Into the Unknown

[Red]

Darkness swallowed the swordsman whole as the light from the portal behind him shrank until nothing was left of it.

The Fifteenth Universe was now behind him, and before him lay the universe beyond all universes; even to the Gods this was uncharted territory, often presumed a mere myth. Well, myth no more.

Trunks went to move. His muscle flexed to carry his left leg forward, but a force rejected him, and struck his entire body with paralysis.

What the fu— the swordsman's thoughts paused as a silhouette shifted though the pitch-black, glimmering a metallic tint through the blind scenery. It was a grin, a large grin, which phased in and out of picture from angles that made Trunks' head dart around like a bewildered compass.

He focused his Ki on determining the origins of the spectacle. Nada. His senses came up emptier than a handle of scotch amongst a room of drunks.

My name is Omni.

The voice pierced through the swordsman's mind. It was childish in tone, but authoritative.

This is not the world you know. This is the Omniverse. You interest me, so I have made you part of it. The Omniverse is a place that reflects the wishes of those who are part of it. But! There are rules. I will explain them only once, so listen carefully.

The words Omni spoke perplexed Trunks (made him part of it—as in only a few select are permitted entrance into the Omniverse?). He quickly pushed the question to the back of his thoughts, for the sake of not missing a single detail of what the adolescent deity had to say.

The silhouetted grin dispersed into splash of white energy and slithered through the darkness like a rowdy rollercoaster route, traveling down towards the swordsman. A short, slender figure instantly formed as the energy struck the ground in front of Trunks. His eyes popped open and teeth gritted; the figure's face was blank, other than a wide grin spread across its face.

This is Omnilium. It’s what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours. But you will need more than this. If you desire it enough, you will find it. You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most.

The figure telepathically said, extending a balled fist towards Trunks. Omni's fingers blossomed open, revealing an orb so pure in light it glowed all colors of the rainbow like the opposite side of a prism.

The Omnilium levitated from Omni's palm and smoothly hovered over to Trunks, stopping short of touching his trench coat.

You will not be alone in the Omniverse. There are others. Of course, they, too desire Omnilium. Do not fear death. For as long as you interest me, you will be reborn.

“That’s all you need to know right now. You’ll figure out the rest soon enough.

Interest you? Trunks asked, but Omni simply flashed another grin.

“I'll be watching . . . and waiting,”

the figure replied, audibly.

The orb shot into Trunks' chest, forcing a shuddery groan out of him; an uncomfortable sensation circulated through his extremities, as if something bubbling under his skin. He doubled over folded his arms across his abdomen, tightly clasping his hands on his forearms.

“What's happening to me?” Trunks cried, but as he tilted his head upward the realization settled in that Omni had vanished. “Dammit!”

He went to swallow, but his body denied him, and instead surprised him with a spontaneous flood of vomit, arching out of his mouth like a sculpted fountain statue. Green and red, and blue and indigo, and yellow and orange—all colors identical to the orb's—exited from his esophagus, glowing vividly between on the ground in front of him.

After the puke subsided, Trunks attempted to stand, but as he fixed his posture he became light-headed. The lights from his portrait of fluids fumed his vision until it turned blurry. Then black.

He collapsed, and slammed against the ground with a harsh thud. The floor cracked, allowing flames of white light to seep through and bring light to the dark realm. They grew stronger, and as they did, the darkness transformed into light; the realm went polar-opposite, from black to white.

[Red]

Trunks awoke to his new reality—white stretching as far as the eye could see, from the sky to the floor, all the same shade of purity—and surveyed it with curiosity; other than a porcelain fountain spraying mists of water, the realm appeared completely blank. He imagined this is what the beginning of time must have looked like (an untarnished canvas, not yet tainted by the stroke of a painter's stroke).

Definitely not in Kansas anymore, Trunks, he said to himself as he arose from the ground, wiping what little dirt scuffed his trench-coat with a brush of his palm. His stomach still felt like churned potatoes, but it was a tolerable discomfort; and though his Ki felt unbalanced, his energy was left untampered.

“Let's see if my little gizmo works.” He reached across his belly and undid the belt buckle on his coat, retrieving a circular object from within an inside compartment. His thumb pressed the button on the side, and the dead screen came to life. Horizontal and vertical lines ran through the screen, illuminated in an emerald green. A yellow dot pulsed in the upper-right corner, near three o'clock, but Trunks was looking for a stable red dot.

“Crap.” He tucked the gadget back into its compartment, and redid his coat's belt. “And my Ki is all outta whack, so I can't sense anything.”

[Red]

Omni told the truth when he mentioned the Omniverse having its own rules. The laws of physics as Trunks knew them obviously did not apply here (what other explanation remained?). The swordsman came from a long-line of engineers, with minds nearly perfected through pass-downs from earlier generations; he made his God locater flawlessly, for damn sure.

He took a long blink, focusing on his frustration and compressing it into a single, exasperated sigh. Keep your cool (if only he had such patience as a teen).

The sound of his boots against the white ground echoed like a steady tap dance routine. The swordsman approached the fountain, peering over its brim to catch a glance at the water. It was clear, just as Earth's is.
The mist shooting out from the center of the fountain grazed his face as he neared, glossing it slightly heavier than a light sweat.

With every step, the peculiarity of the fountain became increasingly obvious. The shape of it fell between the categories of quadrilateral and pentagon, strongly bending in one of its sides, but never to a true angle. It's foundation seemed impossible; to the swordsman's trained mind, the fountain grew from the ground—the absence of worker markings made it a fact. A closer look into the depths of the fountain proved to reveal no signs of a propulsion system, which meant the water spewing from its center was autonomous.

I gotta get a sample of this water. He leaned over the side and extended his index finger into the fountain. A trio of rings vibrated out from the contact, enlarging outwardly. “Interesting,” he murmured as he fixed his posture.

“Aren't you a curious one,” a voice snickered from behind.

Trunks swirled around, reaching for his blade all in the same motion, but nothing was there. His eyes ping-ponged around, trying to catch hold of where the voice came from. “Who's there!?” he yelled. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself!”

“Curious and demanding?”

Trunks turned to his left, freeing his sword from its sheathe and slashing it through the figure, in one crescent swipe. Water splashed across the swordsman's clothes as the tip of his sword clanked against the ground.

“What the fuck?” Trunks said as he looked at his attacker.

“I'm sorry, but toothpicks don't harm water,” the figure quipped as the two halves of his body fused back together at the shoulder and torso.

The water being balled its fist and drilled it into the swordsman's face, prying the swords from his grasp; a following uppercut sent him airborne, and into the fountain.