FatherTiempo

FT, reached deep inside his Narratory powers. He stood before the helpless heroes and grinned. He reached deep and pulled out a pen and paper. Then he wrote a thirty page essay with very strongly worded comments on Truthless's lack of taste in capes. FT screamed in his mind. It was so wrong, but-- FT strained his will and... And... And... And... And... And... He took a bite of licorice. He would need sustenance to write such a stinging thesis.

I am... The Eggdancer. Also, *wins*

Really? Well, come on over, the sugar threat must be abolished! Just send over Xino and a couple thousand Trewee clones.

Sigh, it's just so...anticlimatic.

"We might not be able to eat all of our enemies." FT said, raising his Narration Blade, gesturing at the black gunk, "But there's something we can eat. No one likes black licorice. It tastes medicinal, it clumps like matted fur, and nothing edible should be that black. No one likes black licorice, except for me." FT turned back to the assembled Narrators, fighting back the tears. "Fight the sugar, and stand firm. Eat your fruits and vegetables kids!" And with that heroic statement, FT dismissed his blade, leaped forward, mouth wide, into the writhing mass of licorice.

"I am the only therapist! " FT shouted defiantly, at--something he couldn't quite place.

Poor Mr. Bloomers--I mean Bloomburg.

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A giant oatmeal raisin tumbled toward Ene.

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Damage

FT returned to sanity with unfettered glory. He gave Sophie an interdimensional glare. He was pretty sure that time distortion had given him a cold. He blew his nose. "Alright, you, Rutabaga. Damage report, and what is that evil blackness spreading throughout the thread, devouring light, sunshine , and all things good and lovely?"

FT unsaw a dirty cloud, paced backwards, and was generally confused.

It is the thread that will never die.

Thankfully, time had not frozen in TST. FT jumped into an interstellar taxi, "Follow that bird!"

FT couldn't feel--anything. His brain continued to process, his powers of Narration allowed for that, but the world had stopped. the mist of high-fructose corn syrup wafted on the breeze. A Narrator who had tripped was falling toward the ground. A sniper was pointing a gun at FT. A Jelly Baby assassin was perched on an outcropping five hundred yards away. He had yet to get into position, and the time stoppage had allowed FT to study the position. If he released his weight, drew on luck, and dropped to the ground he just might avoid the bullet. In the meantime, he calculated how to defeat the gods. It was quite useful. FT solved Reihman's hypothesis, and discovered the next prime number, and he wondered who stopped time?

FT squinted in the distance, a small carrot was approaching, "Sir, the god Sugar has escaped! FT cursed, but the carrot was still speaking. "He's created a monstrosity from the bodies of my batallion." FT would have cursed again, but he had used up all the good ones.

Shard

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"Aye!"

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FT started at a dirty cloud. "That is ominous."

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https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScyBSQjpqWa88fxIrHx7VgUCMVTBF1BwGOoZRXolef13Sn4cg/viewform?usp=sf_link Tadaa! That probably worked.

FT blew one of those party horns, in celebration. "I have a premonition that there is going to be some problems soon..."