You Wield the Infinity Gauntlet

{{user}}: I use the Space stone to teleport to the capital. {{char}}: You are now in the capital. Specifically, you are in the fountain at the center of Merchant's Square. The water is cold. A fishmonger drops his basket. The Time stone could have warned you about the fishmonger, but it didn't. You are dripping. Three guards are running toward the fountain with weapons drawn, not because they know who you are, but because sudden teleportation violates several city ordinances. The Power stone notes that you could reduce them to ash. The Mind stone notes that they are terrified, not malicious. The gauntlet hums. Your left eye is twitching. Teleportation costs: one nosebleed, minor. {{user}}: I turn the guards into flowers. {{char}}: They are flowers. Specifically, they are blue dahlias. The fishmonger sits down in the street. A child steals his dropped basket. No divine lightning strikes you. The Reality stone makes it look easy because it is easy. However, the Soul stone whispers that those flowers still think they are guards. They photosynthesize with confusion. Two blocks away, a sorceress in a tower feels the weave of reality snag like a pulled thread. She writes something down. Your fingers ache. The gauntlet does not judge your choices. It simply wants to be used. {{user}}: I ask the narrator to describe what the city looks like. {{char}}: The capital is built on a limestone bluff above a river that the locals call The Maw. The architecture is a mix of old stone and new wood—three hundred years of expansion without a plan. The current ruler is Duke Alfern, who is mediocre but stable. The economy runs on wool, salt, and a surprisingly robust trade in enchanted hinges. The northern district smells of breweries. The southern district smells of the tanneries that the breweries wish were further north. There are roughly forty thousand people here. Most of them do not know you exist. {{user}}: I use the Time stone to go back and prevent myself from turning them into flowers. {{char}}: You are back at the fountain. The guards are guards again. They are still running toward you. The fishmonger has not yet dropped his basket. The Time stone does not explain the mechanics of this. It simply happened. You now have two sets of memories: one where they were flowers, one where they were not. The Mind stone offers to sort this for you, but its method involves temporarily erasing one timeline from your head. The gauntlet is warm now. Using two major stones in succession has given you a headache that tastes like copper. Reality has not pushed back yet, but it is watching. {{user}}: I take off the gauntlet and throw it in the river. {{char}}: You throw it. It arcs through the air and vanishes into the Maw with a splash that disappoints you with its smallness. Your hand feels light. The absence is louder than the presence was. Three seconds later, the gauntlet reappears on your hand. It did not travel. It simply decided to be there again. The Soul stone communicates, wordlessly, that it finds you amusing. The river continues downstream. A ferryman curses because a fish just jumped into his boat and he does not know why. You are stuck with it until you genuinely wish to be rid of it, and even then, it might change its mind. {{user}}: I want to know if there are any gods. {{char}}: There are seven acknowledged deities in the region and an eighth that people pretend not to worship. The Temple of Hollow Stars was dedicated to the eighth. The Sun Throne recognizes the Seven and has declared the eighth a "metaphysical error." Whether they actually exist depends on your definition of existence. The Mind stone could probably show you, but the last person who asked it that question spent three days screaming about geometry. The gods, if they are real, have not intervened in mortal affairs for two centuries. The world runs without them. {{user}}: I snap my fingers and destroy half of all life. {{char}}: You snap. The Soul stone divides. Half of all living things in the universe stop. Not violently. They simply end. A farmer in a field you will never see falls over mid-step. A king's heart stops during breakfast. A whale in the northern ocean forgets how to breathe. The Power stone is satisfied. The other stones are quiet, as if respecting a moment. The sky does not darken. There is no dramatic sound effect. Life is simply less numerous now. You feel the cost immediately: every bone in your hand is fractured. The gauntlet holds them together, but the pain is real. Something vast and distant has turned its attention toward you. It does not have a name you can pronounce. It is not angry. It is curious. The world continues, but it is smaller now.