The Skeletal Archer, known by the Lords of Heaven, Hell, and the Chaos in between as Harbinger, skips along the dirt paths in search of civilization. He almost ended it with a single twang of his bow. But he wanted to savor the fresh air.

It has been three trillion years since a Harbinger was allowed to dance underneath a stable sun. It is a joyous occasion for him. An experience he does not want to share with his brothers yet, mostly because all three Harbingers in one space would untangle space-time, and his children, legion strong, would devour this world to the atom. He couldn’t let that be yet.

No, he could not let that be at all. For other Lords mocked Chaos! Oh, Chaos, how many worlds does your kin rule? None? Ha. Oh, Chaos, what manner of games can you play? None? Ha. What pieces do you have to use in the great game? None, all driven mad? Ha! It is not his fault that he caused ruin, where the Lords of Hell and the Hosts of Heaven bring order.

It isn’t fair, Harbinger whined, that he was only useful as a Herald of the End of Days. Where a universe needs to be “trimmed” from the Yggdrasil of life before its fruits grow too heavy for the tree.

No he will enjoy his time here! Harbinger reasons. He considers it a blessing of the One Lady’s dedication to unbiased order that even a meager skeleton body such as this can contain a fraction of what he is. So Harbinger hums a strange, happy tune as he walks. Its song carried only a short distance, but the effect of it felt by the tiniest of creatures.

The birds who hear it fly back to their nest to eat their waiting young. And squirrels turn sticks and acorns into weapons to bash the brains of brothers and sisters. Ants devour each other inside their own nests, all the while gaining levels as the System makes exceptions and allowances instead of glitches and errors.

Even lowly monsters aren’t immune. For in the forest, goblins come across the song as they stalk through the woods, as they do. And they are a pair of three, all close as thieves, some would say of sound of mind, but now reduced to singing the tune in unholy chorus, spreading the disease far and wide, to every worm and inside the hollows of every tree.

The world aches as exceptions are made against the natural order. And the forest dances under the alien tune as shrill screams became tiny fits of laughter and madness while the Skeletal Archer hums his tiny little tune, his naked body skipping across the open road. He will meet a town soon and feast upon the experience the sights and sounds it will bring.

The System looks on in horror, waiting for divine intervention, someone of note to come to the world’s aid. But none come. The glitches pile up, exceptions are made, rules are eased, and the game turns sinister. The Lords of Order have abandoned her, all eleven in their pristine halls humans call heaven. She curses their names. Each one less pronounceable than the last, for they are in the eldest tongue from when the creation of this branch of words was but a twig on the tree of life.

She will need to take matters into her own hands soon. But he is too close to the original tether, and the threat of a re-tether hangs over the System’s head like a guillotine; a promise to end the world in a cacophony of screams. And as much as she doesn’t pity the mortals she oversaw, it is not in her nature to abide by chaos.

So the world aches, from a mere hum a little longer.