Meanwhile in a place not so far away in an alternate timeline a young god was struggling with scheduling an appointment with the apocalypse. Compared to our baseline world he was summoned about twelve years earlier and was missing twelve years’ worth of faith at the start of his heavenly career. He was also a brat himself, barely sixteen years old.

Yes. For some reason Talakhe went mad and summoned a youngster.

Though such isekai youngsters were more often summoned in the works of fiction and certainly saved a higher fraction of fictional isekai worlds it had no such successes in reality. Thus the Other Thrope found itself in a big trouble. Or at least bigger than the Thrope, Thrope Prime, UnThrope, Thrope Beta, Thrope-42, Thropetron, Thrope C-137 and other such parallel worlds.

The Kid God requested angels to give him immortality (“You are already immortal, Your Bratness,” spoke Archie), sweets (“We do not eat too often as Divine beings, young master. There are none in Heavens,” declared Archie), and toys (“We do not play. Every day is work. I had no vacation days in the last three Eras of Strife,” complained Archie). When he got bored with all the excuses of his servants, the Brat God of Thrope ordered:

“Take me to city with shops full of sweets and toys!”

Despite the he could go there alone with the teleport functionality of his Throne and Divinity he was escorted by his archangel. Poor Armaediael was quite worried about the whole situation.

They went through many shops. Unfortunately the local sweets were much too bitter for a shota raised on sugar-coated Earth. The toys left too much to kid’s imagination to cater to someone raised by cartoons and games.

Young god was clearly getting more and more upset. The archangel aide was frantically trying to find a shop that used more of the expensive liquid gold produced by insects. Maybe there would be somewhere where the even more expensive imported crude brown sugar could be purchased from?

On their way an ornate door opened suddenly and someone small and dressed in rags was thrown out. The person fell right at its god and his servant, currently busy with shopping research. Thus a new crime of ‘Assault on Heavens’ was generated. The boy yelped and started sobbing.

“Yowch! This planet sucks! I want to go home!” the god shouted.

The silhouette in rags only whimpered slightly and otherwise kept being silent. It turned out to be a young girl of ebony skin and pointy long ears.

“Do not dare to return before you earn a hundred monies, you wastrel,” spoke an angry nasty voice from inside the doorway.

“Young lord, young lord! Are you okay?” panicked Archie.

Of course damage of such low, mortal level was nothing to the body remade during godhood ascendance ritual.

“She fell on me!” complained the god, “she is pretty, miss Ari. Is she an elf?” he concluded.

“More precisely a half-elf,” she made a pause and sighed, “oh, she is..”

Unfortunately she was not able to finish as some rude ruffian interrupted her at that moment.

“Do not mingle with peasants, get going already, Elfin!”

Archie’s face darkened.

“What is a peasant, Arma-aediale?” asked young god in a fit of.. curiosity.

Archie’s face darkened further.

“MORTAL FILTH. YOU DARE THROW YOUR SLAVE AT US AND CALL US PEASANTS?! EVEN HERETICS I HAD MET BEHAVED MORE APPROPRIATELY THAN YOU,” she spoke calmly, one word at a time.

She opened the door further with great power and no responsibility at all. It was torn off with fringes and a piece of wall still attached. Finally it landed thrashed on the street.

“Guards! Deal with the ruffians by the 3entrance, immediately!” spoke a fat slaver.

Evil glint in his eyes concentrated on the figure of the archangel. His intentions were as clear as they were disgusting.

Several guards poured out and were slapped away by the Heavenly Caretaker. She went easy on them considering the graveness of their crimes. A much more grim fate was planned for the cause of this incident.

The Boy watched, cheered and clapped his hands. He made weird sounds whenever one of the slaver’s cronies was hit.

“KAAPOOWWW!”

“DUMMMM!”

“PLASK!”

Sooner later than later the nasty slaver was left all alone. He tried to order his slaves to attack, but was fed a knuckle sandwich in the middle of the sentence. Archie dragged the collapsed man by the ankle. Despite his obesity she managed to do so with her tyrannical strength.

