Just when everyone thought the story went on hiatus, the [Demon Lord] spoke.
“Yes, it is I, The [Demon Lo—]”
“Dick! Fancy seein’ you around these parts. Whatchu doin’ hare, boy?” Dick asked, pointing at the man standing right next to the [Demon Lo—] who looked like Dick's spitting likeness, only eighteen years younger.
Junior Dick said nothing, extending his Schwartz.
“I see your Schwartz is as big as mine,” Dick commented appropriately.
“Your thoughts betray you, Dick,” Junior Dick replied. “I sense the good in you. The conflict. I’m here to bring you back to the west side of the Schwartz.”
“There is no conflict,” Senior Dick replied, squaring off against his son, the [XXXXXXXXXXX: Class American Attorney]. “The Midwest side runs strong through me.”
“This is incredible,” Magnus whispered.
“True,” Vaak replied. “For his class name to be greyed out, it indicates just how special Junior Dick’s class truly is. What will we witness here on this day?”
“I dunno,” Magnus said, “but whatever it is, it’ll be one for the ages.”
“Wait. Wait wait wait WAIT!” Greg shouted, pointing a gloved hand at Junior Dick. “Who in all the Realms is HE?”
“He is my father’s sister’s cousin’s brother’s former roommate. And also my son.”
Greg closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose as he concentrated. “Okay. How did he get here? And how do you know his class?”
Dick looked at Greg like he’d just asked the stupidest question in the world.
“You ask the stupidest questions in the world, don’t you, Greg? He’s always been here. This whole time.”
“That’s right, Greg,” Junior Dick said, eyeing Greg with the eyes only [XXXXXXXX Class American Attorney]s possessed. “I’ve been here the WHOLE time.”
“Y-you can see me!?” Greg asked, horrified.
“I am, after all, Junior Dick.”
“Hey! You can’t just ignore me!” the [Demon Lord] shouted. “I’m the last boss! I’m the [Demon Lord], goddammit!”
“No! Bad!” God said, popping out of a portal to throw a Cheeto at the misbehaving [Demon Lord]. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I get whenever someone says that!? Have some mercy, man!”
“Isn’t that your job?” Senior Dick asked, earning himself a Frito to the face, which he promptly devoured.
“You see that?” Dick said, turning to face the [Demon Lord]. Do you see how I devoured that corn chip? You’re next.”
The [Demon Lord] was a ferocious beast. Standing 7 Freedom Units tall and nearly as many FU's wide, the [Demon Lord] was a double cheeseburger that stood on two legs made of Freedom Fries. Its buns glistened as meat juice sweat off the burger and mixed with the dill pickle and ketchup before seeping into the white bread of its lower bun.
“Terrifying,” Vaak said solemnly. “Even the demonic clan lords from my story aren’t nearly as juicy.”
“Gotta say I agree,” Magnus responded. “Not even Ubiquity Prime ever fielded such a monstrosity. Never thought Vowron had it in him to come up with this level of opponent. He’s truly outdone himself.”
“Hey! No burger puns! That’s pattyscrimination!”
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“[Demon Lord]!” Senior Dick thundered, “I challenge you to a Dickoff!”
“Not so fast, Dick,” [Demon Lord] Burger said, pointing his Freedom Fried hand at Dick. “You can’t waltz into my tropical domain and just challenge me. There are rules to be followed. Etiquette!”
“This oughta be good,” Magnus said, sipping an Extra Bigass Gulp coke.
“Let’s see how the protagonist responds,” said Vaak, munching on some popcorn.
“Uh, not to break the mood or anything, but why are those two here?” Greg asked.
“It’s so Vowron can pretend he has a Cosemere. Like that small-time author Blandon,” God said, whispering into Greg’s ear, making the floating star jump in panic.
“Get away from me you sicko! That’s freaky! Yeesh!”
“Aite, so what do I gotta do to challenge you?” Dick asked.
“Well, I normally ask challengers to bring me a shrubbery. When they’ve done that, I ask them to bring me another shrubbery. But since this is the last chapter, I’ve got something extra special for you. I shall have you—”
[XXXXXXXXXXXX: American Attorney] — Class Action Lawsuit Invoked.
All of a sudden, thunderous music boomed with the organ tones of the Phantom of the Opera song.
Junior Dick sauntered forth, one hand on his hip, another in his well-pressed suit. “Sorry, [Demon Lord], but I got other plans. We’re gonna do this my way.”
The [Demon Lord] laughed. “You have no power here!”
Then Junior Dick opened up his robe, revealing a bright white light that made the [Demon Lord] fall flat on his ass. Except, being a burger, he had no ass, so instead, his patty impacted the ground, spraying ketchup everywhere.
The brilliant light from Junior Dick blinded everyone. When the light passed, it turned out he was wearing a suit with thousands of tiny mirror plates, like disco dancers from the eighties. More importantly, it was white underneath.
“Junior Dick the White,” Vaak breathed. “Most impressive.”
“I honestly didn’t think he had it in him,” Magnus commented, slurping excitedly from his Extra Bigass Gulp drink.
The letters XXXXXXXXXX appeared above Junior Dick the White’s head, then burned away, forming words that made everyone gasp.
There was no mistaking the words. [Upper Class American]: [Plebian Disguise] shone proudly for the world to see.
“[Upper Class Americans] are beyond rare,” Magnus explained. “They hole up in their estates and have their plebian workers do everything for them. An actual sighting is pretty much impossible, and when you do, you’ll never know.”
“Because of this ability?” Vaak asked.
“That’s right. [Plebian Disguise] allows Upper Class Americans to make themselves look like normies. It’s a perfect disguise, only seen through when they roll up in their Lambos and Ferraris.”
“What is this Lambo you speak of?” Vaak asked. “They do not exist in my world.”
“Ah, they’re impractical, overpriced things people use for transport. You gotta be crazy rich to afford one, and they depreciate like a brick.”
“I do not understand. Where I come from, the wealthy fly by Acira—avian beasts that travel at great speeds. Why would they use an inferior method of transport?”
“Because what’s the point of being rich if you can’t make everyone around you feel poor and stupid?” Junior Dick the White asked. “It’s our noble goal. Our calling. Every moment of every day, we create schemes that keep the rich rich and the poor poor. Why? Because we’re better than them. Says so right in the class description.”
Junior Dick the White turned to the [Demon Lord], who was desperately flailing his fried hands to keep his patty from falling out and spoke. “Anyway, [Class Action Lawsuit] means we do a dice roll of 1d20, and you get a saving throw where we compare your Buttcoin stat to mine. If you lose, I get to do whatever the fuck I want and you can’t say anything about it.”
“And if I win?” the [Demon Lord] asked, trembling against the might of the [Upper Class American].
“That’s literally impossible. My 20-sided dice is all 20s.”
The dice rolled. Sure enough, Dick rolled a 20.
The [Demon Lord]’s Buttcoin stat showed up momentarily.
Buttcoin: 999,999,999,999,999,999,999
“Ha ha ha ha!” the [Demon Lord] laughed. “You thought yourself so smug as an [Upper Class American]! And yet, you are nothing compared to I, Saruma—I mean, the [Demon Lord]. Nobody has more money than me! I’m maxed out! Prepare for your DOOM!”
Dick Junior the White’s Buttcoin stat then appeared, and you won't believe what happened next...