Silhouette of a Wilted Flower

I am the ruler of everything

Where am I?

The world disappeared in a flash. Omori couldn't make any sense of it. He was just about to sit on the throne of red hands. He came mere seconds within reach of ruling over everything, finally wresting control of Headspace away from the last shreds of defiance hiding inside the dreamer.

Actually, no...

One hurdle had occurred. A certain shadow, with glowing white eyes.

It attacked the dreamer. Briefly, Omori felt the strangest sensation, like the dreamer had suddenly been pulled out of him by an angry force. The shadow wrapped his ugly hands around the dreamer's neck. Red hot pain flashed across everything. Then, there was only darkness. Omori had no idea where he was or what had happened to the dreamer.

This couldn't be good. Whatever the shadow did, the outcome was himself standing alone in this place of nothing, unable to ascend the throne that rightfully belonged to him. Total control over the dreamer's body vanished just like that out of his reach. Who could possibly have done this? Who could even have the power to cripple him?

Omori wandered the darkness for what felt like hours. He kept expecting someone familiar to show up. Where was Kel? Aubrey? Hero? Mari? Basil?

The darkness felt to him to be an all-permeating fabric that had been thrown over the colorful shapes and textures of Headspace. It reduced that beautiful world to this senseless void. No matter how he tried to make sense of it, he couldn't find any reason why this place should exist.

The throne belonged to him! Nobody should have ever been able to stop him from achieving total power.

Anger. Pure, furious anger overwhelmed Omori.

The dreamer had tasked him, Omori, with burying the truth. The dreamer gave him absolute power over this world. Omori knew, he had done an excellent job of that. He had wiped out any trace of the truth's existence. Every time the truth threatened to attack the dreamer's conscience, Omori had been the one to erase it with his own hand. He would erase the whole world and start all over again if he needed to.

Once he ascended that throne, he would become even stronger. He could remove the truth permanently and finally fulfil the dreamer's hope of returning to a brighter world.

Had the dreamer abandoned him?

No. Impossible.

Raw, unstoppable power surged through Omori, fueled by his growing rage. He desired to obliterate this void. He would ascend the throne and wipe out this farce of a resistance once and for all. Nothing, not even the dreamer himself, could stand in his way.

Channeling that power inside his body, he summoned Red Hands to come to his side.

Red hands surged out of the black sky, swarming down towards him to writhe by his side and await his command.

Destroy this emptiness.

Destroy this farce.

The hands became a red tornado. They descended everywhere, tearing apart this void with the fury of a thousand indignant Sweethearts. They reached into the darkness, hungry jaws snapping at the fabric of reality, energized with the power to shatter anything that stood in their way—

The red hands stopped their rampage and calmly delivered a shadowy figure to Omori's side.

What?

Why did they stop their destruction?

Red hands shaped like ribbons tied around the shadow boy, fastening his arms and legs against his body to prevent him from escaping. Before Omori could even ask, another pair of red hands floated behind Omori and pushed him towards the shadow even though he did not command the red hands to do such a thing.