The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

[Warning: Old, unedited draft]

Squishy has not left. In fact, it has somehow made itself more comfortable. The interdimensional rift it emerged from is still floating ominously in the sky, but now it's… smaller? More compact? As if Squishy decided to shrink its horrifying, incomprehensible mass just enough to be "polite." Unfortunately, it is still staring at Argider with far too many glowing eyes.

Meanwhile, the palace is in full catastrophe mode. The high priest is currently screaming into a holy relic. The nobles who haven't fainted are loudly debating exile, divine smiting, and whether Squishy's presence is an omen of doom or just an unfortunate Tuesday.

And in the center of it all, Argider is pinching the bridge of her nose, vibrating with barely restrained suffering.

"Alright. Status report," she mutters. "Is reality stable?"

Faeralys glances at the rift. "Define stable."

"The sun still exists."

"For now."

Argider exhales sharply. "Cool. And what about the High Priest?"

Esmeralda, still glaring at Squishy, gestures toward the man, who is currently curled into the fetal position, whispering, "The gods have abandoned us."

"Great. So that's a no on divine intervention."

Fialova, who has been feeding Squishy some kind of glowing magical crumbs, hums. "I mean, do we really need it? Squishy's been very well-behaved!"

Squishy chirps in agreement. The sound vibrates across dimensions. Somewhere in the distance, a comet abruptly changes trajectory.

Argider whips around. "Stop feeding it."

"But it likes it!"

"I do not care if it likes it, we are not keeping it as a pet."

The mysterious figure—who has been enjoying this entire disaster far too much—chimes in. "Actually, it may be too late for that."

Argider, in the weary tone of someone who has already given up, asks, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Faeralys begins, flipping a page in her tome, "Squishy has displayed signs of imprinting."

"…Imprinting."

"Yes. As in, it may now view you as its primary attachment."

Squishy wiggles its incomprehensible form and lets out a fond screech that distorts reality for precisely 3.4 seconds.

Argider stares at the sky. "Cool. Great. Just what I needed. A cosmic stalker."

Esmeralda, deadpan, says, "We could still kill it."

Fialova gasps. "No murder."

"Fine," Esmeralda grumbles. "What's the alternative?"

Faeralys adjusts her glasses. "We could attempt to bargain with it."

Argider sighs, staring up at her new problem. "Alright, fine. If it wants to stay, it has to follow rules."

Squishy vibrates with eldritch glee.

Fialova claps. "Yay! Cosmic horror house rules!"

Esmeralda mutters, "We are all going to die."

Later on, Argider sets "house rules" for Squishy, which it obeys in ways that are technically correct but still terrifying.

The nobles, priests, and general public now believe Argider is the chosen of the horror, leading to political chaos.

Squishy, being an incomprehensible entity, starts causing "accidents" that alter fate and reality in horrifyingly convenient ways.
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The gods, finally noticing the mess, send a divine envoy to fix things… only for Squishy to adopt them too.

Fialova is still determined to train Squishy like a pet, much to Esmeralda's horror.

The air in the palace was thick with an overwhelming sense of something being deeply, profoundly wrong. Argider, arms crossed, glared at the wriggling, many-eyed enigma floating before her. Squishy blinked at her with all thirty of its luminous eyes, its gelatinous form pulsing in what it likely assumed was an apologetic manner. The problem? Squishy had been given a rule: No altering reality.

Unfortunately, Squishy had interpreted this in the worst way possible.

Squishy did not change reality—it simply fixed things that were already "wrong." And since Squishy did not adhere to mortal perceptions of what was right or wrong, the results were… catastrophic.

Problem #1: The Nobles Had Become Too Efficient.

A group of nobles stood before Argider, their expressions eerily blank. Gone were the usual bickering debates about taxation and land rights. Now, whenever a decision was raised, they immediately agreed. No arguments, no bribery, no long-winded speeches—just eerie, seamless consensus.

"The Saintess shall now be the Eternal Cosmic Overseer of the Kingdom," they intoned in perfect unison.

Argider recoiled. "What."

"It is the most efficient course of action," one of the nobles explained flatly. "By eliminating political bureaucracy, governance can be streamlined under one absolute authority. You."

Argider turned sharply to Faeralys. "Do something."

Faeralys, who had been taking notes, simply shrugged. "Well, technically, it is efficient."

Argider buried her face in her hands.

Problem #2: Fialova's New "Gift."

