An Apocalypse Subject to Terms and Conditions

When the prophecy arrived, it was on fire. This was not unusual. Flaming prophecies were, statistically speaking, the second most common way for a destiny to announce itself, right behind mysterious glowing fairies but just higher than old men walking about with stone carved tablets. This parchment had burst into the village square in a theatrical swirl of smoke, sparks, and ominous chanting echoing about. It even accidentally singed three chickens and one moderately important goat. Some of the townsfolk were not impressed with that as the goat had a decent social following.

The prophecy hovered in the air, its blazing letters searing themselves into existence by staying: YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE.

The crowd gasped at the sight of those foreboding words. It was not something they wanted to see on any given day, let alone the weekend. Merrick, who had been on his way to purchase turnips, stopped walking when he saw it. He also got this terrible feeling as he read what it said.

“Is that… me?” Merrick asked, pointing at himself in the universal gesture of someone who very much hoped it was not.

The parchment ignored him and continued writing: THOU SHALL FACE THE DARK CATACLYSM AND TRY TO SAVE ALL REALMS TOTAL ANNIHILATION.

The village elder fell to his knees. The blacksmith wept openly. Someone watching from the tavern window began composing a heroic ballad on a lute that had never before produced a pleasant sound.

Merrick squinted at the prophecy. There was a great deal of text. Far more than usual.

“Does it normally go on this long?” Merrick asked, hoping someone was listening.

The parchment crackled: IN ACCEPTING THY PROPHECY, THOU AGREEST TO…

Merrick was trying to read further when the flames flared even brighter, obscuring the rest. A thunderclap shook the sky. The parchment folded itself neatly into a glowing scroll and then slammed into Merrick’s chest, branding him with a faintly glowing sigil shaped like a check-mark.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Merrick did not cheer with them.

“He accepted the quest!” one villager squealed with delight.

“I did?” Merrick asked, as he was still trying it read when that thing branded.

Merrick had previously worked as an assistant to a grain merchant, which meant he had briefly been responsible for explaining late fees to angry farmers. This experience had taught him a powerful lesson: If something shows up already on fire and says you “agree” to something, you have every right to be concerned.

Despite Merrick’s hesitation, the town acted as if he had formally accepted the task bestowed upon him. Within the hour, the townsfolk outfitted poor Merrick with a sword that was too heavy, armor that pinched him, and a horse that seemed quite judgmental. He was sent forth amid cheers, confetti, and a suspiciously enthusiastic priest who kept saying things like, “Don’t worry, the gods know what they’re doing,” which Merrick didn’t find very convincing. The world immediately began behaving like a contract.

Whenever Merrick performed a heroic act, glowing runes appeared briefly in the air to reward him for his meager efforts. At an inn, Merrick received a free room, but only after signing a guest book that tried to bite him. A wizard healed his wounds but made him initial next to the phrase “Results may vary.” At one point, a magical bridge appeared over a chasm, accompanied by a hovering sign:

WARNING: BY CROSSING THIS IMPLIES ACCEPTANCE OF TRAIL B DESTINY.

Merrick paused for a moment, despite the judgmental groan that came from his saucy, and quite impatient steed. They crossed it anyway because Merrick and his horse had just outrun a rabid back of wolves and really didn’t want to give them a chance to catch up. They looked quite hungry, so Merrick didn’t have sufficient time to stay there to think things over. He chose to prioritize his short-term survival, rather than worry about the long-term which wasn’t even guaranteed since he was on his way to face the apocalypse.

Still, something nagged at Merrick. Every prophecy, every divine intervention, every blessing had come with footnotes. Very small footnotes. Very fast footnotes. Footnotes that there never appeared to be any time for someone to stop and read.

Eventually, Merrick reached what the people referred to as the Temple of Absolute Answers, home of the Great Oracle of Binding Truths. She dramatically emerged from a cloud of incense and cosmic energy, eyes glowing, voice echoing with divine authority.

“Have you come to learn how to find the Dark Cataclysm?” she inquired.

“I have,” Merrick confirmed, “And also find out what I accidentally agreed to.”

The Oracle paused.

“No one,” she replied, “Has ever asked the second thing.”

She gestured, and a projection appeared in the air: the original prophecy, now fully visible… was enormous. Thousands upon thousands of words scrolled past, most of them in microscopic text. Merrick’s stomach dropped upon seeing it.

“That,” Merrick said carefully, “That is no prophecy.”

“It isn’t?” The Oracle asked, “Then what do you think it is?”

“That,” Merrick continued, “Is a legally binding document.”

The Oracle nodded. “Correct. A Celestial Customary Contract, Ninth Revision.”

“Why is it still on fire?” Merrick asked.

“Brand consistency, obviously.” She answered.

Merrick leaned closer. He saw sections labelled: Hero Obligations, Acceptable Casualty Ratios, Soul Ownership (Limited License), Post-Mortem Narrative Usage Rights…

“Hold on,” Merrick said, as he spotted something, “It says here the Dark Cataclysm is ‘a scheduled divine event?’”

