The Mud Magician forced the slime back, dragging its evil tower down and splattering it on the forest floor.
General Slime was on the ropes. The Mud Magician threw him around and pinned him to the ground. General Slime struggled, trying to reassert control, throwing roller after roller into the Mud Magician, but there was no bringing down the great wall of mud.
One, two, three. Ring the bell, dammit. Ring, ring, ring.
Bob (mentally) thumped his chest and declared his dominance. Swamp of Sorrow! Swamp of Sorrow!
The crowd went wild. George barked his head off, and Sophie looked mildly impressed.
But this was no exhibition match. This was no mere entertainment. This was a fight to the death, a blood-match, a devouring. General Slime hobbled back up to his feet. The combatants circled each other.
General Slime was weary. He looked haggard. His body twitched. Green pus oozed out of his wounds. The Mud Magician was sharp, predatory, waiting for the moment to strike. His eyes burned through his signature mud mask. His cloak billowed around him like black wings.
Bob gulped down a breath of air and cut off his breathing tube. Der Glibbermeister was a Rank D monster. A man has to be willing to shoulder the risks. The slime was trying something. A choppy current made to force Bob out of the creature. It came against him suddenly, like a flash flood pushing over the banks of a river. Bob laughed. The mud wings arched back, minimizing drag and beat forward, easily maintaining Bob's position. It was the last desperate haymaker of the enemy. Bob just stepped back and let the monster totter.
Now it was Bob's turn. Now it was the turn of the mud magician. Bob whirlpooled, spinning his wings around and around, in a dizzying cyclone that churned and churned. Vicious currents rampaged through the slime's body. The slime frothed and boiled. Energy battered against the layer of surface tension that held the slime together. The boundary buckled. The slime sensed what was coming. The slime sensed what was coming and could do nothing. The monster was powerless. Bob was the power. The boundary cracked and fell apart.
The slime exploded. Bob's centrifugal force ripping it apart and splattering it across the forest. Ping. Bob fell to the ground with all that remained of the inert slime. His wings arched out behind him, like some dark angel as he landed deftly on the ground.
"Quagmire Maelstrom," he whispered in his best batman voice and then glanced sidelong to Sophie's position. What did she think of that?
Sophie had missed his epic finisher, his skillful landing, his batman impression. She'd been cowering behind one of the brick walls, trying to avoid getting melted to death by Bob's acid hurricane. Bob sighed, clicked his tongue, rubbed his eyebrows. Why did she never see him at his best? It was so unfair. You can't just manufacture these scenes willy-nilly. These are the things you have to be there for. She never believe him if he just told her.
After ten seconds of relative calm, Sophie poked her head out. Seeing the slime defeated and Bob standing there alone, triumphant, she double-taked and then gave him a pointed stare. George navigated them both down to the forest floor with his staircase trick, making sure to pick up all the mud walls on the way down. Sophie limbed along, dragging her feet; you might have thought she was terribly injured, though Bob couldn't see a mark on her. Bob stepped away from the pooled sludge and walked towards them, Harry shedding any lingering slime goo from his person.
Bob didn't know what he expected. A warm hug and a heartfelt thank you maybe? A kiss on the cheek? A confession of undying love? All valid and reasonable possibilities. What he hadn't expected were Sophie's next words.
"Had Robert forgotten his vulnerable companions hiding nearby? One little word of warning. Watch out. Beware. Take cover. Could you not spare Sophie even a little word?"
Bob deflated. Is it really worth saving people? There's no profit in the business. The margins are razor tight. Bob should get out while he still could. Wait, maybe he could salvage the situation.
Bob tried to look apologetic. He mumbled out, "I couldn't. See, I was trapped," he gestured at the slime scattered around (George was hoovering it all up into his satchel), "trapped inside General Slime. No way to get a message out." He shrugged.
"General Slime, is that what you call him?" She snickered to herself, but Bob thought she wasn't laughing at the name, but laughing at him for giving it such a name. "Really no way to get a message out. Is that so?"
"Yes, unfortunately." Bob pushed his luck here. "I actually tried shouting something out to you guys, but I guess you didn't get the memo."
"Strange. Curious, no? Because now that I think about, I distinctly heard a voice, and I would have sworn it was your voice. It was shouting something."
Stolen story; please report.
Bob felt a beat of his sweat roll down his forehead. "Yes. So you did hear. That was me warning you."
"I believe the words were: 'gurgle', 'gurgle.'"
Shit, Bob muttered to himself. Why'd he always get so carried away? Poker face here Bob, Poker face. "I don't think you heard it quite right. Slime distortion and all. I was saying... 'guard,' 'guard.' It was a warning."
She crossed her arms and waited. Should Bob come clean? Should you found a relationship on honesty and mutual trust, or on a goo of self-justifying lies? Bob decided to change the subject.
