“KB.”
As if summoned by magic, the robot appeared by the Director’s side, Verdant’s doll still clinging to its back. Hellfire eyes brightened.
“Yes, Shimada-san?”
"The Council has been updated of the situation?”
“They have.”
He looked up at the doll.
“Operator Haze, your spells are recording?”
“They are, sir.”
In the background a voice echoed.
“Stop photosynthesizing this minute, Verdant! You need to rest! You’re being a very bad patient!”
The doll closed its mouth and the distant chastisement ceased. The Director nodded.
“Then we proceed.”
He turned to Brock.
“The few remote observations that survived our encounter with the Overlord-class yesterday showed you as purely physically oriented. When I tell you to, I want you to punch this table,” he motioned to the small, square table they’d eaten their sandwiches at, “as hard as you can, like you’re trying to send it to the top of the Bell.” He looked over his shoulder. “Captain Swift!”
Cap got up from her seat at the picnic table and jogged over.
“Yes, sir?”
“I am re-authorizing Appraisal for this session.”
“Understood, sir.”
Cap flipped her eye-patch up, revealing the golden gaze once more. The Director returned his attention to Brock.
“Punch the table.”
Brock looked at the Director, then at the table, then back at the Director. He hesitated.
“So, uhhh, like, it looks pretty sturdy, you know? I’m definitely going to feel it in my knuckles if I uppercut a solid hunk of, well, whatever that is.”
“Punch the table, Brock,” the Director replied sternly.
Brock shook his head, then made a fist. At least it would heal.
“...ow! Goddammit ow ow OW! Hnghhh...”
Brock stuck his bruised and broken knuckles in his mouth, but they were already repairing themselves and the pain once again faded from his mind like a long-lost memory.
“Captain Swift, was that maximal effort?” The Director looked over at Cap, who nodded slowly. “Interesting,” he mused. “Clearly strength as a physical aspect is out.” He motioned Brock away from the table, then halted him in the middle of the sand.
“This time, I want you to try and jump as high as you can.”
Brock bent his knees, then tried to spring upwards like a superstar dunking a basket.
His feet briefly elevated, then returned.
“Hmmm. Fifty-six centimeters. Captain Swift?”
Cap nodded again. The Director chuckled.
“I see. Now let’s see how fast you can run to the other side of the arena and back. Bear in mind it is no more than thirty meters away.”
Ten seconds later, an extremely winded Brock returned, panting heavily. The Director laughed outright.
“Very well, then. Time to roll the dice. Doctor Yuriel!”
“...what?”
“I authorize release of the skill ‘Permission.’”
“...fine. Releasing skill ‘Permission.’”
The world sharpened slightly around Brock, everything surrounding him moving just a tiny bit slower than it had a second ago. He felt energized, perfectly balanced in the exact spot he wanted to be. A cry from the side drew his attention, and he looked over to see Cap crouching over, an arm held in front of her eyes. The few surviving machines around the arena sparked, then exploded, and he could hear a stream of invective from where Yuriel was consulting a series of holographic panels now floating above the picnic table.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Captain Swift?”
“...I’m okay, sir.” Slowly, Cap rose out of her crouching position, and when she pulled her arm away from her eyes, her patch was once again in place. “But whatever that skill is, it doesn’t want anyone Appraising it now. Felt like someone put a firehose up to my eye. It’s much more complex than what he had before.”
“Doctor Yuriel, do you concur?”
A screaming string of profanities was the only response from the makeshift picnic bench workstation, and the Director nodded.
“She concurs. It appears your ‘Catastrophe Suite’ is fully activated, Brock. Now than, I would like you to once again try to run to the other side of the arena and ba-”
Brock’s feet blurred beneath him.
“-ck.”
At the picnic table, Mikael began a low whistle just before the sonic boom flung the remnants of lunch, along with everything else in the arena, high into the air. After gravity had exerted some semblance of control, he pulled a slice of turkey from his hair and regarded it thoughtfully.
“Kid’s got wheels.”
Sprawled on the sand next to him, Fiona glared at Brock.
“What, so you’re faster than a speeding bullet? Real original. What about the rest of my grilled cheese? I was looking forward to finishing that.”
The Director waved a hand at them, and they fell silent.
“This time, Brock, I would like you to jump as high as you can.”
Brock, still marveling at how fast he’d just run, rolled his eyes, then shrugged. It was yet another weird request in a weird new life. He crouched low, hips sinking down over his heels, and then-
-he-
-jumped.
