Convergence

The desert was alive with fire and chaos.

Starfighters screamed across the sky, blaster fire lighting up the dunes like a hellish storm. The X-Wings and TIE Fighters twisted and dodged, engaging in a dogfight as the Fremen warriors below fought for their lives.

The Fremen sandworms—massive, undulating beasts of legend—roared from beneath the shifting sands, devouring ships whole when they got too close.

And then another army arrived.

John Carter of Mars and Dejah Thoris led the charge.

A horde of massive, green-skinned warriors—the legendary Tharks of Barsoom—rode into battle, their four-armed frames carrying weapons of Martian steel. Their war-cries echoed through the battlefield as they rushed the Fremen army, leaping impossible distances, their spears piercing through men and sand alike.

Paul Atreides, standing atop a ridge, gritted his teeth.

He turned to Mat Cauthon. "The sands are burning, Cauthon! What’s your call?"

Mat—still looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else—twirled his spear casually.

"Call?" he said with a smirk. "We’re surrounded by aliens, space wizards, and flying lizards. I say we run like hell—but I don’t think they’ll let us."

Paul sighed. "Then we hold."

He turned to his Fremen. "Death to the tyrants!"

"DEATH TO THE TYRANTS!" they roared in unison, charging forward.

Mat sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Well, guess that means it’s time for me to be an idiot."

He turned to Megumin.

"You’ve been bugging me about it all day," Mat said. "Fine. Blow something up."

Megumin's entire face lit up. "FINALLY!"

She slammed her staff into the sand, her cape billowing behind her as raw magical energy began to swirl around her.

Megumin began chanting, her power building like a hurricane—

And then the sky darkened as something massive swooped down.

A terrifying roar shook the battlefield.

Donkey—who had been running in circles and screaming various, highly creative expletives—froze.

His eyes widened.

"OH, HELL NO!" Donkey shouted. "OH, NO, NO, NO! NO WAY! IS THAT MY WIFE?!"

It was.

The Dragon from Shrek, her massive wings blotting out the sun, swooped down upon the battlefield like an avenging storm.

TIE Fighters and X-Wings screeched in distress as she unleashed a cone of fire that sent ships plummeting into the sand below.

The Green Martians were not spared—her razor-sharp claws tore through their ranks, sending warriors flying into the dunes like ragdolls.

Donkey, for the first time in his life, smiled with relief.

"That’s right!" he shouted. "THAT’S MY WOMAN! TEAR ‘EM UP, BABY!"

The Dragon ignored him.

Instead, she landed in front of Daenerys Targaryen, lowering her massive head.

The Mother of Dragons narrowed her violet eyes, stepping forward.

A silent moment passed between them.

Then Daenerys climbed onto the Dragon’s back.

"WHAT?!" Donkey screamed. "WHAT—WHAT—WHAT?!"

With a powerful leap, the Dragon took to the skies once more, this time with Daenerys riding her into battle.

Donkey collapsed onto his knees.

"I just lost my wife to a hot medieval dragon lady."

Steve stared at the sky in awe and then resumed fighting.

Megumin, grinning wildly, finished her incantation.

"EXPLOSION!!!"

The desert was swallowed in fire.

The explosion consumed the heavens.

For a brief, blinding moment, the entire desert was swallowed in a brilliant, golden firestorm. The air rippled and cracked, shockwaves ripping apart the sky as Megumin’s most powerful EXPLOSION spell detonated in full force.

The Star Wars fleet never stood a chance.

X-Wings, TIE Fighters, Star Destroyers—every single craft caught in the blast was obliterated in an instant, reduced to flaming wreckage, their shattered remains plummeting from the sky like a celestial graveyard.

And then the wreckage fell.

Flaming debris rained down upon the battlefield, crashing into both the Martian and Fremen armies, wiping out hundreds in an instant.

Screams filled the air as the battlefield erupted into chaos, the once-organized armies now thrown into complete disarray.

Diana caught the blur of metal a second before impact.