“I will be back shortly. Please do not leave the spot, young master,” she said and disappeared with the fatso.

“The hell?!” god cursed and it was quite on point.

The pair went straight to hell after all.

When all the adults had disappeared the slave girl started to sob.

“Are you hurt?” asked young god, “I have some sweets, but they are not that sweet. Want some?” he continued trying to cheer her up.

He reached out to her with a honey bun. She graciously accepted and at this moment all hell broke loose.

Nearby windows shattered, doors were ripped open and even the semi-stable dimensional walls of Thrope started to shake.

In other words..

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“FBI, open up!”

..they arrived.

Tactical deployment team members poured through every ‘entrance’ they could find. Since the crime of feeding a loli occurred on the street this time the definition of ‘entrance’ was quite wide.

Black facemasks, black helmets, black goggles, black uniforms and bullet-proof vests.. the only touch of color other than black was the bright yellow letters “FBI” on their backs.

Bullets were shot, flashbang and smoke grenades were thrown everywhere. It was literally raining bullets. Screams echoed and the streets were drowning in blood and empty munition shells.

God caught the hand of the half-elven girl and they started running away. Fortunately the assault was not entirely accurate as to where the crime had occurred and who the criminals were.

The dimensional walls shook once again and a sizeable tear appeared on the street level. A lady agent in a white shirt, black jacket, sunglasses and a black cap stepped through it. Two SIG-Sauer P226 pistols hanged on suspenders on the sides of her boobs. I mean torso. Torso with boobs.

“Where is the criminal that tried to feed the loli with sweets? Situation report!” she ordered the field agents.

“Ma’am, we have secured the street. The main villain and the loli are still on the run,” reported and agent with a MP5 submachine gun.

“Do not let them get away.”

The subordinate agent started to walk away, but turned back around.

“Can we request a permission to shoot to kill?” he asked.

“Always!” she shouted and continued, “Though if you were to ask you should have done so before shooting, hah!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he shrieked and saluted, “They had criminal’s mugs. Every last one of them.”

“Go get ‘em. Dismissed.”

For some mystical and to mortals unfathomable reason all FBI agents as law enforcers were equipped with an infallible version of Soul Sight. Were they to become mainstay on the continent the Throne might mark this ability as ‘Crime Sight’. They would never shoot innocents. Then again everyone was guilty of something.

All the slaver’s guard were killed with an extra control shot to the head.

A feline beastmen enjoying some recreational magic herbs was cuffed and taken into custody.

Fortunately the Hero of Thrope was yet to be summoned. Why? Because all otherworlders without government-sanctioned business were simply illegal immigrants. Even if it was against their will that they find themselves ‘abroad’.

A scribe got caught copying a children’s book for his niece. He was efficiently executed on spot for copyright infringement.

There were also those that carried pointy sharp objects and were speaking something about arrows in their knees. Such dangerous lunatics were quickly apprehended for possessing illegal weaponry. Those that resisted were riddled with bullets that even a metal cuirass could not stop.

Special sapper’s unit quickly defused the ticking bomb that was the Alchemist’s Guild. After all they possessed large quantities of both drug and explosives precursors and those were regulated by the state. Fortunately the quick search done by the agents did not reveal the lone barrel containing a black oily substance born from rocks.

Tanner’s guild and Butcher’s Guild were quickly closed down due to their abhorrent practices of slaughtering animals that were endangered (on Earth). All to get those few silvers for their furs and parts.

Adventurer’s Guild had yet to be besieged, mainly because this invasion occurred during dead hours, when most of the criminal scum, sorry adventurers, were still out in the field and local dungeon.

The breached dimensional walls shook once again. What was once torn would not mend by itself in such a short time. Many dimensional invaders were waiting for such an opportunity. Cracks started forming over the sky.

Enormous, red and hairy hand appeared. It started to tear the invisible wall all around the ‘relatively’ small hall. The hand was enough to eclipse the moons of Thrope, if they were not currently lazing about on the other side of the planet.