Brock crashed through the top of the Bell like it wasn’t even there, trailing a corkscrew tail of cloudy water vapor, and rocketed into the brilliant light shining through the upper levels of the Yggdrasil. Branches flew past him at an alarming rate of speed, and the light shifted from blue, to indigo, to black, to colors unprintable in words not of madness, and still he ascended through the manifold realities of the World Tree. His perspective shifted, up became down, and then he was falling towards some incomprehensible distant shore.
When he finally landed, feet impacting a constantly churning surface of memories distilled from beings more concept than life, alien physics futilely unleashing their inimical energies on the unchanging intruder, he realized he was a long way from home. Something that looked like a surgical hose crossed with an inside-out crab gabbled furiously at him, waving its pendulous claws around, but he ignored it.
An issue far more pressing had just caught his attention.
The Limiter around his neck was dinging, each successive sound escalating slightly in volume, and a voice thrummed in his head.
“Warning. Outside of Limiter range. You have five seconds to return to Limiter range or consequences will apply.”
That doesn’t sound good, Brock thought, and gathered himself for another jump. The crab thing appeared to be sweeping up shards of its reality from Brock’s landing into a sentient dustpan, which also muttered sullenly at him.
“Four.”
He squatted into a stance and then-
“Three.”
-he exploded-
“Two.
-back into-
“One.”
-the universe he’d just left, shooting down through the still-sizzling hole he’d created in the mile-thick husk of the Bell and slamming into the sandy floor of the arena. Glass popped and cooled around his bare soles, melted and re-melted by the takeoff and landing. He patted himself down to make sure everything was still there, then froze.
His clothes were untouched this time!
Brock never imagined he’d feel so happy to see a plain gray workout shirt and pants, but that was before the testing process had illustrated the fragility of style in an explosive environment. He started doing a victory dance, but stopped as the dust and steam wafted away. The Director was looking at him thoughtfully behind a shimmering magical barrier.
“I believe we will dispense with the punching test at this time.”
Fiona and Mikael were huddled around Cap, the three of them whispering to each other, Verdant’s doll perched on Mikael’s shoulder. Brock could hear them as if he was standing right there.
“Kid’s Saitama-class for sure.”
“What are we supposed to do, Cap?”
“It’s up to the Director now, Fiona. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I demand you stop photosynthesizing right this second, Operator Haze!”
The Director cleared his throat.
“Can you hear what they’re saying, Brock?”
Brock startled, looking guilty, but even that motion was far more graceful than he expected.
“Uhhh, yeah. They’re saying something about ‘Saitama-class.’” He thought back to the explanation the Director had given him during lunch on the skill levels, and realized that particular designation hadn’t come up. “What’s that?”
“Something very dangerous indeed,” the Director said absently, eyes locked on the distance. He abruptly refocused and clapped his hands. The barrier disappeared, along with the scattered debris of lunch, leaving them alone in the middle of the ruined arena. He raised his voice slightly.
“Doctor Yuriel, you may re-engage ‘Permission.’”
Brock’s senses dulled.
Back to normal I guess, he sighed inwardly. The Director continued speaking.
“I’ve seen everything I needed. Testing is now concluded. KB, please take Brock through the civilian transition exit process, and make sure his residence is on file. I would like him discharged as soon as possible.”
There was a brief exclamation of surprise from Cap and the others, and the Director raised his hand.
“The rest of you, we will meet in my office in half an hour. Verdant, you may continue attending remotely.”
Cap looked like she was about to protest further, but stopped herself at a stern glance from the old man. He turned to Brock and smiled.
“On your way now, Brock. Thank you for your patience, and good luck in your future endeavors.”
Stunned, Brock couldn’t even think to say anything. They’d gone from trying to kill him to letting him walk free? After he’d literally jumped into a different universe?
“Follow me, meatbag.”
Brock walked with KB (Administrative) back over to the elevator ant, which had somehow avoided all of the destruction and was placidly nibbling on some sort of oily leaf. His head was whirling in confusion, still trying to figure out what was going on. The door opened as he approached, and the robot ushered him inside. Brock finally found his voice.
“So, uhhh, that’s it? You’re just letting me go?”
“Of course not,” KB (Administrative) responded. “We still have to process your exit paperwork first. I will meet you back at the main trunk, meatbag.”
As the elevator doors closed, the robot dashed off in a flurry of limbs, and the elevator ant scuttled into motion after it. Brock leaned up against the glass and watched the dim haze inside the Bell slowly shift into the piercing daylight of the outer tree branches.
Eventually something in this new life was going to make sense.