The battlefield was gone.
In its place stood an endless cosmic call center — a sprawling labyrinth of cubicles stretching infinitely into the void, each staffed by bored celestial beings wearing oversized headsets and clutching mugs that read things like "I Survived the Big Bang… Barely."
Jake blinked, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell is this place?"
Greg, ever the encyclopedia of absurd knowledge, adjusted his glasses nervously. "Welcome to the Universe's Customer Service Department — the new front line of this war. The conflict's been... paused. Indefinitely."
Jake glanced up at a gigantic holographic billboard floating above them. It blinked a sterile message in angry red letters:"ALL COMPLAINTS ARE IMPORTANT. YOUR ESTIMATED WAIT TIME IS: FOREVER."
Suddenly, a smooth, disembodied voice echoed through the void:"Thank you for calling cosmic support. Your call is very important to us. Please remain on hold."
From nowhere, a soft, but maddeningly repetitive loop of elevator music started playing. It was "The Imperial March"... remixed with kazoo, banjo, and auto-tuned whale sounds.
Nearby, a celestial intern quietly wept into their headset microphone while scribbling frantic notes.
Jake turned to Greg, voice grim. "We're stuck on hold… forever?"
Greg nodded, flipping through his pocket manual titled Universal Policies for the Apocalyptic CEO. "There is a way out, but it's... complicated."
Before Jake could ask, a thunderous stomp shook the endless cubicles. Supreme Overlady Karen stormed in, wielding a giant, tattered complaint form as if it were Excalibur itself.
"I've escalated this to Galactic Corporate HQ!" she declared. "I DEMAND to speak with the CEO of existence. Or at least, the assistant to the assistant manager!"
From the far corner, Lord BoomBoom strolled in, casually lighting a cigar shaped like a grenade. "I say we blow this place sky-high and start over. Bureaucracy is for the weak."
Behind him, Duchess Sassy summoned a horde of TikTok dancing phantoms — their ethereal bodies twitching in sync, chanting:"Can't stop, won't stop, dance battle 'til we drop!"
Dr. Moist slithered through the maze, leaving behind slick puddles that caused Chad XIII, Supreme Emperor of Chad, to slip so violently he accidentally flexed himself into a human pretzel.
Jake grabbed a cosmic coffee cup from an endless supply on a floating desk. The liquid inside swirled like a galaxy.
"Greg," he said, voice low, "how do we escape this infinite customer service purgatory?"
Greg pulled out a dusty, nearly illegible tome: The Manual of Meta-Warfare and Cosmic Bureaucracy.
"According to this," Greg whispered, "we have to complete the Ultimate Quest for the Ultimate Refund Form. It's the only thing powerful enough to override the cosmic hold and reset the war's script."
Jake sighed deeply. "Of course it does."
Suddenly, the cubicles started shaking violently. The very air warped and split as the Hold Music Monster emerged.
It was a monstrous beast made of static, dial tones, broken records, and an endless playlist of the worst elevator muzak ever recorded. Its voice was a horrific mash-up of robotic announcements, annoying hold jingles, and the faint sound of someone desperately trying to whisper "please don't hang up."
The Hold Music Monster let out an earth-shattering roar that sounded suspiciously like a scratched CD.
Jake drew a giant cosmic paperclip like a sword. "Alright, team! Time to slay this monstrosity before it drives us all mad!"
Karen fired laser beams of pure complaint from her phone, turning cubicles into smoldering ruins.
Lord BoomBoom lobbed grenade-shaped ringing phones that exploded in clouds of static and endless "Your call is very important" loops.
Duchess Sassy unleashed a flurry of viral dance moves that made the monster glitch and stutter.
Dr. Moist sprayed slippery fog, causing the monster's rhythm to stumble.
Chad XIII finally untied himself and flexed with such ferocity the air itself cracked.
Meanwhile, Greg sprinted to a glowing terminal labeled Ultimate Refund Form Generator, fingers flying over the holographic keyboard.
Jake slashed through waves of screaming hold tunes. "Greg! How's that form coming?"
"Almost… done…!" Greg panted.
The monster's hold music warped suddenly into a cheerful jingle:"Your call is very important to us, please continue to hold."
Jake screamed, "Not if I have anything to say about it!"
With a final, universe-shaking punch from Chad and a perfectly timed explosive dance move from Duchess Sassy, the Hold Music Monster shattered into a million broken notes and discarded answering machine tapes.
Greg slammed the "Submit" button.
The void exploded in blinding light.
Suddenly, the endless cubicles and bored cosmic clerks vanished.
Jake, Greg, and the factions found themselves back on the original battlefield—silent, still, but with a strange calmness.
The universal billboard flickered once more, now displaying:
"Refund approved. Have a nice existence. P.S. Please don't call back."
Jake looked around, exhaling. "We did it."
Greg smirked. "For now. But remember, sir—the universe's customer service never really closes."
As if on cue, a robotic pigeon landed on Jake's shoulder. This one wore tiny headphones and held a miniature "Feedback Survey" in its beak.
Jake groaned loudly. "Greg… I think I'm gonna need some serious therapy after this."
Greg grinned darkly. "Or better hold music."
From the corner, a celestial voice whispered menacingly:"Your call will be answered shortly... please continue to hold."
Jake shuddered.
Because in the cosmic customer service universe, hold is forever