Coyote squinted at the bounty poster like it personally owed him money.
"Arthur... hmm. Sounds generic enough to be evil," he mumbled, flipping the paper over to see if there was a cheat code on the back. Nope, just smudges and a faint coffee stain.
The smarter option would've been to ask around. Or maybe use his newly acquired, almighty, plot-breaking Dreamweaver powers.
But no. Our boy Coyote Heraclides—god-tier dumbass and part-time protagonist—chose the classic route: wishing really hard.
"I dream of... finding Arthur," he declared, standing proudly like a toddler casting a spell with a stick.
The air shimmered. Reality hiccupped. And boom—faint mystical lights spiraled around him, forming a glowing trail that twisted into the sky.
"Oh. That... actually worked."
And thus began a 12-hour trip that violated the Geneva Conventions and probably a few laws of physics.
First, he rode a flying carpet, which wouldn't stop singing "A Whole New World" in a glitchy auto-tuned voice.
Then, he hijacked a literal missile mid-air—don't ask how—and yeeted himself across three mountain ranges, two continents, and what might've been someone's backyard barbecue.
By hour ten, he was done. Legs trembling, dignity gone, hair full of wind and regret.
Finally, the trail ended.
Before him lay ruins—a whole city turned to ash and hellfire, the air thick with smoke and dread. Buildings crumbled like paper. The sky glowed orange, screaming chaos.
And at the center...
A man stood alone.
White hair like moonlight. One eye a burning gold, the other ghost-white. No weapons, no armor. Just that look—like he was above it all, like even the flames bowed to him.
Coyote stepped forward, his instincts screaming, "Run."
But his mouth said:
"Yo, you Arthur?"
The man slowly turned.
Smile like death. Voice like silk dipped in poison.
"Who's asking?"
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