From the Book of Meaning

Meanwhile, in another multi-dimensional space, there remained only two aggredeities after the (metaphorical but not necessarily allegorical) dust settled. Their interactions were not completely untranslatable, and are interpreted here as idiomatic dialog to facilitate human comprehension.

Pseu: "What'll it be, Reg? You must decide."

Reg was a coordinated coalition of consonant conscience and courtesy, and Pseu was a devious distributed dissonance of distraction and dissipation. Pseu was offering Reg a choice. This was the denouement of an epic whose span cannot be compassed by the likes of you or me. Its casualties were countable, but not finite; its plot twists, recursive and non-euclidean; its lessons, lost to all but the victor because the casualty count included all observers.

Only these two aggredeities remained, but this was unlike the final showdown one might expect for an ultimate battle between order and chaos. Reg (the definite undergod) did not have overwhelming odds stacked against it, because this 5.72-dimensioned space was completely deterministic. Probabilities need not even be considered. Reg was constrained to an end-game choice of only two options with no possible alternatives.

Reg: "What were those options again? I got distracted by trans-dimensional expository interference."

Pseu: "I could keep you alive for all eternity,
suffering. I could exist very comfortably on your pain alone. Or..."

Reg: "Ah, the obligatory non-option, so that you can call the outcome my choice."

Pseu: "Or I could let you die now in peace and create from your essence a whole new universe. Your intrinsic order would live on in the rules of the new universe, but I can construct it so that the very basis of those rules is randomness. I can make it so that the tiniest changes precipitate staggering catastrophes. Everything will look like it follows a pattern, but randomness will obscure the important patterns and remote coincidences will misguide any learning. Nothing will be certain. Even causality will be impossible to confirm. And any intelligent being locked in this universe will be doomed to suffer the ongoing aching angst of uncertainty."

Reg: "But if you make the universe out of me, you won't be able to meddle with it. You won't be able to break my essential rules."

Pseu:
"I won't have to. This universe will start slowly, but once it gets going it'll radiate the pain of trillions of frustrated intelligences. Tasty!"

Reg made the only reasonable moral choice possible: "I think I'll skip the eternity of torture, thanks, and go straight to the universe of pain. At least it won't be my pain."