A burning Starfighter hull was plummeting directly toward Steve Rogers.

With Amazonian reflexes, she threw her lasso, looping it around his waist and yanking him out of harm’s way just as the wreckage slammed into the sand, exploding on impact.

Steve, breathing heavily, looked up at her in shock.

"You saved me."

Diana smirked. "I owed you one."

Before Steve could respond, another explosion sent shrapnel flying toward her.

This time Steve tackled Diana, shield raised, the vibranium absorbing the impact as blazing-hot metal ricocheted off its surface.

Diana blinked, momentarily surprised.

"You saved me," she said.

Steve grinned. "Guess we’re even."

Mat Cauthon had seen some ridiculous things in his life.

He had fought impossible battles, won duels he had no right winning, and survived against odds that should have killed him ten times over.

But carrying an unconscious teenage mage through a firestorm of death and destruction?

That was a new one.

Megumin was dead weight in his arms, completely passed out from the sheer energy she had unleashed.

All around him?

Fire, explosions, crashing ships, screaming soldiers.

And yet Mat somehow dodged every single piece of debris without even trying.

A flaming hunk of starship nearly crushed him—only for the wind to randomly shift, sending it just inches past him.

Blaster fire shot in his direction—but the gun misfired, sparing him.

A rogue spear flew at his head—but he tripped at just the right moment, narrowly avoiding death.

Mat sighed.

"Bloody flaming ashes, this is getting ridiculous."

He adjusted Megumin in his arms.

"If you ever wake up, kid," he muttered, "you owe me a drink."

Roland Deschain, Gunslinger of Gilead, had always trusted his instincts.

And right now his instincts told him that Donkey was important.

Not just in the 'talking animal' way—but something deeper. Something… tied to the Tower.

Which was why, when a massive flaming wreckage hurtled toward the screaming beast, Roland moved without hesitation.

He rolled under collapsing debris, scooped Donkey up in one arm, and dodged through the fire and chaos like a man possessed.

Donkey, still flailing, screamed, "WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA—WHERE THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM, CLINT EASTWOOD?!"

Roland ignored him, sprinting toward safer ground.

Something about this ridiculous creature mattered.

And Roland intended to find out why.

The Green Martians had once dominated the battlefield.

Now they were prey.

Daenerys, astride her new dragon, soared over the wreckage, eyes burning with cold fury.

The Green Martians who still lived looked up in horror—

And then she gave the command.

"Dracarys!"

The dragon roared, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the stragglers, reducing them to ash in seconds.

Daenerys, watching from above, allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

This was her element.

This was her war.

Paul Atreides, still seething from the battle’s chaos, had one goal now.

John Carter and Dejah Thoris were escaping.

He would not allow it.

Beside him, Chani and Stilgar sprinted through the dunes, their faces grim with fury.

The betrayers had caused too much damage.

The desert would claim them.

Paul’s fist clenched.

"After them!"

And with that the hunt began.

Sauron stood amidst the slaughter, a towering monstrosity of darkness and flame, his mace dripping with the viscera of fallen warriors.

And beside him stood Dracula.

The Lord of Vampires, a smirking shadow in the chaos, his red eyes gleaming as he licked the blood from his fangs.

Thor stood alone.

Kazuma had run.

Batman, Perrin, Tyrion, and Frankenstein’s Monster were dead.

The butcher’s yard of warriors lay in ruins, and the air was thick with the scent of burning flesh.

Dracula chuckled. "Did you truly think you could stand against us, Thunderer?"

Thor’s grip on Mjolnir tightened.

Lightning crackled through the air.

The clouds above churned and darkened, and the very earth trembled beneath his fury.

The vampire smirked. "Your thunder is impressive, but I have survived the wrath of gods before. I have bathed in their blood."

Thor smiled.

"Aye. But you have never met a god like me."

Before Dracula could even blink, Thor raised his hammer high—

And struck.

A blinding bolt of lightning screamed from the heavens, crackling with the fury of Asgard itself.

