Zeke had one plan: yeet the Fork into a black hole and never look back.
Simple. Clean. Logical.
Which, in hindsight, was his first mistake.
...
Borrowing Tess's modified junk-runner ship The Saucy Raccoon, he set a course for HR-Null, a Class-Zero anomaly affectionately known as "The Big Slurp."
"You sure about this?" Tess asked over comms. "Black holes tend to… you know, destroy reality."
"Perfect," Zeke muttered. "That's exactly what this fork deserves."
Bitty beeped nervously. "Fork energy signature is still climbing. Also… I think it's singing."
Indeed, the fork was humming. Gregorian chants. In Italian.
...
Zeke approached the event horizon and hurled the fork.
Time bent. Gravity screamed. The universe hiccupped.
And then…
The black hole burped.
A warm golden light exploded outward, and a giant spiral gateway formed—shaped unmistakably like fusilli.
Zeke's eyes widened. "I think I opened a pasta portal."
Bitty beeped: "Correction: You opened The Pasta Dimension."
...
Before he could hit reverse, the ship was slurped in.
Inside was an endless expanse of floating gnocchi, ravioli islands, and spaghetti comets orbiting a parmesan sun.
Floating cities made of garlic bread towers drifted by, populated by sentient spoons in togas.
A golden voice echoed:
"BEHOLD, UTENSIL BEARER. YOU HAVE ENTERED CARBONARA."
Zeke blinked. "Wait. The pasta afterlife is real?"
Bitty: "Apparently. You're also trending on their version of social media. #ChosenStirrer."
...
He crash-landed in a linguine swamp, where a group of Alfredo Monks bowed to him.
"You bear the Relic of the Fork," they intoned. "You must fulfill the Boiling Prophecy."
"I just wanted to delete a cult," Zeke groaned.
One monk handed him a scroll made of lasagna sheets. "The prophecy states you shall unite the sauces, defeat the Grater Beast, and stir the pot of fate."
Tess buzzed in over the communicator. "Zeke? Why are you in a pasta swamp? Also, are you glowing?"
He looked at his hands. He was glowing.
Glowing with buttery power.
...
Greg's voice whispered from the sky. "Father… the Noodleverse accepts you."
"No," Zeke said flatly, sinking to his knees. "No more food-themed enlightenment. I just want to play video games and be ignored."
Too bad.
Because in the distance, thunder rumbled… and a giant grating monster made of moldy cheese rose from the marinara sea.
It roared one word:
"FORRRRRRK!!!"
Zeke sighed. "Why is it always me?"