Rick Wyllis had punched a star, survived a trial by the Council of Cosmic Weirdos, and suplexed the very concept of subtlety.
So obviously, he decided to celebrate.
With a party.
Or more specifically…
He accepted an invitation to the Carnival of Concepts.
What's the Carnival of Concepts?
Glad you asked.
It's a once-every-eon event that exists outside of time, hosted by ideas that put on hats and dance around like drunk philosophers.
It's where the personification of Irony serves cotton candy next to Entropy doing karaoke.
Where Metaphor arm-wrestles Symbolism.
And where Reality itself is given a break and told to "go sit down, you're being too loud."
Rick got the invite when a squirrel handed him a ticket made of thunder.
He took it, naturally.
He never questioned the squirrel.
Welcome to the Carnival
The tent was the size of an idea too big to think about all at once. The colors weren't just colors—they were emotions you hadn't felt yet.
Inside, Rick found:
A rollercoaster run by Impulse Control Issues.
A bouncy house filled with Existential Crises.
A juggler who tossed flaming swords labeled "The Timeline."
Rick loved it.
He tried every ride twice.
Then he met her.
She was playing blackjack with Probability and cheating with a grin.
Hair like starlight dipped in ink. Golden eyes that sparkled like secrets. She wore mismatched socks and had a tiny demon curled around her shoulder like a living scarf.
"Hi," she said, not looking up. "You're Rick Wyllis. Sequence 8. Overenthusiastic Puncher. Cosmic accident. Puncher of metaphors."
Rick blinked.
"You know me?"
"I bet on you three realities ago. You cost me a win. I liked that."
"...Are you flirting or threatening me?"
"Both. Name's Lucky. Technically, Lady Luck. Technically also a high-tier demon of coincidence and plot twists."
She winked.
"I'm the reason dice sometimes land on edge."
The Curse
As Rick sat down to chat-flirt-duel with Lucky, someone threw confetti made of hexes into the air.
It hit him square in the face.
BOOM.
Curse activated.
Now, every time Rick told a lie, he'd sneeze violently and shoot out sparks.
"What's wrong?" Lucky asked, tilting her head.
"Nothing," Rick said.
AH-CHOO—BZZT—WHOOSH!
He set fire to a balloon shaped like Schrödinger's cat.
"…Ah," she smiled. "Truth sneeze curse. Classic Carnival prank."
Rick sniffled. "I hate everything about this. Especially emotions."
ACHOO!
A nearby clown turned into a duck.
Lucky giggled. "You're fun."
Meanwhile, Trouble Brews
Deep in the carnival's shadow tent, a figure watched Rick and Lucky with malicious interest.
Conceptus the Binder, the anthropomorphic idea of Narrative Control—an ancient force who hated unpredictable elements.
Like Rick.
Like Lucky.
Like chaos.
"New Sequence," Conceptus hissed. "Unfiled. Unfated. Unleashed. Must be corrected."
He pulled a long quill made of dried destinies and began to write a correction.
Back at the Carnival Midway
Lucky dragged Rick to the fortune-telling tent.
"Don't look into the crystal ball," she whispered. "It shows spoilers."
Inside sat a three-headed fortune teller made of:
Foreshadowing,
Plot Armor, and
A Suspiciously British Narrator.
They all stared at Rick.
"Ah," said Plot Armor. "The Chaotic Constant. The Punch That Shouldn't Be."
Foreshadowing leaned in. "You'll soon face a trap shaped like a choice and a choice shaped like a joke."
Suspiciously British Narrator cleared his throat. "Also, someone close to you will betray your expectations. Probably on a Tuesday."
Rick blinked. "Can I punch the spoilers?"
"Only once," they said in unison.
Rick grinned. "Deal."
Suddenly: Attack!
A massive quill made of law and narrative slammed into the carnival from the sky.
Carnival rides twisted.
The concept of Fun screamed.
Conceptus had arrived.
"I'm here to reformat you," he roared, "into a compliant narrative."
Rick stood.
"Buddy, I am the narrative now."
Final Battle: Rick and Lucky vs Conceptus
Conceptus conjured plot chains and binding arcs.
He summoned tropes and clichés as weapons—plot holes that swallowed thought, character arcs turned into cages.
Rick summoned nothing.
He punched the tropes.
He suplexed the story.
Lucky warped probability, making attacks miss by inches or backfire into kittens.
"Your sequence has no order!" Conceptus screamed.
Rick wiped blood from his nose.
"It has heart. And a really good left hook."
He punched Conceptus directly in the punctuation.
The sky hiccupped.
Narrative cracked.
And with one final sneeze-powered headbutt, Rick shattered Conceptus' formatting quill into glitter.
Aftermath
The Carnival cheered.
Entropy crowd-surfed.
Foreshadowing threw rice.
Lucky handed Rick a sparkly lollipop. "Wanna go mess with causality together?"
Rick grinned.
"Do I punch it, or date it?"
Lucky winked. "Both."