It struck Dracula square in the chest, the sheer force of divine light obliterating him on impact.

The vampire didn’t even have time to scream.

His body shattered into dust, his bones crumbling to ash, his soul scattered to the winds.

Nothing remained.

Thor lowered Mjolnir.

Sauron roared in fury.

The Dark Lord swung his massive mace, the sheer shockwave of the attack sending ruins crumbling around him.

Thor barely dodged, flipping into the air, his cape billowing as he hovered above the battlefield.

Sauron snarled.

"You are strong, Asgardian," he rumbled, his voice like cracking mountains, "but you are not beyond death."

Thor laughed.

"Perhaps! But I wonder—" His eyes blazed with white-hot lightning. "How well do you fare against a god?"

Before Sauron could react, Thor rocketed forward.

His shoulder slammed into the Dark Lord’s chest, and the force of the impact sent both of them hurtling into the sky.

The air screamed as they soared through the atmosphere, past the roiling storm clouds, past the highest peaks, past the limits of the mortal world.

Thor grinned madly, feeling the rush of battle surging through him.

Sauron, for the first time, struggled.

The higher they went, the thinner the air became, and Thor could hear the straining of metal as the Dark Lord’s armor groaned under the pressure.

"Not so mighty now, are you?" Thor sneered.

Sauron lashed out, swinging his mace in desperation, but Thor twisted mid-air, dodging the attack with effortless grace.

The stars gleamed around them, the cold biting at Sauron’s flames, snuffing out the dark fires that burned within him.

Thor lifted Mjolnir.

"This is where your darkness ends, wretch."

Sauron growled, reaching out with one last desperate swing—

And Thor brought the hammer down.

Mjolnir slammed into Sauron’s helm with the force of a supernova.

The Dark Lord’s skull crumpled like tin, the metal imploding inward, the sorcerous power that held him together shattered in an instant.

Sauron was no more.

His armor disintegrated, his body turned to nothing, his soul obliterated by divine might.

Thor, hovering alone in the stratosphere, exhaled sharply.

Then he turned, streaking back toward the battlefield.

There was still work to be done.

He needed to find the foolish mortals who had fled—Kazuma, Wednesday, and Aqua.

And when he did they would finish this war together.

This was getting out of hand.

Kazuma, Aqua, and Wednesday had stumbled blindly through the ruined castle, hearts pounding from their near-death escape. After watching Batman get obliterated, Perrin torn to pieces, and Thor take off into space with Sauron, Kazuma had done the only smart thing—

Run.

And when they finally burst through the castle doors, stepping into the cool night air, he let out a huge sigh of relief.

"We made it," he gasped. "We finally made it!"

Aqua immediately collapsed on the ground, wailing dramatically. "I’ve never been so scared in my entire life!"

Wednesday, completely unbothered, dusted off her black dress and regarded them both with mild contempt.

"We ran away from an active war zone," she said flatly. "I can only imagine how this will look in the history books."

Kazuma ignored her and flopped onto the grass. "I don’t care! We’re alive! That’s all that matters!"

Then a voice.

"Well, that depends on what you mean by alive."

Kazuma’s eyes snapped open.

Standing right in front of them was a man.

A bizarre man.

He had silver hair, a ridiculous grin, and a twinkle in his eyes that made Kazuma immediately suspicious. He was dressed like he had stolen his outfit from every time period in existence, his coat embroidered with symbols that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking.

Kazuma sat up. "Uh… who the hell are you?"

The man tilted his head. "Ah! How rude of me. I go by many names, but for now, you may call me Hoid."

Kazuma blinked. "That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard."

Hoid snorted. "Oh, believe me, I’ve heard worse. I once met a man who called himself Lord Humongous. Not much of a conversationalist, I must say."

Kazuma sighed. "Okay, whatever. What do you want?"

Hoid grinned. "Oh, I’m just a simple wanderer who happens to know that you’re terribly lost and in need of a new direction."

Wednesday narrowed her dark eyes. "And you just happen to know where we should go?"

