverted.

Time paused.

Reality asked for a break.

And Rick stood over the stunned Apostle, holding up the Fool card.

"Bro," Rick said, "you are not the weirdest cultist I've dealt with this week."

Morvax twitched and disintegrated into shadow butterflies.

Rick gave Loki a thumbs-up. "Handled."

Loki just took a sip of his drink and muttered, "This is why the gods need therapy."

Meanwhile… in the Palace of Origin

Klein Moretti stood at a massive obsidian window, watching fragments of destiny swirl.

A librarian made of eyes whispered, "The Fool… approaches."

Klein nodded. "Rick Wyllis. A nexus of pathways. A soul too simple to be seduced by true corruption… yet powerful enough to become it."

"He must choose," the librarian said. "Or the world will."

A ripple in the void announced a new arrival.

Doctor Strange stepped through, cloak trailing embers. "I tracked his dodgeball signature here. We've got a problem."

Klein raised an eyebrow. "Only one?"

"No," Strange said grimly. "We've got Rick."

Later that night… Hogwarts Astronomy Tower (again)

Rick sat cross-legged, flipping the blank card between his fingers. He could feel it now—the beginnings of a new Sequence, something chaotic, personal, and terrifying.

It whispered to him.

Not in words.

In possibilities.

"Pathway of the Wild God," he murmured. "Sequence 9: The Dumb Genius. Sequence 8: The Overenthusiastic Puncher."

He grinned.

It felt right.

Harry walked up with a butterbeer. "That new card's talking to you again?"

"Yup."

"You gonna listen?"

Rick stood and slipped the blank card into his deck.

"I don't need to listen."

He cracked his knuckles and looked up at the stars.

"I'm gonna write it myself."

Elsewhere…

In a dark chapel made of broken mirrors, a voice older than gods muttered:

"The Fool fractures fate. And the new pathway... is hungry."

A thousand candles lit all at once.

And in their light stood a figure in silver armor, bearing a symbol of balance twisted into chaos.

"Send the Collector," the voice commanded. "Bring me the proto-god."