Anti-fun guy's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Anti-fun guy reached the obsidian formation at dawn. He set up his equipment in a clearing twenty meters back—far enough to avoid immediate danger, close enough to capture everything. The calculating device went on a flat stone. The sound recorder beside it. He checked his pocket watch. Forty-seven hours remained by his calculations. The ground split open twelve hours later. Anti-fun guy lurched backward as obsidian erupted through the forest floor, black glass punching upward in jagged spires. The crater opened like a mouth, swallowing trees and stone blocks. A watchtower he hadn't even noticed—overgrown with vines, tucked behind the formation—groaned and collapsed inward. Its stone walls crumbled into the expanding crater as if they'd been rotting for years. He'd been catastrophically wrong. Not about the location. About the timing. About everything that mattered. Anti-fun guy stood at the crater's edge, staring at his equipment scattered across the clearing. The sound recorder had captured nothing useful—just his own shouting. The calculating device showed numbers that meant nothing now. He'd come here to document Travis's next act of destruction, to prove the dimensional tears followed a pattern. Instead he'd proven his own predictions were worthless. The structures that collapsed weren't Travis's fault. They were his. He hadn't warned anyone because he'd been too busy performing certainty. Anti-fun guy picked up the calculating device and threw it into the crater. It disappeared into the black glass depths without a sound.