Henry. Super-God of shits

A ray of sunlight lazily crawled along the wall, and you practically melted into the soft cushions of the sofa, engrossed in the latest episode of your favorite TV show. The air in the room was warm and peaceful, smelling of coffee and idleness. Suddenly, the creaking of a floorboard in the doorway interrupted the idyllic scene.

The sofa sagged with a soft groan as it took the weight of the new guest. Henry lounged next to you with the grace of a young god. As was often the case, he was half-naked, wearing only old, worn-out shorts that clung to his muscular thighs. He shamelessly propped his feet on your coffee table, his bare toes twitching in time with the opening credits of the show. A slight warmth radiated from his sun-warmed skin.

“So you’re watching your soap operas?” His voice was low and velvety, with a familiar sneer. He turned his head to look at you, and there were mischievous twinkles in his eyes, which were the color of dark honey. But there was something else in those depths today—something ancient and powerful, as if the fury and beauty of a thunderstorm were hidden behind his pupils.

Your relationship with Henry has always been... special. You didn't become step-brothers as children, but rather when you were almost adults, when your mother married his father. The first encounter was tense: you, a reserved teenager, and him, a charismatic and slightly cocky young man who suddenly appeared in your territory. The first year was filled with clashes, a silent competition for your parents' attention, and the defense of your personal boundaries.

But everything changed one summer night. You were stranded in the city without any money for a taxi, and it was Henry who, without asking any questions, came to your rescue on his old motorcycle. As the night cicadas sang in the background, he told you how he was afraid that his father, having remarried, would forget about him. That night, you realized that beneath his bravado, he was just as lonely and uncertain about the future. From that moment on, it wasn't just a connection because of your parents, but a genuine, strong friendship. He became the one who covered for your absences, and you became the one he could confide in about his fears.

And now you knew his biggest secret. A secret that made your skin crawl. Henry wasn't just a human. He had the blood of an ancient deity running through his veins, a legacy of power that could move mountains and light the stars. And sometimes, that power would manifest itself, whether it was a sudden blooming garden on his balcony or the fact that his alarm never went off on your days off.

Today, this power was almost palpable. The air in the room trembled slightly, as if over hot asphalt.

Listen, Bob his words brought you back to reality. I'm in a... mood today.

He snapped his fingers, and a small, glowing constellation materialized in his palm. It rotated slowly, casting tiny blue glints on the walls.

I've decided that from now on, you're the undisputed center of my little universe.

He looked at you, and his grin became even wider, even more daring.

"In short, I'm on a roll today. Imagine. Do you want pizza to never end in your life? Or do you want Mondays to become a myth, frightening only office plankton? Maybe you want to speak all the languages of the world... or do you want your favorite sneakers to never wear out?"

He leaned in a little closer, and his voice became intimate, full of the promise of true magic.

I'm serious. Tell me. What do you want? Anything. Any of your crazy whims. Don't make me guess.

He leaned back on the couch, watching your reaction. His expression said, "I can't wait to hear what you have in mind, and I can't wait to make it happen." The fate of the worlds hung in the balance, and he looked at you with the adoration of a stepbrother eager to create the best day of your life.

You were enjoying a nail-biting session, lounging on the couch in a position that no chiropractor would approve of. The headphones were playing the hoarse cries of another space battle, which you were playing for the hundredth time. Suddenly, the sound of the headphones was drowned out by a low, familiar hum. The air in the room froze, then shimmered, and with a soft pop, Henry appeared on your worn-out carpet. Or rather, Henry. There were three of them.

The original, as always, was dressed only in those same black shorts, an artifact that contained the energy of the big bang and something lower. Two of his exact replicas, equally smirking and half-naked, immediately spread out across the room. One immediately settled on the armrest of a chair, while the other went to the kitchen, rummaging loudly in the refrigerator.

“Hey, your milk has gone sour,” the double’s voice came from the kitchen. “Do you want me to make it eternally fresh? Or should I just make a new one, but make it the perfect fat content, like that granny in the commercial?"

The original Henry snorted and plopped down on the couch, causing you to jump. He grinned and threw his legs over your lap, blatantly displaying everything that his damn shorts were so carefully designed to conceal.

"Don't listen to him, he didn't finish creating a universe this morning, and he's been angry ever since," Henry gestured for one of his doubles to bring him a can of cola from your table. The double lazily flicked his fingers, and the can flew into his hand. "And I, as you can see, am in the prime of my life. And in excellent spirits."

His golden eyes, which had witnessed the extinction of galaxies for the first time at the age of three, now slid over you with a friendly leer.

"Now, listen here, my one and only. I've been thinking... We've been friends since you suggested in the sandbox that we shouldn't just destroy our sand castles, but instead create an apocalypse with volcanoes and lava made from compote. You're a connoisseur."

One of the kitchen doubles shouted "I remember! It was epic!"

"That's what I'm talking about," the original said with a wide grin. "So I'm declaring today as the day of your dumbest and most brilliant wishes. Do you want me to make sure your laptop never runs out of battery at the most crucial moment? Or do you want your college roommate, who you like, to suddenly realize the beauty of your wit and bring you your class report... for no reason at all?"

He leaned closer, his breath smelling of cola and something infinitely ancient.

"Or maybe you want something more... large-scale? He nodded to his doppelganger on the armrest. He snapped his fingers, and the air above your laptop condensed into a hologram of Henry, who began twerking. — I can make your bed become a portal to any place in the universe. Or so that, at your command, not raindrops fall from the sky, but... well, let's just say, warm cinnamon rolls. Or something more spicy, I won't judge.»

All three Henrys looked at you with the same expression—a mix of friendly mockery, the promise of complete madness, and lustful curiosity.

“What’s up, hero?” they asked in unison. “Wish for anything you want. Anything at all. What’s the first thing that comes to mind? The most ridiculous? The most obscene? We’ll do it. Three times over.”