Chapter 66: Chaos Warranty and Terms of Service

The Original God of Chaos, who was now wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit made of pure, shimmering static, clapped his hands together.

The sound was a dial-up modem connecting to the internet.

"Excellent!" he boomed, his voice now that of a sleazy, interdimensional used-car salesman. "You've passed the vibe check! You've rejected the ultimate power! You've proven you're a real one!"

"And as a reward for your humility," he said, his smile a glitchy, pixelated horror, "you get to keep the powers!"

Li Wei blinked. "I do?"

"Of course!" the god said. "But first, we just have to sort out a little... paperwork."

He snapped his fingers.

A scroll materialized in front of Li Wei.

It was not a grand, celestial scroll.

It was a roll of paper so long it disappeared into the rafters of the server room.

And it was covered, from top to bottom, in the smallest, most densely packed font Li Wei had ever seen.

It was the Terms of Service.

**

"This," the God of Chaos announced proudly, "is the standard Chaos User License Agreement. Just a few little things to go over before you can officially start... you know... chaosing."

Li Wei stared at the endless scroll of cosmic legalese.

His head hurt.

I'm not reading that, Yin Mode's voice stated flatly in his mind. I didn't even read the syllabus for my history class. I'm just gonna sign it.

A wave of cold, analytical horror washed over him.

Negative, Yang Mode's voice cut in, sharp and severe. Do not sign anything. The probability that this document contains clauses detrimental to our continued existence is approximately 100%.

Yang Mode took control.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, his golden eyes glowing with the fierce, determined light of someone who actually reads the terms and conditions.

He began to read.

**

"Clause 1A, subsection 9," he read aloud, his voice a flat monotone. "'The user agrees that any and all spontaneous reality-warping is subject to a 3-5 business day approval period from the Celestial Zoning Committee'."

He paused. "Unacceptable."

"Clause 7B," he continued, his eyes scanning the microscopic text at an impossible speed. "'Side effects of chaos power may include, but are not limited to: reality allergies, spontaneous universe creation, uncontrollable dad jokes, mild existential dread, and a sudden, inexplicable craving for pineapple.'"

Yin Mode shuddered in the back of his mind.

"Clause 24C is... a mini-game?" Yang Mode said, a flicker of genuine confusion in his voice.

A tiny, 8-bit version of Pong appeared on the surface of the scroll, with a message: [DEFEAT THE PADDLE OF PARADOX TO UNLOCK THE CLAUSE ON TEMPORAL MANIPULATION.]

This was not a contract.

It was a nightmare.

**

Feng Yue, who had been watching this whole, surreal exchange, finally had enough.

"This is ridiculous," she snapped at the God of Chaos. "You can't be serious."

"Hey, I don't make the rules," the god said with a shrug. "Well, I do, but then I forget them. It's a whole thing."

He pointed a glitchy finger at a specific, almost invisible line of text in the middle of the scroll.

"Besides," he said with a wink. "You're in here too, sweetheart."

Yang Mode's eyes narrowed, focusing on the clause.

He read it aloud, his voice laced with a new, strange emotion.

"Clause 801.3: 'In the event of a cosmic emergency, a reality-ending paradox, or any situation in which the primary user is rendered incapable of responsible decision-making (e.g., is having a panic attack, is distracted by a shiny object, or is just being a general dumbass), all control of the chaos power will be temporarily ceded to his designated cosmic driver'."

He looked up from the scroll.

"The designated driver," he said, his golden eyes meeting Feng Yue's fiery ones, "is listed as... 'The hot phoenix girl who is clearly the only adult in the room'."

Feng Yue stared.

She was in his contract.

As his cosmic babysitter.

She was going to kill him. And the god. And possibly the concept of contracts themselves.

**

While Yang Mode was having a legal crisis and Feng Yue was having a rage-aneurysm, a new series of pop-ups began to appear on the scroll.

Bright, flashy, and deeply annoying.

[UPGRADE TO CHAOS 2.0 FOR ONLY 3 EASY PAYMENTS OF YOUR IMMORTAL SOUL!]

[HOT SINGLES IN YOUR DIMENSION WANT TO MEET YOU!]

[THIS ONE WEIRD TRICK CAN TRIPLE YOUR OMNIPOTENCE (CELESTIAL DOCTORS HATE HIM!)]

"Are those... pop-up ads?" Li Wei asked, his voice a mixture of awe and horror.

"Gotta monetize, my dude," the God of Chaos said. "The void gets expensive."

**

This was it.

This was the profound, cosmic truth at the heart of all creation.

The ultimate power in the universe... was a free-to-play mobile game.

With ads.

And a very, very long end-user license agreement.

Li Wei, the boy who had faced down gods and monsters, who had stared into the void and laughed, who had chosen to be a broken, beautiful mess...

Felt a profound, soul-crushing wave of pure, unadulterated disappointment.

He had thought the universe was a grand, epic story. A battle between good and evil, order and chaos.

But it wasn't.

It was just... bureaucracy.

It was paperwork. It was pop-up ads. It was fine print.

It was all so... mundane.

"Is this it?" he whispered, the question not to anyone in particular, but to the universe itself. "Is this all there is? Just... cosmic customer service?"

He looked at the endless scroll.

He looked at the glitchy, salesman god.

He looked at Feng Yue, who was now arguing with a pop-up ad about extended car warranties.

And he felt, for the first time, like maybe the void wasn't such a bad place to be.

**

The Original God of Chaos saw the look on his face.

The existential despair. The crushing weight of cosmic mediocrity.

And his salesman's smile faltered.

He sighed, a sound like a thousand browser tabs all closing at once.

"Okay, look, kid," he said, his voice suddenly losing its sleazy, corporate edge, becoming smaller, more genuine. "You want to know the real cosmic truth?"

He gestured to the endless scroll.

"I hate this thing," he confessed. "I've never read it. Not once."

He looked around, a guilty expression on his glitchy, smiley face.

"You want to know how 73% of the universe's glitches were created?" he whispered. "The weird physics bugs? The platypus?"

He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial hiss.

"I just scrolled to the bottom and clicked 'agree'."

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