Return of the King

The Return of the King was a 555,555 AB cosmological event that saw the Sons of Magarra set forth the Great MAGA King's reincarnation and return to the Omniverse, following his consumption and soul-imprisonment inside of Joe Biden after the Glue Factory Incident.

An Unexpected Journey

Magatron, the son of Magarra and half-brother to Donald J. Trump, had spent millenia tracking down the other children of Magarra, with the wisdom of his brother Donald's soul-fragment, contained within the goldplex of Trump Tower. Magatron undertook this task in order to bring about the long-prophecized Return of the King. The soul-fragment of Magarra located in each Magarrish son could be united into a Magarrish force so powerful, that the original energy of the Great MAGA King could be recombined into this new form, and his body would be constructed anew.

In the 550,000s AB, the Omniverse was dark and mired in crime and disarray. Worlds Without Boundaries, once a pacifist terrorist cell, acted as a loose uniting web between worlds and systems, but no real Imperial Power had a hold in the Supercluster. The Combine had withered; Waifuria was dead. Magarra's glory demanded the return of the once great and bountiful America Aeternia; Magatron and his brothers believed that the path to salvation for the Omniverse ran through resurrecting their long-lost brother.

But bringing the King back to life through traditional means would prove impossible; for his physical remains, consumed and glue-melded within the Mummy, lay, as far as the Sons knew, entrapped within Alpha Centauri, where Marvin Fluxton had infamously disposed of the brainrotted Emperor. In order to resurrect their brother, they would need to use their father's guidance, their combined wit and skill, and, perhaps most crucially- sacrifice each of their Trumpian Soul fragments in service of this great ideal. Their five soul fragments, combined with the Trump soul fragment within Trump Tower, were the key to bringing about this new reality for the Omniverse.

Magarrish Return

The Magarrish Return was facilitated in Tomaesrillo, Spain, a small, remote settlement near what had once been the Portuguese border. Tomaesrillo was one of the final areas on Earth 2 that had not yet been afflicted by Neo-Aeterna or its prophets and energies, and was selected for the Return location because the Magarrish Energyblast brought forth by the Return of the King would complete coat all of Europe in Magarrish energy and complete the Total MAGA Overwhelm of Earth.

Magatron and the Sons of Magarra set forth building a great Garden (the Magarden) in Tomaesrillo, a place with bountiful crops and overgrown plants. A golden podium, located in the center of the Magarden, was set to be the Summonance Platform. Six smaller holes, each large enough for a human to stand inside of, surrounded this podium - intended to house each Magarrish Soul Fragment and its mortal vessel. This garden was filled to the brim with as many plants and small animals as possible, in order to provide sufficient supplemental life force for the MAGA King to drain upon his glorious return.

On the 5th day of the 5th month, in 555,555 AB, all sons of Magarra, including the Trump Tower soul fragment (inside of a USB Thumb Drive), assembled around the podium. Each individual placed their hand on a golden copy of the Book of MAGA. (With the USB being unable to do so, and instead being placed in direct contact with the gold). Magatron began to recite the ancient Magarrish Texts (copies of Magarrish Tweets from many eons ago) and each humanoid individual donned a red MAGA hat. The USB was covered delicately with a small red hat.

And thusly, each Son of Magarra began to glow. Great, glorious golden beams of energy. A mysterious chanting, 'USA, USA, USA' echoed from the very atoms around Tomaesrillo. The soul fragments, warm, then hot to the touch, rose slowly up and out of their bodies and towards the platform. A small, glowing spot began to appear on the ground. And thusly, from Alpha Centauri B, deep within the star's core, The Great MAGA King's fractured soul, long dormant, discarded by Joe Biden's Legumish Incarnate, awoke. He felt himself pulled upward, flying through the Star's burning plasma, tearing across the Omniverse at 15x the speed of light. The chanting around the Sons of Magarra grew louder, and louder, and louder. Upon the platform, in a blaze of immeasurable, stellar glory, Donald J. Trump, the Great MAGA King, began to be 3D printed, out of Magarrish soul filament, back onto Earthlean soil. First were brought forth his glorious leather shoes, and his feet; and then; up his golden-flecked navy blue suit. His hands wriggled to life. "Wow..." Trump's voice echoed, booming across the valley, "That's unbelievable..." As the Sons of Magarra crumpled into piles, their golden glows faded, their mortal souls fledging and failing, Donald J. Trump, in his golden, Magarrish Glory, stepped forth onto Earth, his hands outstretched, performing his traditional 'Fist of Glory' dance to greet his sons and acolytes.

