Trope's Quest for the Cube of Creation

Trope smirked at the bronze statue; it had the body of a donkey and the head of a weasel. 

“I have the answer to your riddle!” Trope declared. 

“Bull-noggins!” A deep voice replied. “No human person has ever outwitted me!” 

Trope put his hands on his hips, posing like a hero of old, then said, “Well, you have met your match! The answer is love.” 

A deep grumble emitted from the statue, shaking the mountain. “That is correct. You may enter…” 

With that, the statue swung forward like a door, revealing an opening in the mountainside. As Trope entered the mountain, his nostrils were attacked by a horrific scent. 

“Why bother with the riddle, this smell is defense enough!”

“Hmph!” The deep voice replied. “I don’t smell anything!” 

“You must be kidding? It smells like a fountain of dragon dung!” 

“That would be the dragons,” the voice answered. “I meant I have no sense of smell. I am an ancient spirit. Guardian of this temple of treasures. Lord of the mountainsi—“

“I know,” Trope cut Mr. Many Titles off. “You should consider contacting the lord of fragrance on your next off day.” 

“Grrrrrr.” 

Blue-flamed torches illuminated the inside of the mountain, guiding Trope toward its heart. It was not long before he came to a fork in the path. He retrieved his grandfather’s lucky coin from his pocket. 

Frog’s I go left, Parrot’s I go right. 

He flipped the coin; as he watched it rotate in the air, he thought about the last time he saw his father. 

“Don’t!” Trope had pleaded. His father had been standing above a pool of lava, said to bestow eternal life upon anyone brave enough to plunge into its depths.

“Hold this for me,” His dad said, tossing him the coin. “I’ll be back in a jiff!” Then he jumped. 

Shockingly, the lava did not grant him eternal life. It burned him alive. Because it’s lava, that’s kinda its thing. 

Several moons later, Trope avenged his father by burning Castle Rumor to the ground. Putting an end to Lord Oxen Love, and his nasty habit of forgeing quests. With Love’s last breath, he had told Trope of the treasure buried in the heart of Dragon Mountain: The Cube of Creation—an object designed by the gods, allowing any mortal who touched it to rewrite the world. Trope shivered with excitement at the thought of wielding such a power. 

I am going to make myself the wealthiest person alive!

 The coin landed Frogs side up, so Trope took the left path. He darted along, navigating a dizzying series of twists and turns; it was impossible to tell if he was going up or down the mountain. He rounded a corner, slowing his pace to avoid a series of randomly placed holes in the ground. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, hoping he was close to the center of the mountain. 

Abruptly, the blue torchlight gave way to a dull yellow glow. 

The Den of Treasure! 

Before he could move toward the den, a voice said, “Charlie, what do you wager?” 

A massive cough, then, “These blue flippers.” 

A third voice, “Ar, I’ve had eyes for them flippers for some while now.” 

Another thunderous cough, then the one called Charlie replied, “I’ll roll then,” he coughed again. 

Using the prolonged cough as cover, Trope crept closer to the den. When the room came into view, he had to stifle a gasp. 

The den was cavernous, at least a mile wide, with ceilings stretching toward the sky. Every crevice was filled with heaps of gold. Towers of shimmering coins, bottles, necklaces, and countless other trinkets were piled on the floor like trash.

Three dragons sat in the center of the room. Serpentine creatures with purple armor-like scales covering their impossibly long bodies, leading to their necks, which were bizarre. While the dragons' midsections, legs, and arms were built like warships, their necks were like a child’s sippy straw. Yet, their necks were ordinary compared to their heads. The faces were the same purple as their bodies, but each head was topped with long strands of blonde hair that draped past their shoulders. Each dragon had a different strip of color running down the center of their hair, which was the only way Trope could tell them apart.  

Not wanting to be spotted, Trope ducked behind a mound of coins.

“How many boxes?” A dragon with a pink stripe across its hair asked. 

“Arg, I’ll do four,” the orange-striped dragon replied. That must be Charlie. 

From his hiding spot, Trope watched as Charlie pulled four silver cylinders from his pile of jewels. Holding the cylinders in one of his massive paws, Charlie plucked coins from his pile and placed them in the containers. “Bets?” Charlie asked. 

“77,” Pink Hair replied. 

Followed immediately by Green Hair saying, “78.” 

Charlie shook the cylinders, jostling the coins inside, before spiling them on a silver tray.  

There was a long silence as all three dragons stared at the tray. Suddenly, Charlie exclaimed, “40!” 

“Gar!” Green Hair spat, his tail lurching upward, sending a shower of coins high into the air.

“I’ll be having them flippers then!” Pink Hair said gleefully. 

Charlie the dragon, snorted, then pulled a pair of blue boots from deep within his pile of treasures. “Treat them with respect,” he said, then coughed loudly. 

Trope was mesmerized by the dragons, but he needed to focus on his quest. He knew the cube was in this room, but how could he find it? It was like searching for a mustache hair in a field of beards. 