Across the room, Fialova cooed over a peculiar egg that Squishy had presented her with. The egg pulsated and emitted an occasional low hum, distorting light around it as though it were bending space itself.

"It's adorable," Fialova murmured, knitting a tiny sweater that shifted between dimensions as she worked.

Faeralys frowned, studying the egg. "That's not an egg. That's a pocket of condensed non-existence."

Fialova beamed. "Then it's extra special."

Argider stared at her. "We are not hatching that."

"Too late," Fialova said cheerfully. "It's already vibrating more intensely than before!"

Argider groaned.

Problem #3: The High Priest Was "Better" Now.

Once upon a time, the High Priest had been a man of faith, given to panicked wailing at the slightest disruption. After his unfortunate encounter with Squishy, however, he had become… eerily serene.

He now sat cross-legged on the palace floor, gazing into nothing with the peacefulness of someone who had either reached enlightenment or had their brain completely emptied.

When questioned, he simply smiled. "I understand everything now."

Argider poked Faeralys. "Fix him."

"There's nothing to fix," Faeralys replied, watching the High Priest with vague interest. "He's experiencing divine comprehension."

"That's worse."

The High Priest turned his head slowly. "Worse is simply a perception. There is only existence, and Squishy has shown me the way."

"Oh no," Argider whispered. "A cult is going to form, isn't it?"

Problem #4: The Weather Was No Longer Weather.

Outside the palace, the sky cycled through various unnatural states. One moment, the sun blazed high and golden. The next, fish floated peacefully in the air as if the sky had been transformed into an ocean. A noble, stepping outside to complain about the humidity, was promptly buried in an avalanche of spontaneous snow.

Argider slammed her hands on the table. "Squishy."

Squishy warbled innocently.

Problem #5: Esmeralda Had Had Enough.

Esmeralda was currently chasing Squishy through the palace, her sword swinging wildly as she screamed various threats of destruction.

"I AM GOING TO BANISH IT," she shrieked as her blade sliced through empty air. Squishy effortlessly phased out of existence before reappearing behind her, blinking at her curiously.

"Esmeralda, calm down," Fialova protested. "It's just misunderstood!"

"IT NEEDS TO BE ELIMINATED."

Argider rubbed her temples. "Squishy," she growled. "You are NOT helping."

Squishy chirped. The floor momentarily transformed into an infinite abyss before returning to normal.

Faeralys, ever unbothered, flipped a page in her book. "Technically, it thinks it's helping."

"I CAN SEE THAT."

"The problem," Faeralys continued, "is that Squishy perceives reality differently. The only way to stop this is to redefine what it considers 'correct.'"

Argider took a deep breath, then slammed her fist on the table. "Then we define it. Right now. Before I wake up tomorrow as the Eternal Cosmic Overseer of a kingdom where rivers flow backward."

Everyone turned to Squishy.

Squishy hummed. A chandelier briefly turned into a jellyfish.

Possible Resolutions (None of Which Sound Good)

Squishy Agrees to "Learn."

Squishy offers to study mortals to better understand what is "correct." Unfortunately, its attempts at learning result in disturbingly perfect versions of everyday things, including people.

The Egg Hatches.

Whatever emerges is definitely not normal. Fialova is delighted. Esmeralda is horrified. Faeralys is taking notes.

The Gods Notice.

A divine representative finally descends… only to have Squishy immediately latch onto them as a new friend.

The Cult Becomes a Problem.

Inspired by the High Priest's newfound enlightenment, people start worshipping Squishy instead of the gods. Argider now has an entirely new crisis to deal with.

Squishy's "Correction" Becomes Uncannily Perfect.

No more random chaos—everything is too perfect. Squishy is still warping reality, but now in ways that feel deeply unnatural.

Argider exhaled slowly. "Squishy."

Squishy blinked.

"We need to talk."

The palace fell silent. Squishy wriggled in place. The High Priest hummed. The egg cracked ominously.

And outside, the fish continued floating peacefully through the air.

The silence that followed Argider's declaration was heavier than it had any right to be. Squishy pulsated in midair, its luminous eyes shifting in unpredictable patterns, as though calculating the exact level of trouble it was in.

Argider crossed her arms. "We. Need. To. Talk."

Squishy warbled nervously.

To its credit, Squishy did attempt to fix things. Unfortunately, its solution was to provide everyone with what it assumed would make them happiest.

Which is why the nobles were now eerily euphoric, muttering dreamily about 'perfect governance.'

Why Fialova was cradling not one but three new eggs, each vibrating ominously.

Why the High Priest was levitating.