The Last Great Time War: part III

Ruin

Author's note: the picture I added does not do justice at all to what I'm trying to describe, but it should help you get some idea of what I mean.

The Renegade awoke on a cold, hard floor of...something. Was it stone? Metal? Earth? He couldn't tell. Despite being cold and hard, it almost didn't seem real. Nothing in that place did. Everything was uncertain, shifting. It could be as solid as it wanted, yet it was still insubstantial.

His whole body ached as he pulled himself to his feet. He looked around him and saw various constructions and buildings of every size, shape, and form. They all had one thing in common: they were impossible. Straight vertical angles connected parts at different horizontal distances. Pillars scattered everywhere that supported straight beams. Things far in the distance cut in front of things in the foreground. Slopes and steps went in endless circles, always going up or down but never getting any higher or lower. Wherever things could not touch, they did. The Renegade felt that the laws of distance, size and shape were not forgotten here, but deliberately abused.

He made his way to the tall citadel ahead. It featured more impossibilities than any structure. So many that even M.C. Escher would not be able to wrap his mind around it. It had to be the palace of the Could've Been King. He was expected there. He could feel it.

The Renegade had to walk for several hours to safely navigate the scrambled geometry. Distance and scale were warped in such a way that a single misstep could send him miles in the wrong direction, put him on a path that would have him walking in circles forever, or even rip him in half. As he went, he felt many an evil presence watching him. There must have been millions of Meanwhiles and Neverweres there, but all were hidden and unseen. It was as silent as the tomb. Still he knew they were there, watching from their shadows, crevices, and darkened windows.

At last the Renegade arrived at a colossal blank wall. It was one of the things in the background that overlapped something closer, so he just walked around it and found himself inside the tower.

The room was big enough to hold several large skyscrapers. It was lined with the same impossible geometry as the outside, but was much more intricate and elaborate. It was packed with Neverweres, the ghastly black wraiths whispering to each other like the sound of a million spiders crawling over hissing pipes in an old house. The memories of the eyes they never had were all staring at the Renegade. There were Meanwhiles, too, unseen but present in the moments between moments.
At the end of the room was a colossal throne, and on that throne was the Could've Been King. He was holding a staff with a fork on the end. The base of the fork had two prongs, but the end had three. From the ends issued a torrent of pitch black flames that devoured all matter and time that they touched. On his head, if he had one, was a crown with a paradoxical symbol. Its true form could not be seen, but it looked like a clock with both no hands and infinitely many hands, or an hourglass with no sand and sand flowing in both directions.

"Welcome, Renegade, to my Palace of Paradox!"

"On behalf of all life in existence," said the Renegade, "I ask you to call off your attack against my Sanctuary and against creation!"

"You are a bold one," said the Could've Been King. "I will not give in to your demands. You are not in a position to demand anything."

"I would like to make an offer. You must be willing to talk or else I would not be alive right now."

The Could've Been King laughed. It was not a sound that any corporeal being could make. It was a sound that would drive any ordinary being mad with terror. The Renegade felt a chill like liquid nitrogen run down his spine and all his hairs stand on end. He felt the urge to run, run from this being whose very existence was an affront to the very nature of reality, but he held his ground.