“Arg!” Charlie growled. “I wish a human would come along and take the cube already!” 

Trope grinned, not believing his luck. He emerged from his hiding spot, “Dragons,” he began, “I have come for the cube!” 

Three dragon heads turned to face him. Trope felt his bravado weaken under their gaze, their eyes seemed to pierce his soul. 

Charlie’s head shot forward, extending unnaturally far from his body and slinking around Trope. The dragon sniffed the air, his hot breath tickling Trope’s neck. 

“A human!” Charlie shouted. “It’s truly a human!” 

“Yes, and I seek the cube!” Trope said, surprised how well this was going. 

“Jack,” Charlie said to the pink-haired dragon, “Fetch the cube!” 

Jack shook his head, “That’s not how this works!” 

Charlie growled, “who cares? This version needs to be changed!” Charlie coughed again, then added, “I’m a dragon, and my lungs always burn from smoking! It’s absurd.” 

“I’m with Charlie,” The green-haired dragon said. “This is by far the worst version we’ve lived in.” 

“I want to change it too,” Jack replied. “But we must follow the procedure.” 

Jack turned to Trope, “Have you read the prophecy?” 

“What prophecy?” 

Jack grumbled, then said, “Charlie, can you fetch a copy of the prophecy.” 

“Arg!” Charlie replied. He slithered through mountains of gold coins, and then started digging. A few minutes later, he pulled a stone tablet from the pile. He handed the tablet to Jack, who read it to Trope, 

“Earth version 167, the prophecy of the cube: a human who wishes to use the cube to rewrite the world, must defeat the dragons in a duel.” 

Trope’s stomach tightened, “A duel? There must be some mistake,” Trope said. 

“It’s no mistake!” Jack replied. “Charlie, grab the supplies.” 

As Trope watched Charlie sort through his pile, he considered making a run for it. A duel with the dragons would end with him as a hamburger. He took a step toward the exit, knowing the dragons couldn’t follow him into the tight tunnel. 

“Ah! Here we are!” Charlie said. “He was holding the silver cylinders that Trope had seen before. 

“The rules of the duel are simple,” Jack said. “We’ll play with three cylinders. Charlie will insert the coins, and then we each guess how many are inside. The closest to the correct number wins. Make sense?” 

Trope nodded. He watched Charlie fill the first container with coins, then the second, and finally the third. 

“Arg, time to guess,” Charlie said. 

Jack guessed 57. Green Hair guessed 58. Trope guessed 30.

Charlie poured the coins onto the silver tray, counted for several minutes, then said, “30! 30 exactly!” 

“Incredible!” Jack said. 

Trope was perplexed. Do they not realize each cylinder only holds ten coins?

 “Arg, wait here,” Charlie said. “I’ll be back with the cube.” 

As Charlie slithered away, Trope asked, “That’s really it?” 

“Aye,” Jack replied. “You have fulfilled the prophecy set by the last writer.”  

Unable to stop himself, Trope asked, “Don’t you realize that each cylinder fits exactly ten coins?” 

“Of course!” Jack responded. 

“Then, why don’t you just multiply the number of cylinders by ten each time?” 

Jack’s reptilian face scrunched in confusion, “Multiply? What is this multiply you speak of?” 

Ah. They don’t know math. “Never mind,” Trope responded. 

Charlie returned, holding a glowing cube the size of Trope’s head. He placed the cube on a nearby pile of coins, then said, “Please fix our necks.” 

Looking at the cube, Trope realized that he had little idea what to do with it, beyond enriching himself. 

As Trope contemplated, the dragons began listing changes that they wanted. 

“No more of those half pigeon, half dog creatures!” 

“Get rid of the lava lakes!” 

“Put us somewhere nicer than the inside of a mountain!” 

“Ugh! The last writer was terrible!” 

“Agreed, it was a terrible mistake to let him use the cube.”

 “I miss World 17!”

“Arg, 17 was the best!” 

Trope’s hands started to shake as he reached for the cube. The weight of the task was now dawning on him. He had to rewrite the entire world from scratch. He couldn’t just make himself wealthy, he had to recreate every aspect of the world. 

He tapped the cube, and everything around him vanished. Trope was standing before a giant white canvas. He touched the canvas, and text appeared in black ink, 

World Creation Menu: 

Geography

Creatures

Weather 

Cultures 

The Cube Guarding Dragons

Language 

Freestyle 

Make your own Prophecy

 Trope’s heart pounded in his chest like a steel drum. He was not prepared to create an entirely new world! He knew nothing about geography, weather, culture, or other languages! 

He stared at the canvas, not knowing where to start. Finally, he reached for Freestyle. But before his fingers touched the ink, he noticed three dots in the bottom corner of the canvas. 

Without thinking, he selected the dots. 

The ink melted on the canvas, then reformed into another menu. 

History: 

Worlds 1-50

Worlds 51-100

Worlds 101- 167

Trope smiled, clicked the first option, then selected version 17.