Mr. Brusque … no. Lord Brusque. Now that was a title befitting of one so great as himself! Lord Brusque looked out across the lands that were now his. As far as the eye could see, he would reign supreme. No longer was he a mere landlord. He was THE Landlord.
He frowned upon the luminous handful of districts in the distance. There, the upper class and upper middle class huddled together, hording enough lights to sear at any nyctal that drew near. ‘Brightside’, they called it, but he wasn’t merely ‘any nyctal’. He could already feel the difference. The A.M.E.’s biomass barely shied away from the handful of streetlights within it. Clearly it didn’t care about light nearly as much as the average nyctal.
Brightside would be his.
He’d grow his biomass until it enveloped the city. The quarantine dome would be nothing to his might. Once it fell before him, he would spread across the world. History and times to come would know him as Lord of Earth, for he would forever be.
Lord Brusque closed his eyes. He felt his aerosol shift across the buildings, through the streets. It caressed all that could be found within and upon them. He mostly didn’t have to see the immediate area anymore. Shapes and textures outlined in his mind. Sheets of rain fell through his biomass. He felt the droplets. They almost tickled, but didn’t. Some droplets reached the ground, while others were absorbed.
The plethora of newborn sensations was more diverse and versatile than anything he had ever known. Yet, he felt a sense of distance from it all. Even with his gargantuan avatar, it was like feeling his body in third person.
Oh well. Who cared about maintaining the human experience? He had transcended such things.
His tactile awareness began to drop off where the brainflies swarmed thickest, but Amy had already cleared out many of them. Inside John Crows eyescraper, his senses went completely dead.
Opening his eyes, Mr. Brusque gazed at the towering building occupied by John Crow. Wreathed in a vortex of brainflies, it was shrouded in shadows that rippled like the surface of water. Everything else felt puny, like standing in a diorama. Everything, except that eyescraper. It was as big as his titanic avatar, maybe larger.
A rival alpha.
John Crow said nothing.
“LEMME GUESS,”
smirked Lord Brusque,
“YOU’RE SITTING IN THERE, JUST SEETHING OVER THE FACT THAT I TOOK CONTROL THIS APEX PREDATOR BEFORE YOU DID.”
John Crow fumed. He lifted one of the eyescraper’s tentacles towards the giant, a dim bomb’s pustule swelling near the tip.
Lord Brusque raised his hands.
“HOL’ UP. DON’T YOU WANNA KNOW HOW I TOOK CONTROL OF THE A.M.E.?”
John Crow bit his lip. His metaphorical trigger finger itched like a flea infestation. He decided to stay his hand … for now.
Amped by his A.M.E., John Crow’s voice boomed from the sound casters, rivalling Mr. Brusque’s. (He refused to acknowledge that guy as a lord, mentally or vocally).
"̴̦̦͓̈FF̵̯̃F̵̣̀FFF̵̟͒F̵̱̃F̵͕̭͌͝IŃ̴̞̱E.̴̪̙̀ ̷͈͊̂ ̸͚̿̈HOW?"
spat John Crow.
Lord Brusque laughed and clapped, his palms meeting like thunder.
"IT’S SIMPLE!”
John Crow waited. No elaboration came.
"̵̨͊̋SO?"̵̨͊̋
he finally asked.
“‘SOOO’, YOU’RE GONNA GIVE ME YOUR WORD THAT YOU WON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT MOVING AGAINST ME IF YOU WANT AN ANSWER,”
Lord Brusque declared.
“WE’RE BOTH ALPHAS HERE. WE CAN SPEAK AS EQUALS.”
John Crow’s fingers twitched with yearning for a neck to strangle. Mr. Brusque picked the worst time to be competent. If Norman’s words held any water, mastering the A.M.E. was a matter of self-control and willpower … What a load of rubbish! If it were that simple, he would have dominated Dread without issue. After all, he was as self-controlled and strong-willed as they came!
He realised he was strangling a landlord.
The puny thing must have wandered into the room for some stupid reason. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it. Glancing at the entrance, he saw a couple more. They smiled at him. One even gave a thumbs up.
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John Crow found himself smiling back as he got warm and fuzzy inside. They knew he needed an outlet, and convinced some hapless sap to come within strangling range. What wonderful people! They really knew how to make him feel special!
The landlord in his grasp gasped for air and wiggled oh so delightfully. Then the wiggling stopped.
John Crow examined his victim.
"̶̜͙̕… UNCONSCIOUS ALREADY!?"̷̪̪̍ he shrieked.
Forget their hospitality! These people were horrible! Sending one victim who’d flake on him so fast was like giving someone a half-eaten potato chip after promising a meal! How cruel! How wicked!
He hurled the limp body at the confused and horrified landlords. They fell like bowling pins.
John Crow massaged the irritation out of his temple. At least he felt a bit better now. Five potato chips better.
"̴̢̛WHAT BECAME OF AMY’S CONSCIOUSNESS?"̸̝͋
he asked.