Senior agent commanding the theater of war raised her handgun and shat at it with no result whatsoever. Small caliber bullets simply ricocheted away leaving small bruises at most. The hellish owner of the hand disregarded that. After all such forceful tearing of space was much more damaging. In fact the valiant efforts of hers went pretty much unnoticed as the fiend assumed the itch to be the result of his own actions.

She responded by switching weapons with one of her field agents standing next to her. Submachine gun was a better choice as this time the controlled bursts of shots aimed at the same spot made some small holes. It was akin to an elephant being bitten by a mosquito. This greatly angered the beast.

Another hand joined in tearing the dimension apart and its movements intensified. There was now a certain craziness to it. No one likes to get bitten by insects, right?

Some local mages and other adventurers specialized in ranged warfare tried to help those mysterious, but still humanoid invaders in repelling this demon. Unfortunately either their magic and projectiles were too weak or they were already apprehended by agents beforehand. Magic was forbidden according to Post-Salem Precedence Laws.

“Concentrate fire on the illegal alien!” she issued another order.

The hands might have become a bloody mess, but at this level of existence only the skin would be actually harmed.

*click*

She finally threw back the weapon, when the ammo in the magazine had run out.

“Someone get me a bazooka! Chop, chop, boys!” she somehow shouted louder than a dozen firearms firing simultaneously.

A bloodied agent handed her the metal tube and helped her load the rocket. Blood that dripped from his chin was black, probably due to high caffeine content. Propelled missile flew leaving a trail of smoke and fire in its wake before finally splattering onto the target. This turned out to be somewhat more effective. The resulting explosion have taken an entire finger.

Not being happy with the results the lady agent cussed like a sailor – with a lot of sea-related swear words.

“Send in the tank brigade!”

Another dimensional hole opened and through it the main gun muzzle of M1 Abrams tank slowly emerged. Opposite and little above them the head of the most ugly Vanilla Demon ever finally started to show in the dimensional crack. It was as if the world, the very sky itself was giving birth to personification of the concept of ugliness.

She jumped up onto tank’s tower and struck it with her boot’s heel three times.

“Code Law-Breaker. I repeat, code Law-Breaker. 12 o’clock, 43°! Aim! Fire!” she ordered.

*KABOOOM!*

*KERB-SPLAT!*

The face of the Vanilla Demon made a surprised expression with the bullet splattered into its forehead like and additional third eye.

It was made from depleted uranium for a reason after all. Such heavy munitions bore quite a punch and a lethal dose of toxicity and radiation as an additional bonus damage. It was also a nice way to get rid of nuclear wastes this way. Just dump it on the enemy and let them worry about it later.

The demon’s head started glowing and soon exploded into bits.

This tore the hole even further apart. It could now be classified as a semi-permanent gate.

More and more demon started to pour out of it.

In response more tanks, helicopters and heavy infantry were called upon.

Finally as the fight time grew longer than organization’s overtime regulations allowed the agents decided to order a tactical nuclear strike.

The bomb exploded on the other side of the gate. The nuclear inferno cleared the demon world of otherworldly menace for the foreseeable future. It even destabilized the space around it. Thanks to that the gate closed up by itself in no time.

The female agent stood behind an anti-nuclear blast tower shield (standard ordnance these days) with her anti-nuke sunglasses on top of another sunglasses (standard).

“Everyone dismissed! Second shift takes over!”

…………………………………………………………………..

Meanwhile, hidden from the world in one of the many alleyways, the little god and the little half-elf half-demon were sharing the last piece of honey pastry between themselves. Metaphorically below Archangel of the Lord Armaediael was still taking care of arrangements for that rude mortal. This was going to be the most regrettable “I have only left you alone for five minutes!” in her whole life.

BAD END.

RETRY?

Y/N?

Moral of this side story: Don’t feed the loli, just like you don’t feed the trolls.

The story, all names, ORGANIZATIONS, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, ORGANIZATIONS, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of memes. Blame Anonymous. They made me do it. They are keeping my family in basement and force me to write. Also blame Stonelight, who wanted more lolis on Thrope.