The nameless man sat in the chair, surrounded by the corpses of servants, his feet resting on the cooling body of the lord they once unwillingly served. He sat there pondering, surrounded by carnage.

—

It had all started with the best of intentions, as it is apt to do so. Humanity's brightest minds had worked together to build the chair, and one hundred others just like it. It was an end to war, they proclaimed, an end to hunger, disease, and all of humanity's woes. A piece of technology beyond compare, it made men into gods.

In the chair, one's smallest whims became reality.

So they sat in their chairs, became the lords of reality, and found themselves unable to leave. Power makes devils of the best of men, and it does not always take a long time to do so. Subconsciously at first, and then willingly, they ushered in a new age of terror, abuse, and destruction. The world resisted, and battalions of tanks were swept aside as dust before them, missiles plucked from the sky until there were no more. The world resisted again, but the armies and legions of men were brushed away as flies, each time less prepared and less advanced than the previous, until at last they were faced by the likes of swordsmen and catapults. These too were treated the same.

For millennia, the Mad Gods reigned from their chairs as the remnants of their humanity fell away, forever trapped lest they lose their hold. Countless attempts to usurp them took place, the price of each attempt failure and death to those involved. As civilization fell, the nature of the Gods was forgotten to but a few. Still they tried, sometimes with preparation measuring in centuries.

Eventually, success was had.

—

The nameless man sat in the chair. Thousands had died to get him here, to grant him the protection from scrying eyes, to slip him in unnoticed, and to preserve him against the power of the Gods. Any one of a thousand mistakes would have brought his perilous journey crashing down around him with fatal results. Now, only one thing remained undone.

He had slain one of the Mad Gods with his own hands, proving that they were not truly gods, merely mortal men like any other. He had sat in the chair, and with a thought sought out and destroyed the other hundred Mad Gods, and erased their chairs from existence. Now all that remained was the single chair upon which he sat. He could not destroy physically, and he could not make it simply vanish like all of the others. Nor could he leave it because eventually someone else would discover it and take its power.

So he did the only thing he could think of, and that was nothing. After a while, he was a little bit thirsty and wished he had something to drink, and so he did. He was also a little bit hungry, and wished that he'd eaten something earlier, and so he had. Then he was a little bit tired, and so he wished he could just go to sleep. And so he did.

The nameless king sat upon his throne, and quietly faded from memory.

---

Not my best work, but I thought I'd post it anyways. I went through like 5 different endings for this (including one where he keeps the throne and eventually goes bad, but that was too cliche), and I'm still not entirely happy with the ending, but it can be reworked if necessary.

I've got a much better story that I'll be posting later.