"Naturally," Hoid said, sweeping his coat dramatically. "I am, after all, very good at being exactly where I need to be."

Kazuma sighed again. "Great. Another weird magic guy."

Aqua, who had been silently staring at Hoid, suddenly gasped in delight.

"OH MY GOD, YOU’RE LIKE ME!" she squealed.

Hoid blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You’re an exaggerated, annoying, absurdly powerful character who exists just to mess with people!"

Hoid’s grin widened. "Ah. A kindred spirit."

Kazuma groaned. "Oh no. No. This is bad."

Wednesday simply raised an eyebrow. "This might be the worst thing I’ve ever seen."

Kazuma rubbed his temples. "Alright, Hoid, what are our options?"

Hoid clasped his hands together. "Glad you asked!"

With a wave of his fingers, the air rippled, and suddenly, three glowing portals appeared before them, each one showing a different warzone.

"Option one!" Hoid gestured to the first portal. Inside, Superman and Iron Man were locked in a cosmic struggle, with reality breaking apart around them. "You could join the reality war! But let’s be honest—you wouldn’t last five minutes."

Kazuma paled. "Yeah. No thanks."

"Option two!" Hoid pointed to another portal, which showed the jungle battlefield, where Jon Snow was currently losing his mind and slaughtering everything in sight.

Kazuma stared. "Uh… what’s wrong with that guy?"

Hoid shrugged. "Reality hiccups can do that. Moving on!"

"Option three!" Hoid gestured toward the final portal, revealing the desert battlefield. Mat Cauthon stood in the midst of chaos, leading a ragtag army while Megumin lay collapsed in his arms, unconscious from her biggest explosion ever.

Kazuma froze.

He saw Megumin.

His face twitched.

"...She did it, didn’t she?" Kazuma muttered.

"She did," Hoid confirmed. "Wiped out an entire army. Quite impressive, really."

Kazuma sighed deeply.

"...Fine. Send us there."

Hoid smirked. "Are you sure? You don’t want to stop Superman from losing his mind?"

Kazuma snorted. "Nah. He can handle himself. I gotta go make sure my stupid archmage doesn’t get herself killed."

Aqua pumped her fists. "Yay! We’re going to the sane war!"

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "That is a statement I never thought I’d hear."

Hoid chuckled. "Then off you go!"

With a snap of his fingers, Kazuma, Aqua, and Wednesday vanished into the portal, landing smack in the middle of the desert battlefield.

Mat, still holding Megumin, stared at them in confusion.

Kazuma, lying in the sand, sighed. "Oh, I hate my life."

Hoid dusted off his coat.

"Well, that was fun."

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he stepped into the Reality War.

Rand al’Thor hovered in the air, screaming as the world tore apart around him.

Superman, struggling against the sheer force of madness, was trying to break free.

Hoid smiled.

"Ah," he murmured. "Now this should be fun."

Mat Cauthon was used to many kinds of madness.

But this was a new one.

One moment, he was holding an unconscious archmage in his arms, trying to figure out what the hell to do next—

And the next the weird kid in a green tracksuit appeared out of nowhere with a screaming blue-haired banshee and a goth girl who looked like she wanted to eat his soul.

Mat barely had time to react before the unconscious girl in his arms stirred.

Megumin blinked groggily, her vision swimming as she slowly processed her surroundings.

There was fire and wreckage all around. The desert was filled with the bodies of the fallen, starship debris still smoking from the crash sites. The wind howled, carrying the lingering echoes of battle.

And then she saw him.

Lying face-up in the sand, blinking up at the sky, looking just as confused as always.

"K-Kazuma?" Megumin whispered.

Kazuma turned his head just in time to see Megumin’s red eyes widen in delight.

Then she launched herself out of Mat’s arms and sprinted toward him.

"MEEEGAH!" Kazuma barely had time to get the word out before Megumin collided with him at full force, knocking the wind out of him and sending them both rolling through the sand.

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight, pressing her face into his chest as she all but smothered him in hugs.

