In which we pause to reflect upon the nature of the story.
The majority of the mayor’s work was done in his head, sitting at his desk. He tinkered with the seed of destruction, slowly letting it loose on one idea at a time to gauge its efficiency.
In the realm of ideas, contradictory concepts coexist harmoniously. You may be blind and yet be able to see. The sea may be poisoned and yet give you food. You may love and yet be happy. In this space, the mayor destroyed millions of earths while the same earths continued to exist.
There was the earth in which the final day flopped, leaving 23 craters on an otherwise unharmed earth. There was the one in which a flock of crows pecked out the mayor’s eyes. There was the one in which God got bored and decided to stop playing. Each earth waited calmly to receive the new idea, and each reality split into two while remaining one.
There is a reality in which our story is frightfully mundane. In which the mayor’s suit is made of prosthetic bone, in which he merely took over the world through politics and unleashed destruction by pressing a button. In which winged horses are created through surgery and die, in which torture is committed for pleasure and not for duty.
Then there is the one which I tell you about, the one I believe in, where giant strides cause earthquakes, where people slip through cracks in the pavement, where the chants of monks actually make things happen, where one can have two interludes one after the other. And finally, there is the reality that you live in, where none of this is happening as long as you believe it is a story. Considering what it is, reality has a tenuous grip on itself.
One by one, the mayor disposed of all the realities he did not like, and was finally left with two. There was one where the Hero emerged and was victorious, and there was one in which he was killed by a stray blow. The mayor chose the first.