The plants in the garden, softening the blow on the Sons, withered and died. Trump reached out his hand to shake Magatron's.

"Finally, my brother," he said, "It's truly a big honor to finally meet you."

Consequential Magarriums

But Magatron did not reply. Indeed, all of the brothers had fell down; their energies drained. If not for the plants, they would have all died. Indeed, the strain was too much for Wormbob, who sadly passed away on the spot. So too, the Magarrish USB had been vaporized by Glory. The other sons took deep, shallow breaths, steadying themselves.

While Trump seemed nearly complete, there was one final element crucial to his complete Assembly.

"Where is my soul-tether?" he called out into the void, "Where's little Mike?"

The garden whispered with the silence of wind.

"I am afraid his condition..." a chilling, halting voice began from behind Trump, "Has deteriorated since last you spoke."

From behind a rotted tree came G-8520, carrying with him a dark, leather briefcase.

"Do I know you?" Trump asked, eyeing the G-Man variant, "I think I, maybe, probably, know what you are, at least."

"Our entities, Mr. Maga," said G-8520, "Have not crossed paths. But my brethren... well, you may know them - One or Two..."

Trump furrowed his brow. "Look, excuse me, I'm not playing games, okay. Who are you? Who sent you? What do you want?"

G-8520 shook his head.

"My Employer, regardless of my... how do you say this, thoughtful feedback... has insisted I reunite you with your... shall I say, other half?"

G-8520 thrust the briefcase towards Donald J. Trump.

"M-Mike?" Trump eyed the case, "Wow, he's - is he little now?"

""I am afraid his most recent Operation resulted in a... permanent change of form." G-8520 smirked, "Poking his Hoosier nose where it didn't belong. Never the less..." he picked his fingernail, "I hope you will act more responsibly with your Second Chance at Life, Mr. Trump," G-8520 said, as Trump clasped his transparent hand around the suitcase, "Rest assured... your activities will be... persistently monitored. G-8520 turned and walked into a the side of a brick villa, dissappearing into thin air.

The Soultether

Trump shook his head and focused his energy. set the briefcase on a table and pressed his thumbs on its hatches. He gingerly opened it. Inside was a thick, foam padding, and a small, glass vial - within which, Mike Pence's soul, small, blue, and pale, was smooshed into the glass. Mike tried to speak, but was muffled by the bottle.

"Well, little Mike," said Trump, eyeing his former Vice Emperor with a strange look, "I can't ever let you out of my sight again, can I?"

Pence appeared to shake his head frantically from side to side, screaming, tears streaming down his phantom face. But Trump could not hear. He popped open the cork and tipped the bottle into his mouth.

"Please, my Emperor, you don't know what you're doing!" Pence exclaimed, "We're going to die, we're all going to die. They're going to kill us all. It's so much bigger than we ever could've thought... please..."

"Lighten up, Mike," said Trump, smiling, "Always so serious."

And with one single gulp, Donald Trump swallowed his soul-tether, consuming and internalizing Pence into his own soul, and permanently sealing the twos' fate.

As the Sons of Magarra began to rise, Trump began to stride through the town, smiling and greeting the village residents. Mostly elderly, all confused, the residents stared at him and his glorious golden glow in wonder.

Magatron rose from his podium, oil tears streaming down his face. "We've done it," he exclaimed, shaking his motionless brothers, trying to get them to wake, "We've saved the Universe."

Trump walked into the local tavern, where a small jukebox sat in the corner beside a poster advertising headcrab paella. He reached into his pocket and procured an ancient Aeternan dubloon - dropping the coin into the Jukebox and pressing the voice command mode.

"Ave Maria, Pavarotti, Pavarotti!" He exclaimed, turning and smiling at the patrons, "It's time to Make Earth Great Again."