"Nope" Lawrence refused flatly, taking a sip at his milk cup and then absentmindedly munching down his toast.

To say Christiane wasn't surprised would be lying. She did widen her eyes in surprise, and she did drop her smile for a second. But she was far better prepared for surprises than Lawrence was. She immediately returned to her original expression and, if she was still in shock, she definitively wasn't showing it. "I see" she closed her eyes and sighed. Lawrence, having some experience in that area of expertise (sighing) knew that the sigh was meant to reprimend herself for something. "I see" she said. "Could I ask why, exactly?"

This time it was Lawrence's turn to sigh. It was a sigh that could've meant whatever. And it actually did, since Lawrence didn't have the slightest idea of what he was going to say next.

To be honest, he wasn't prepared for that kind of question. Did he want to become a Vigilante? No, he didn't. That was sure. That sureness was, as a matter of fact, what made him answer back without thinking. But what was the reason behind that, exactly? He couldn't pin it down. Maybe it was the civilian side that still clung to him. Everyone outside of the meta-society, and even some inside it, trembled at the mention of the emperors of villains. They were evil, powerful and charismatic to no extent, as were all due villains. Voldemort. All For One. Behold the perfect examples of what that explosively combination can do.

Not only that, but there was also another fact that forced him to decline. What Lawrence wanted was an paradise for villains. An utopia, as Christiane had called it. He wanted a perfect world for those who leaned to the righteous evil, and he wanted to build it whiteout shedding more blood than necessary. For that, he would have to reform much. He was willing to bet that some of the underground leaders, most of them, even, didn't agree with his vision of the world. Privatization of power was always the most profitable option.

And finally, his own feelings. Turning into a Vigilante would mean being 'one of the greatest powers of the world', but not the greatest. That wasn't his goal. His goal was ruling the world. Being the great mastermind behind every wheels. That didn't sit well with him.

In the end, it was that last reason what got him talking.

"Christiane. Do you remember the words you yourself said about my dreams?"

"Of course. I said you wanted to create an utopia, and put yourself at the top of it. Am I not correct?"

"That is the reason. It is not the top if there are others at your level. My ultimate goal is the apex of the world. Reaching the unreachable. Becoming the Non Plus Ultra, if you like..."

Lawrence's eyes gleamed hypnotizing purple, and Christiane nodded. Of course, it was so simple she couldn't believe she forgot. It was she herself who voiced his words, after all.

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Lawrence closed his eyes and rested his head between his hands as he finished the last toast.

"And that, my minion, is the reason why I won't join the Vigilantes. I will start my own empire from the bottom to the top~"

They were interrupted by a booming echo. An expansion wave blew off the crystals in the windows, not only of Lawrence's house, but all the block and the surrounding neighborhood as well.

Then they all heard a voice, as clear as if someone was talking through speakers right next to them.

"CITIZENS OF WORNE YK...! K...! K..."

What in the actual fuck, was Lawrence's first impression.

"MY NAME IS BLAST...!!! Ast...! Ast... AND I AM THE VILLAIN WHO CONTROLS THIS PART OF THE CITY...!!! Ity...! Ity..."

Lawrence scrunched up his nose. What did that fucker just say?

"I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE GOOD PEOPLE AROUND...!!! Aund...! Aund... I HEREBY PROCLAIM ME, THE GREAT BLAST, THE NEW GOVERNOR OF WORNE YK...!!! K...! K..."

His eyebrow twitched, and he grinned maniacally. Oh, what in the world was this little piece of shit insinuating? Was that a challenge? He felt the tension rising on his body. The logical part of his brain telling him this so-called Blast had no way of knowing his existence was drowned in cold rage. This was his territory. He had made one hell of a good job wiping out the local plagues and subjugating all nearby villains into his domain. And now this nasty son of a bitch was screaming half the town that he was the governor of the fucking city?

Oh man, he was pissed. He hadn't felt like this since Johnny's men blew up his house.

And he was stronger now.

"ONE LAST WARNING...!!! Ning...! Ning... ALL POWERS RESISTING, HEROES AND VILLAINS ALIKE, SHALL BE TREATED WITH NO MERCY...! Ercy...! Ercy..."

Lawrence's eyes were windows to a realm of madness and loss as he slowly stood up, a chilling grin still plastered on his face as he gripped his chair with such force it looked like it would break apart.

"I WILL ELIMINATE YOU ALL!!!" The shocking soundwaves ripped apart the rest of the windows. A flying shard of glass scratched Lawrence's cheek, leaving a mark.

"Christiane." Lawrence talked softly. His bloodthirst was leaking through his voice. Christiane shivered almost unnoticeably at the sight of the man she served. It was the first time she saw him like this.

Better not to rub him the wrong way, then.

"Yes, Mr. Lakewood?"

"Ready yourself. We leave in ten minutes. I believe telling you our goals are obvious."

"Of course." She bowed and was about to head out when he stopped her.

"One last thing."

She turned around, and the shadow on Lawrence's face almost made her step back on reflex.

"Bring your toy. We will have to drill some respect into this sorry excuse of a villain. Quite literally, if necesary."

She nodded, saying not a single word.

"Mikaella!!!"

There was a puff of dark smoke a his side and his most trustworthy ally appeared. "Yeah?"

"Tell Gallutneck to meet us in the field. Tell him not to make me wait."

"Right-o, chief." She puffed away. Lawrence absentmindedly observed she was faster between jumps. Maybe her features had ranked up somewhere along the way.

"NOW COME OUT AND BOW BEFORE ME!!!"

He stepped outside of his house and looked far in the distance, to the direction of the loud voice. He made sure there was no one around and, at long last, muttered the words he was itching to let out, like burning gasoline.

"Game on, motherfucker..."