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Writing sample 10
The chair struggles, much to my detriment. Pocket dimensions, universes which invert the common laws of physics to unthinkable degrees, metaphysical realms ruled over by immemorial entities beyond description; they are lost to me now.  I race through the myriad streams of consciousness made available to me within the simplistic 5th plane of reality, as time as I know it, unnaturally, bends behind me, collapsing. Only what waits in the near future is hazily clear, and it is not good. Through the machinations of an imperceptible force, the Mobius Chair's capabilities are dulled, making attempts to reverse the specific order of events—leading to what may be the inevitable end of sentience as the multiverse perceives it—impossible. What lies ahead for the planet called Earth is thus far restrained, yet all possibility of my preventing it has been methodically prepared for.
Element-X, the power source of my inter-dimensional vehicle, emanates now from an edge of the Source Wall made too erratic, too unstable for venture to be safe, lest I be trapped within it's walls myself, and the chair unprotected. Perhaps I could have avoided this, foreseen the purpose behind Dr. Bedlam's experiments with the frequencies possible through Boom Tube technology, but the conception of Darkseid's seeming demise held to my mind like a sign of hope, as though such naivety were appropriate for a New God of my experience. As if to symbolize the inexorable, the glow of my godly energy is appearing to fade the more I travel. Desaad, ever the skilled imitator, made use of the opportunity, consistently convincing even the most loyal of followers that the visage he held was indeed the Dark Lord's. Those who might've held doubts were on missions away from Apokolips, specifically the brutish Kalibak and eager Steppenwolf. I, for my part, maintained the charade, conversing with “Darkseid” as I'd always had, despite Desaad fully knowing I knew better.
Should I have expected that in his death, his eternal soul still lingered, empowered by the souls of fallen pantheons he had slayed eons before? Even I hadn't been aware of the scope of divinity Uxas had slaughtered, absorbed into himself, and making quick work of any signs of the victim's existence, the scripture unwritten, the memories extracted, the followers extinguished. Trapped within the Source Wall, escape seemed impossible, for even the mighty Yuga Khan, father of Darkseid, remained immersed in it's hold. Blood, as I've first experienced it, is starting to seep from the orifices of my face, signaling my time is short. A fragment had cracked, but the immensity of the Dark God's soul thankfully prevents it's emergence upon the multiverse—or so I'd thought. Grail, youngest of Darkseid's offspring and only daughter, acts within the shadows, her dear father revealing some way to inhibit my sight...
Manifesting as though within a dream, a pained screech of energy announces me, and I am face-to-face with the young mortal by the name of Richard Grayson, disciple of Batman. Time ceases around us, his two-wheeled vehicle halted as if it were a toy. My chair that I cling to struggles ever more, it's power clearly all but spent. The life force dissipates, unfeeling towards the amount of effort made to reach this human. A sickening joke, he might think, to see what had been a New God present himself and collapse, unintelligible in his last moments. Through sheer, terrified will, I attempt to make sense of words and thought, fighting against the Black Racer's oncoming arrival.  As I speak, time has already begun to continue, though slowly, the equivalent of death rattles emanating from the Mobius Chair as sporadic sparks of energy. I take in his bewilderment, and wish I could offer understanding. What should be concise statements are scattered with nuance or cut short as my brain falters. “Mortal, you are... will become...” my gasping, bloodied throat made useless as I die, words caught in gurgling coughs. “God is... a frame...” are not ideal parting words, yet my time is ceased.
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