"Kazuma! You’re here! You’re here! You’re actually HERE!"

Kazuma coughed. "I—ugh—yeah, I’m—ow, Megumin, I need air—"

"I missed you so much!" Megumin ignored his protests, clinging to him like a lifeline. "You should have seen my explosion! It was my biggest one yet! It was glorious! The skies burned, the world shook, and everything was reduced to ash in my wake!"

Kazuma, still trying to breathe, couldn’t help but laugh.

"You… heh… you really outdid yourself this time, huh?"

Megumin pulled back slightly, pouting. "AND YOU WEREN’T THERE TO SEE IT!"

Kazuma rubbed the back of his head, blushing slightly. "Well… I’m here now, aren’t I?"

Megumin beamed. "You better not leave me again, Kazuma!"

She nuzzled into him, and Kazuma, despite himself, felt a strange warmth in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, he had missed this little lunatic too.

Mat had seen many unsettling things in his life.

But the way this goth girl was looking at him?

That?

That unsettled him the most.

Her dark, piercing stare seemed to cut through his soul, as if she were dissecting him, analyzing him, trying to decide what he was.

And for a split second, his heart stopped.

Because for just one moment—just one flicker of an instant—

He thought she was Tuon.

His wife.

His ruthless, sharp-eyed, small, terrifying wife.

But no—

That was impossible.

Tuon had no hair, for one thing.

And this girl’s black braids framed her face so strikingly that he was almost angry at how much they suited her.

But that sharp, assessing gaze?

That knowing smirk that hinted at amusement but no real joy?

That was pure Tuon.

Mat gulped audibly, realizing too late that she had noticed.

Wednesday Addams was many things—morbid, calculating, impossible to unnerve—but what she wasn't prepared for was the way this strange man reacted to her presence.

He had flinched at the sight of her.

No one had ever stared at her like that—like they had seen her before, in another life.

She didn't understand it.

And for the first time in years, Wednesday felt a small, unwelcome flicker of uncertainty.

Mat cleared his throat. "Uh… you—uh…"

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "Speechless?"

Mat immediately wanted to die.

Before the moment could get any more unnerving, an obnoxious voice broke the silence.

"YO! WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WALK INTO?!"

Mat and Wednesday whipped their heads around to see Donkey standing nearby, his mouth wide open in complete disbelief.

Aqua, standing beside him, snorted loudly.

"Wait, wait, wait—what was that? Were you two about to have a moment?!"

Mat groaned. "Light, help me…"

Wednesday narrowed her eyes at Aqua, completely unfazed. "I don’t do moments. Moments are for people who experience emotion."

Aqua cackled. "OH PLEASE, YOU WERE TOTALLY STARING AT HIM! Is he your type? Huh? Huh?"

Mat turned a brilliant shade of red. "Okay! That’s enough of that!"

Kazuma, still pinned beneath Megumin, raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Mat? Blushing? That’s weird. That’s REALLY weird."

Mat rubbed his face, trying to reset his brain. "Alright! Alright! Enough of this! We still have a war to fight!"

Wednesday, as composed as ever, merely nodded.

Mat exhaled, pushing all distractions aside.

There was still a Mouse to be put down and a battle to be fought.

And if there was one thing Mat was good at…

It was battle.

Cinderella’s Castle was no longer a place of dreams.

The Magic Kingdom had been twisted.

The bright colors were muted, the fairy-tale wonder turned into something grotesque. The smiling tourists were long gone, replaced with stormtroopers marching in formation and shadowy figures lurking in the streets of what was once the happiest place on Earth.

And at the very heart of it all?

Mickey Mouse.

The Dark Sorcerer.

The True Emperor of All Stories.

He strutted into his throne room, his massive, exaggerated ears casting long shadows, his red shorts flowing behind him like a king’s cape.

He had never looked more powerful.

Or more terrifying.

Donald Duck and Goofy were already waiting for him.

They weren’t the same as they used to be.

These weren’t the friendly, bumbling idiots that families had loved for decades.

