Part 1:
Eight figures stand in the dimly lit room. Flickering shadows dance along the walls as wax drips down the side of nine candles. In the middle of the room sits a picture of a young man wearing a suit. Things were different back then. He was alive back then.
“Why the fuck is everything so dark?” Steve’s voice cuts through the darkness like End Master through Coin’s mom.
Chris swallows yet another sandwich before mumbling, “We had Maya decorate.”
“You stupid fuck!” Steve slaps the sixth sandwich from Chris’ hand. “You don’t need to decorate to have light. We invented light bulbs for that. Shit.” He looks around the room. “Why am I even here?”
Chris smiles as he opens a bag of chips. “Free lunch.”
The Irishman nods. “Good point.” He glances at the picture. “I’m sorta surprised Wibbons isn’t pissing on that photo.”
“I think he drew a mustache and glasses on instead.”
On the other side of the room, Mizal yawns, not having nearly enough sleep since she has a real-life job (that actually pays). End Master doesn’t yawn. Gods don’t need sleep. They try to stay away from the idiots and homos of the room.
“Fitting,” says the most powerful woman in CYS history.
“How so?” The dark lord’s cloak blends into the darkness. Only his phone stands out, illuminating his hands. When asked, he didn’t say who was on the other line. Probably Cthulhu.
“Ebon was cannibalized by twelve savages. Biblical judgement on the foolish heathen. Twelve’s a good number anyway.”
“I heard they got indigestion.” The backdoor slams causing everyone to jump except for End Master. He even scares fear. “The fuck?”
Maya clears her throat. “I think that was Wibbons running out the door. Anyone know why?”
No one could answer until Mizal chuckles. “He’s retarded. That’s reasoning enough.”
Everyone agreed.
__________________________________
Wibbons runs through the streets towards the library with all his might. Mizal likes the number twelve. Ebon is dead. Obviously, that means Mizal wants to have twelve council members now. He should’ve realized that earlier.
The young (wonderfully bearded and eyebrowed) man smiles. This will please Mizal. Maybe then she will accept him as a worthless piece of shit rather than barely better than fucking Coins.
He spots a large line of people, so he stops. A woman with a flock of chickens sits at a desk. She signs book after book. Wibbons waives. She looks away, hoping that he doesn’t approach; however, he approaches.
“Your book hit bestseller too, Sabley?” he asks.
She nods. “Yeah, it’s my third. It won an award by End Master too.” It’s just too bad she never won a trophy yet, not by anyone. Even though several people were given a trophy for less, poor Sabley never received any personal ones. Just ones for achievement.
“Groovy!” says Wibbons, undaunted by the supior writer sitting before him. “Hey, since Ebon’s dead and all, I’m trying to fill his position. Oh, and Mizal wants twelve council members now too. You wanna join?”
Sabley scratches her head. A chicken squawks as she lays an egg. “Yeah. Sounds great to me, but are you sure it’s being changed to twelve?” He nods like a bobble-head. She cringes at the site, being reminded of far too many hoosiers, hicks, and rednecks. “Well, I have a daughter.”
“Congratulations!” He claps. A rooster drops a giant shit on his foot, but Wibbons doesn’t notice.
“No, not like that. She’s adopted and a pretty good writer too. Maybe try her next? She’s right now raising money for puppies at the animal shelter. It’s so wholesome! And, she’d be a wonderful new member, especially since the council lost their previous young teen girl.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Excuse me? Um… Maya’s still there.”
Sabley smiles and looks right at the man. “I wasn’t talking about Maya.”
His shoulders droop, but he nods. Wibbons runs off to the animal shelter, still fully intent on fulfilling Mizal’s wishes. When he arrives, he spots her immediately and his jaw drops. In all CYS’ history, there has never been someone like this.
AYT waives at Wibbons as the halo hovers over her head, a true sign of wholesomeness. She holds a dog in her hands, a corgi mutt.
“Can I ask you a favor?” He squints from the light emanating from her halo.
“Sure. I just finished the fundraiser.” She looks down at the dog. “I also just saved this little guy from getting put down. They said he’s defective, but all life is precious.”
His eyes almost melt from wholesomeness overexposure, but Wibbons keeps his resolve. “How come he’s-”
“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE!!!!” The dog’s piercing, grating screech tears through everyone’s eardrums, but AYT refuses to drop the dog. What if it would hurt its foot? (SO WHOLESOME!)
“See what I mean?” she asks as Wibbons’ eardrums bleed. “But, I won’t give up on him, no matter what.”
Suddenly, the dog glows. AYT smiles as the animal floats out of her hands. For a moment, Wibbons stares dumbfounded before the form of the dog shifts. Arm, legs, hair instead of fur. A (fortunately clothed) man appears in place from where the dog once floated. AYT claps in joy.
“Thank you!” he explains. Seeing the others’ perplexed faces, he realizes an explanation is due. “I was placed under a curse by a furry. I’m actually a decent writer and would love to call this place my home. Clearly, anywhere with a person as wholesome as AYT can’t be all bad. Also, I’m not retarded about three minutes a day.”
“Yes!” shouts Wibbons. Three minutes a day? Those numbers are nearly unheard of outside of the mods or the greats of CYS. He can hardly manage two seconds himself. “I’m recruiting for the Council of Nine since we need Twelve members. AYT, you’re wholesome, so you’d be great! You’re the direct antithesis of everything we stand for! Plus, your mom just joined too. Corgi.” He turns to the man. “You say you are not retarded for three minutes a day?”
The man nods. “Yep. Maybe I could host a fun little contest too as thanks to these people.”
“Then, how about you join us too.”
“Sure.”
“Great, let’s go get Sabley. Just one more member to…”
Wibbons stares off into the distance. There, he sees a young lady painting an unused billboard. Her clothes are in tatters and she has two bug antennas, but it’s the painting that captivates the man. END MASTER IS AMAZING!!! it reads.
“Who is she?” he asks.
“Her?” AYT scratches her head. “I think she’s a recent immigrant.”
Wibbons continues to stare at the painting. Before an idea sparks in his mind. The young woman stops for a moment since her cellphone chirps. She takes it out of her pocket and quickly texts something before returning to her praise of End Master.
“I know our final member.”