“That is correct,” The Oracle confirmed.

“And that my role,” Merrick continued, “Is to ‘provide narrative justification for its occurrence?’”

“Yes.” The Oracle agreed.

“And that success,” Merrick continued reading, “or failure, shall not materially alter the Cataclysm outcome.?”

“It appears so,” She said, wondering where this was going.

Merrick stared at the Oracle.

“You’re not asking me to stop the apocalypse.” Merrick declared.

“I am not.” The Oracle again confirmed.

“If I didn’t know better,” Merrick said, “It looks like you’re asking me to validate it.”

“Apologies,” The Oracle said, smiling back at him, “We find audiences respond better to an apocalypse when there is a hero.”

“Seriously?” Merrick asked, as he could hardly believe it. “There’s no way to stop it?”

“None that I’m aware of,” The Oracle answered.

Before Merrick could read on the contract flashed once more and disappeared, thus preventing him from reading all the conditions he eagerly wanted to see. It was like the document was trying to prevent him from seeing something important.

“It is time to move on, Hero,” The Oracle declared.

“You’re not much of an Oracle,” Merrick told here, unafraid to hurt her feelings.

“It matters not,” she replied walking close to him, “Take this map, ride to the Cataclysm, and fulfill your destiny!”

“If the world wasn’t ending,” Merrick continued, “I’d ask to see your manager.”

“No time for that,” The Oracle said as she handed him the map, “Venture forth on your brave steed and find what awaits you.”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?” Merrick asked.

“You never did,” The Oracle said just before slapping her steed in the ass, which send the saucy animal forward as he galloped away.

As tempted as Merrick was to turn around a give that sham of an Oracle a piece of his mind, there were more pressing matters that demanded his attention. For at the edge of the world laid the Dark Cataclysm, patiently waiting form him to arrive. A swirling vortex of void, fire, screaming souls, and tasteful divine lighting. The gods watched from above, lounging on clouds, sipping ambrosia as they watched Merrick approach the Cataclysm on his steed. As the man jumped off his horse and walked closer to the vortex before him, a chorus of celestial voices booms from above.

“Does thou accept the destiny given?” the gods called out in chorus.

“Maybe,” Merrick honestly answered.

“Maybe?” one of they gods replied, his voice showing slight annoyance. “Why not?”

Merrick didn’t immediately respond as he stepped closer to the massive vortex, slowly edging towards the bring with sword in hand. As the prophecy burned faintly upon his chest, Merrick chose not to rush forward since this entire ordeal had begun. He sat down and though things through for a moment.

“Hold on, now,” Merrick called out to the celestial beings. “I’d like to review Section 47.”

The gods shift uncomfortably, for no hero had ever asked to read Section 47. Merrick sat where he was and took the time to flip through the glowing contract. He squinted and licked his finger as he proceeded to read everything. After going through it with a painstakingly slow pace, Merrick finally stood back up.

“I do not accept,” he said calmly called back out.

The heavens froze. There was a long pause.

“What?” the gods replied in united disbelief.

“There is no clause in here that states I must accept immediately,” Merrick explained, “Nor any penalty listed for refusal beyond ‘possible disappointment.’”

There was even more silence, and the Cataclysm flickered for a moment.

“Additionally,” Merrick continued, “this contract violates at least six principles of informed consent, two inter-realm labor statutes, and one surprisingly specific goat-related ordinance.”

The gods whispered among themselves. The vortex began to sputter.

“You can’t just not accept,” said one god rather weakly.

“Watch me.” Merrick said with a lot more confidence as he took in a long deep breath before called out, “I DO NOT ACCEPT!”

The moment he screamed that out the sigil on Merrick’s chest faded, and a giant message appeared in the sky:

DESTINY PAUSED PENDING USER CONFIRMATION

Seconds later The Dark Cataclysm collapsed into itself and disappeared from existence with a sad little pop.

The world did not end.

Instead, the cocky gods were forced into emergency meetings, revisions, and then forced to make several humiliating apologies. Prophecies had to be rewritten. Fine print was enlarged, and the fire effects were toned down. Heroes became optional, and Merrick as finally allowed to head home. His steed didn’t seem that impressed, as since the world didn’t end he now had to carry that man back home. On the way back home, Merrick was also finally able to buy his turnips.

When he returned to town, everyone rushed to ask him how he managed to defeat the deadly Cataclysm that was going to end the world.

“It was simple,” Merrick always said when someone inquired, “I just read the entire document.”

Despite their confusion and sheer ignorance to how the world was really saved, a statue was still erected in his honor, though the plaque beneath his likeness read:

MERRICK THE CAUTIOUS: THE HERO WHO DECLINED

And somewhere in the heavens, a new rule was added in very small print:

“Do not give mortals time to read all the terms and conditions.”