Note: The story here is a crazy mesh of many, many, fandoms. It's the end of the world after all. The first chapter here however depicts an OC villain :3

Every day we expose ourselves to other worlds. These worlds are both hidden and seen, controllable and uncontrolled. They are at times much like our own world, sometimes almost identical, but other times so entirely unfeasible or outside of what we know that we cannot help but call them falsities, or stories. We surround ourselves with them, seeing them usually through the eyes of another; crying when they cry, laughing when they laugh, and sometimes picking favorites- convinced that one world or person is higher than the rest.

How do we see these worlds? And how is it that we pass them by every day, every hour, without ever realizing it? The answer is simple: we look in on them through windows. Not literal windows of course, but literary ones. Other worlds are present in books, stories, movies, and television shows; and they are just as real as we are. Whenever we read a fairy tale or that new best seller, watch a soap opera or a zombie apocalypse flick, we are looking in on other worlds. Some people may claim to create them, and they are the authors. To an extent they are creators, but for the most part what the authors are really truly doing is allowing for others to look in on one particular world that that they have access to, or a connection to. They may call the characters "theirs" or the particular unique elements of the world "their own" but in truth they have simply come to discover the world. Just as Columbus discovered the Americas, they were already there; he didn't make them, but he found them and told others.

There is certainly an element of control present. In discovering the Americas Columbus allowed for horses to populate, wars to erupt, brilliant minds to be born that would create cars, electricity or computers- while at the same time diseases like Small Pox or Malaria ravaged across the land killing thousands. And in the same way that America was changed by its discoverers a storybook world can be changed by its author. Which is where we turn our attention to a Mr. Jonathon Stone, a lowly television writer who was about to discover true power.

Mr. Stone was no one significant, and while in his writings he was talented- he was little noticed. He had written a few spare pieces of episodes of this show or that show, and once wrote nearly an entire episode of a popular science fiction television show (but only because the head writers were all out with the flu) but this did not amount to much. Or at least, it didn't until he discovered a tool not usually used for writing; a chess board. Found under a stack of others seemingly just like it, in a dingy antique shop where his Mother had dragged him so that he could theoretically move a rather large umbrella stand. The umbrella stand apparently dated back to 1892, and had been made by some quaint little carpenter in New Hampshire (a carpenter his aging mother and come to adore, as she had already purchased a table, 6 dining room chairs and a wardrobe that would make the gateway to Narnia blush when taste and simplicity are taken into account). Mr. Stone, now in his mid-thirties, drifted through the shelves of general junk occasionally stopping to look at one battered object or another until he came to it; the chess board.

It was at first glance much like the other chessboards in the shop; slightly tattered, with black and white squares made of a marble or granite type material (he'd never done well in science class) but despite times best efforts it was still lovely. It was roughly 5 inches tall with small drawers in the sides that when opened revealed some of the most beautiful chess pieces he had ever seen. Each piece had been hand carved out of wood with such unique, individual and, in a few cases, eerily familiar faces that his inner writer was blown away by the tacky board and small army of figurines.

"H-How much for this c-c-chess set?" He inquired, not even looking up from a figurine resembling a man in his late twenties; wearing a modern green shirt and holding one hand up towards the side of his head, a furrowed brow of concentration on his tiny carved face. The pedestal he stood on marked him as a knight, and was carved to resemble an upside down pineapple; the leaves giving artistic support to the green-shirted figure standing atop the flat base that was the pineapples bottom. Every piece had a unique pedestal; one was simple, standing atop a small blue box, while another was incredibly elaborate with a turtle, 4 elephants and even a small disc all stacked on top of each other.

"5 bucks" The antique salesman grumbled, gesturing towards a sign that very prominently read: ALL BOARD GAMES 5 DOLLARS.

"Oh, y-yes- of c-c-course, thank you" Mr. Stone stammered. "I-I'll take it"

Which is of course the pinnacle point, the point at which all hell breaks loose and the world quakes in fear of what is to come. That chess board was never intended to be sold, let alone placed in an antique shop. And it most certainly was not supposed to be used by mortal hands. No, Mr. Stone had found a chess board that was a blatant plant, probably placed by some all-powerful being with a grudge; or another just looking for a little fun or excitement- which always goes so well, just ask some Shinigami.

This is a chessboard designed by gods, for gods, and could be used to make almost anything happen. It was a writers dream, especially a writer who lived in a world where his mother was naggy, his thinning hair kept him single, and a hopeless stutter left him with such little self-esteem that the possibility of playing GOD, of having POWER twisted his mind and started a chain reaction which would, inevitably, nearly result in the complete and utter takeover of the multi-verse.