No.

These were war-hardened, twisted reflections of what they had once been.

Donald, hunched and grizzled, his beak twisted into a permanent scowl, held a stack of reports in his white-feathered hands. His voice had grown rougher, darker—filled with bitterness.

Goofy, once a towering goofball, now stood menacingly still, his cartoonish grin distorted into something unsettling. His eyes—those soulless, black pits—held no humor anymore.

They were evil.

But even they feared the Mouse.

Mickey climbed onto his massive throne, tapping his fingers against the armrest, and grinned maliciously.

"Alright, boys," he said, his voice still filled with that classic cheerful tone, though now laced with malice.

"Let’s talk business."

Donald cleared his throat and quacked aggressively as he began reading from the report.

"Alright, boss, so here's where we're at—”

The duck proceeded to do a recap of things so far.

The incursions have been mostly successful. Different franchises, mythologies, and stories are being absorbed into Disney’s new unified multiverse.

Most major threats have been eliminated.

Sauron had killed dozens of powerful figures before finally getting smashed to dust by Thor.

The Star Wars fleet was obliterated in Megumin’s insane explosion.

The multiversal armies are fragmented after so many reality-breaking battles.

Rand al’Thor is still alive. And more importantly? He’s out of control. His balefire rampage had ripped holes in reality itself. He had erased Anakin Skywalker from existence, which had completely disrupted Star Wars’ timeline. Now he was dragging other universes into the chaos.

Mickey chuckled darkly, leaning back in his throne.

"Heh. That little weirdo is doing our work for us, huh?"

Donald frowned. "Yeah, but he's unpredictable. He could tear apart the multiverse before we finish our takeover!"

Mickey waved his hand dismissively.

"Let him run wild. The more he breaks reality, the easier it’ll be for us to rewrite it."

Goofy, still standing silently, finally spoke up.

"Gorsh, Mick, but what about Mat Cauthon and Paul Atreides? They’re still leading an army. Shouldn’t we do somethin’ about that?"

Mickey’s grin widened.

"Eh. Let ‘em have their fun."

He kicked his feet up onto the armrest.

"They lost their momentum. They’re fragmented. Disorganized." He waved a hand lazily. "They’re not a real threat."

Donald quacked. "And what about Megumin?"

Mickey paused.

For a brief moment, his smile twitched.

Donald continued, "She took out an entire fleet, Mick. And from what I’ve seen? That was just her warming up."

Mickey narrowed his eyes.

"...We’ll deal with the brat later. Now to our next phase."

Goofy shifted uncomfortably.

"But uh… are you sure it's time to make another move? Maybe we should—"

He never got to finish.

Because Mickey moved.

Faster than anyone should be able to move.

One second, Goofy was standing there, talking.

The next?

Mickey’s white-gloved hand had smashed across his face with an inhuman force, sending Goofy crashing into the far wall.

Donald jumped in shock, feathers ruffling.

Goofy groaned, spitting out blood and a few teeth as he collapsed onto the ground.

"G-Gorsh…" he wheezed, coughing violently.

Mickey stood over him, his cheerful smile never fading, his eyes burning with malice.

"You better know your place, Goof. HAHA."

Goofy, bleeding onto the marble floor, twitched in pain as he forced himself into a submissive bow.

"Y-Yes, boss…"

Donald, fists clenched, let out an angry series of quacks, but didn’t move.

Mickey just laughed.

"That’s what I thought."

He turned, staring out over his twisted kingdom, his domain of stolen stories.

"They don’t get it yet, boys," he said, voice smooth, dripping with confidence.

"They think this is a war. They think they have a chance."

He tilted his head.

"But soon? They’ll see."

His eyes glowed unnaturally, his smile widening into something nightmarish.

"I’m not just gonna win."

His fingers twitched, power crackling through his tiny frame like a god preparing to reshape the universe.

"I’m gonna be the only one left."

He let out a high-pitched, maniacal laugh, echoing through the halls of his twisted kingdom.