The moment was dark, with only a faint glow of light emitting from a crack in the cave.

“I am weak,” Elliot lamented, his voice matching the darkness around him.

“All experience weakness time and again. You must persevere.”

Elliot fell to his knees and lowered is head in reverence. “I do not possess your strength.”

Rykaula blinked slowly as if to re-balance the mental weight of upholding the universe’s existence for billions of years. He recalled the moment that his fathers had created time and had entrusted Rykaula with maintaining its passing. The cerebral tower that came with the responsibility was small then, no larger than what could be found atop the head of a labrador retriever. Now a sharp, chiseled bone stemming from Rykaula’s skull, the tower had broken through the cave’s ceiling, prohibiting him from ever leaving. It was enclosed by a sac of transparent skin whose saggy excess folded over the back of Rykaula’s head. But one could expect nothing less after so many years of increasing wisdom.

Drawing from that wisdom, Rykaula countered, “It is not the strength of others you should seek, but your own.”

Veins of electricity cracked from within the sac, illuminating the space with varying shades of blue and magenta. Beneath the excess skin of the sac and protruding from the back of Rykaula’s neck were seven lengths of cartilage that were once covered in hair but now resembled pink possum tails. Of the seven tails, four of them were pumping out black curdled milk in great quantities, the milk coming from the center of the cerebral tower and oozing down Rykaula’s back as it poured out of the tails’ glands.

Though the earth’s continent was never meant to function in this way, the Queen of the Sea had grown strong and in one moment of blinding terror, the continent had shattered into thousands of pieces under her violent power. Rykaula had taken it upon himself to lend the abundant resources of his cerebral tower to fend off the Queen, and in doing so, seven continents formed and survived for millions of years after the event, each one creating their own cultures and civilizations over time.

The four tails still pumping large quantities were of great fortune, an indication that four of earth’s continents were still alive and well. One of the remaining three tails was clearly struggling, as its milk was thin and showing signs of drying up. The other two tails were parched and moistureless, suggesting they’d sunken and fallen victim to the Queen.

Rykaula issued a deep groan; a groan that had once boomed across hundreds of galaxies but had since been reduced to a weak rasp in his old age. “This mockery…” he started, but paused and closed his eyes in contemplation, “…this mockery of a solution to the wretched Queen’s foul deeds will not last. The milk was never meant to be drained from the center of the tower, nor were the continents meant to rely on me for sustenance. Time is their god, and I am time’s.”

Rykaula opened his eyes and looked down toward Elliot. “The Queen will consume them all if we do not act quicker. I can already feel one growing weaker by the second,” he winced as the drying tail did a kicking twitch.

Elliot rose to his feet and puffed out his chest. “I am ready.”

“Says the boy who came to me wallowing in his weakness not even thirty seconds ago.”

“I am a boy no longer, and recognizing weakness is a sign of strength. Let me show you my strength in this.”

The sac surrounding the cerebral tower pulsated in thought, putting all of the excess skin to use and exposing the oozing neck tails. Rykaula brought a frail finger to his lips and stared into Elliot’s soul. “Very well.”

Rykaula snapped his fingers and two intangible shadows entered the cave. After a bow, they looked up at Rykaula for instruction. Rykaula nodded in Elliot’s direction and the shadows wisped over and tore Elliot’s clothes from his body. A third shadow descended from above, forced Elliot’s mouth open, and rammed an ear of cobbed corn so far down his throat that it burst through his esophagus and lodged itself onto his first vertebrae. The shadow was a master at securing a lasting corn clot.

As the shadows left, Rykaula lifted a hand, palm up, and Elliot began levitating.

The decisive act of beginning to take a stronger stand against the Queen of the Sea was so powerful that it breathed life back into the two tails that were previously dried and cracking. All seven tails on Rykaula’s neck began whipping in the air, thick black milk flinging in all directions. Rykaula pointed the index fingers from his three hands directly at Elliot and slowly began moving them through the air as if he was conducting a musical orchestra. Indeed, classical music of a celestial nature did begin playing throughout the cave as Rykaula continued.

Elliot wept silently through big round eyes as his rib cage cracked and flung open like a set of double doors. His blue blood flowed, but Rykaula held it all in solid-bubbled suspense in the air beside him. The tails flailed even more violently with each step in the process. Rykaula extended two fingers toward Elliot’s chest then pulled them back toward himself and all of Elliot’s ribs followed.

As if by an unknown prompting, six of the seven tails went soft as clay and detached from Rykaula’s neck. The raining black milk stopped in an instant and Rykaula’s cerebral tower shuddered briefly from the relief of no longer needing to serve as host to the parasites. All except the seventh, which was the most important. One by one, the tails floated into Elliot’s empty rib slots. Once his rib cage was reformed, the tails grew as hard as bone and the globular blood was welcomed back into his body as Elliot’s skin was sewn back together.

Elliot’s eyes had turned black from the physical anguish and mental stress he’d endured, but he knew that this was his chance to prove himself worthy of being Rykaula’s successor in upholding the existence of the entire universe. Rykaula could feel his godly strength returning, despite his old age, but knew that the final step had not yet been completed. He looked toward the ground, then slowly raised his head. The corn clot dislodged from Elliot’s throat and began rising with Rykaula’s motions. Along with the clot came the entirety of Elliot’s spine as it slithered and scraped its way through his body. Once removed, the seventh and final possum tail took to the air and darted back down into the cavity where Elliot’s spine once resided. And at that, Elliot was lowered gently to the ground in speechless pain.

Back on earth, every island of every continent had emerged from the sunken depths of the sea and the air was filled with the deranged hissing of the Queen’s fury. The creatures called humans cheered and roared, giving thanks to the sky for their rescue. They gazed toward the horizon and watched for three straight days as the islands of the sea became one again.

Rykaula’s cerebral tower grew steadily taller from that point on with Elliot at the tip in an eternal, unimaginably painful perch, watching from afar as the humans worshipped their unknown savior in the new world that they called Pangaea Reborn.