"George, good boy, good boy." The dog greeted his master a lot more warmly than Sophie had. The dog snuggled up to the kneeling Bob and started trying to lick away his mud googles. Bob dispelled his mud armor, restoring Harry to his base mantle appearance.
"George, you're the strategist of our group. The big brain. You always make the best plans. And look at you following through on your knightly duties. One damsel in distress saved."
"Your dog was most rude." Sophie cut in.
"He doesn't mean anything by it. George's as sweet as they come." Bob framed George's face between his two hands. The dog made a silly grin, his red tongue lolling out. "See. He's all heart. Look try patting him on the head."
"I will not."
Bob shrugged and patted George on the head. George whined contently. It was so much easier interacting with a dog. "Thank you George." He gave the dog a final pat on the head and stood up. Time for the fireworks.
This time for sure. This time the system wouldn't backstab him with some extra requirement bullshit, some bureaucratic misleading hogwash, some haha-you're-so-stupid-and-I'm-an-omnipotent-being-so-eat-shit turnabout. Bob fluttered his fingers with anticipation. Here we go. He opened his notifications.
> Congratulations: Level up 9 - > 10
>
>
> Major bonus to luck assigned
>
>
> Rolling for random stats...
>
> Random stats determined.
>
>
> Major bonus to intelligence assigned
>
> Minor bonus to dexterity assigned
>
> Token bonus to wisdom assigned
>
> Minor decrease to vitality assigned
Bob fist pumped. He'd finally done it. He, Bob Brown, would save everybody. They will be no recycling on my watch. Throw it all in the landfill, baby. I see you sneaking away that cardboard. Bury it. Bury it with the rest of them. Good. He wouldn't let the system put its dirty hands on him or George or any other earth sentient for that matter. The message continued:
> Evaluating Candidate Potential...
>
> Candidate Potential evaluated.
>
> Evolution Threshold passed.
>
> Evolution Protocol initiated.
>
>
> Would you like to begin the Rank D Evolution Process?
>
> Y/N
>
>
> Time Remaining: 00:56:21
Bob's brow wrinkled. Evolution Process? What was that supposed to mean? And would it hurt? It would definitely hurt wouldn't it? The system was going to strip him down and remake him. Is there an option for anesthetic? Where did he sign? No option materialized. Oh so, the system was a proponent of "natural" evolutions. How unfortunate.
And what was this bloody timer? What would happen if he let it tick out? What he be trapped at Rank E for ever? Would he be knocked down a level? Was it just one of those scarcity marketing tactics to instill a scene of urgency? The MQA part of Bob kinda of wanted to see what would happen. A grand experiment, the first of its kind. And the sane part of him was threatening to mutiny if he had to fight another monstrous slime.
Had the world quest already been fulfilled?
> Quest: D Grade Evolution (World)
>
>
> Reach level 10 and evolve to D grade
>
> Time limit - one week
>
>
> Current highest leveled sentient: 10 (E)
>
> Remaining Time: 02:12:38
>
>
> Reward: None
>
> Penalty: World Recycling
Fair enough. It did explicitly include the evolve condition. Well nothing to it then boys. All that's left was to cross the finish line. The world was waiting and watching. As Bob, our little Bob, junior quality assurance engineer of questionable standing, subpar caretaker of animals, and half-hearted messenger correspondent, stood in the world's spotlight and spoke his piece.
"Friends, Romans, Citizens of the Earth, lend me your ears. Rest easy in your hearts. Have no fear." A pause for dramatic effect. "Bobman is here. Your many grumbles and unreasonable complaints have been heard. I have heard them. I have come. Bobman has come."
The crowd in Bob's imagination roared and started to chant the name: "Bobman, Bobman, Bobman." Bob indulgently stretched out a hand and quieted them.
"Yes, Bobman is here. Bobman sees you. Bobman hears you. Bobman smells you."
He gestured to the splattered remains of the level ten monster. "The Great Enemy, General Slime, who stretched out green, gloopy hands to strangle the world, is no more. He has fallen at Bobman's feet. I spit on his arrogance."
Bob spat on the ground, but he didn't have the knack for spitting and couldn't quite get it all out. A long trail hung from his mouth, and he needed several more attempts to complete the action. He wiped his mouth. "Let's try that again: I spit on his arrogance." He pretended to spit. The crowd started up chanting again.
"Citizens of the Earth, you won't believe me when I say this, but I was once as you." A gasp of shock and horror. "Yes, it's true. I was weak and powerless. I saw the world quest and said to myself, 'This is someone else's problem. Someone else will save me.' I was wrong. Let me tell you now: Don't live for the hero. Be the hero. The world needs more than one Bobman. The world needs every one of you to be Bobman. You and you and you. I know each of you has the seed of Bobman inside you. Let him grow. Let him grow."
"Now, friends, this Bobman will challenge the heavens. This Bobman will seek out the paths of evolution. He shall triumph, and he shall return to you stronger, fairer, and with a real beard. Bobman out."
Bob saluted and then stretched out a hand to accept the evolution process.