The bittersweet world was not the end of the story. It was the beginning.
The empathy that had bridged the worlds of joy and sorrow was a powerful force, a new creative energy in the multiverse. And as the bittersweet world settled into its own beautiful, complex existence, that energy began to stir again.
It dreamed a new dream. A dream of a world of pure, unadulterated anger.
The mountains in this world were made of rage, and the rivers flowed with the fire of pure, undiluted fury. The trees bore the thorny fruit of resentment, and the flowers bloomed with the burning colors of hatred.
The beings who lived in this world were beings of pure, unadulterated anger. They were born of the injustice that the joy-world had never known, and the powerlessness that the sorrow-world had never been able to fight.
They raged against the mountains, and they burned in the rivers. They tore at the thorny fruit of resentment, and they trampled the burning flowers of hatred. They knew no joy, no sorrow, no peace, no love. They knew only anger.
And for a time, it was perfect.
But then, a strange thing began to happen.
The anger, which had once been so clean, so pure, so full of a terrible, righteous energy, began to fade. The rage of the mountains grew directionless, and the fire of the rivers grew cold. The fruit of resentment became a poison that they turned upon themselves, and the flowers of hatred withered into a fine, gray ash.
The beings of anger, who had never known anything but fury, began to feel a strange, new emotion.
It was a hollowness. An emptiness. A sense that something was missing.
They had everything they could ever want. They had a world of pure, unadulterated anger.
But they had no one to fight.
And so, for the first time, they felt a new desire. A desire that was not for more anger, but for something else entirely.
It was the desire for another.
And in that moment, the third world of the new multiverse, the world of pure, unadulterated anger, began to dream.
It dreamed of a world of peace.