Lord Brusque opened his massive palm. Amy’s raspberry avatar manifested atop it. She looked dazed, as though suddenly set on her feet after a long sleep. Upon meeting Lord Brusque’s gaze, she flinched into horror-stricken silence.
He beamed.
Amy took to the air. She barely got off the palm before his thumb pressed her back down. Remarkably, she’d caught it, but her tiny arms strained against his casual might. He chuckled at her plight.
“Mr. Brusque, please!” Amy squeaked like the critter she was. “I just want to save my boyfrien-!”
“BE QŪ̵̖͠Ị̷̊E̸̦͂͠T̴̹̂!”
he thundered, pressing down a little harder.
Her strength gave out. He felt the avatar crunch beneath his thumb.
“CROW! BRING OUT HER LITTLE BOYFRIEND! WE’RE GONNA HAVE SOME FUN!”
Lord Brusque laughed.
John Crow’s eyes narrowed. He checked the sensor suite for any strange activity. The giant A.M.E. definitely smelt of Mr. Brusque’s brainwaves. If its aerosol was up to anything worth noting, the energy signature would light up like the fireworks. So far, Mr. Brusque’s avatar burnt sun-bright on his sensors. It was hard to pick up anything too near to him, but the fool had over-invested aerosol into that one construct. Even if he was up to something, he'd presented a massive weakness. There was a reason why Amy usually kept her avatars small.
John Crow didn’t get it. Mr. Brusque always had a certain spark to him, but he never thought it’d be enough to pull off something like this. Then there was the fact that Mr. Brusque asked him to bring out Norman in the first place … Mr. Brusque was a ‘moronically do it yourself if possible’ kind of guy. Why hadn’t he at least tried-?
John Crow’s eyes popped. He focused his sensors inside his eyescraper. A faint signature.
"̴̄ΙWHY DON’T YOU BRING HIM OUT YOURSELF?"̷̘͒
he asked.
Lord Brusque almost looked sheepish.
“I CAN’T. YOUR FLY SCREEN’S KEEPING ME OUT, BUT I COULD ALWAYS THROW A BUILDING AT IT IF YOU FEEL SMUG.”
Yes. That’s exactly what the fly screen was supposed to do. He’d trained those brainflies not to sap energy from Dread. They didn’t target the landlords because the bigger A.M.E. was enough of a feast, and it was everywhere … even in his building, mingling with Dread. However, there was definitely some active aerosol on the lower floors that wasn’t his. Mr. Brusque shouldn’t have been completely powerless.
“WHICH FLOOR IS NORMAN ON?"̵͉̈́
asked John Crow.
Lord Brusque grew agitated.
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW? I CAN’T FEEL A THING IN THERE!”
John Crow compressed Dread’s aerosol towards Norman. A neon-pink atmosphere glowed to life and pressed back.
The brainwaves were not Brusque’s.
At John Crow’s command, eyescraper tentacles arced up like serpents poised to strike. They arranged themselves symmetrically towards Mr. Brusque.
"̶̥̻̆͝͝W̶̝͓̙̏͑͜͜͠H̴̛͓͎̥͙̱O̶̤̭̊̊̃A̶̜̹̭̾́̾̿̚! ̷͓̠̞̝̬̄̎ H̵̰͎͎̱̕͝Å̶̬͚̙̭͐̋̐̆͜N̵͔̬̩͕̼̄̀͝G̷̛̝̯͌̌̃̒ ̶̮̖̐̂Õ̶̰͒́N̵̟̥̈́͊̄̕!̸̺̩̤̓̕"̶͉̱̹̜͚̽̈́
Lord Brusque exclaimed.
John Crow couldn’t hear him. Alright, he technically could, but he was too preoccupied with situation-appropriate cackling. Even professionals could express the love of their craft, right? He pulled that metaphorical trigger finger hard enough to pop joints. The tentacles coiled, squeezing their pustules tight.
*PLOOOOOOOOM!*
They detonated all at once. Thanks to the coils, the dim bombs’ blasts focused forward, merging in a torrent of destruction. It blazed through the streets, tearing off the faces of buildings.
Lord Brusque panicked.
He summoned aerosol barriers the size of playing fields. John Crow’s blast rampaged straight through them. As if that wasn’t enough? The snipers took it all as their cue to open fire. Hypersonic rounds ripped through his-
||
The world stopped.
Lord Brusque found himself staring at his own avatar, which made … absolutely zero sense. His mind choked and vomited trying to digest what had happened. Was this an out of body experience?
…
Adding insult to injury, his avatar looked stupid. Cartoonishly stupid. Sniper fire yanked it this way and that. One of the projectiles was in his cheek, stretching his terrified face like something that should never exist outside of Looney Tunes.
“Yeah, that’s you. You’re probably wondering how you ended up in this situation.”
His blood ran cold. No. No.
"Yes! Yes!"
That voice was Amy’s! Lord Brusque’s head whipped about in search of her, like an antelope scanning the grass for the lion whose scent was on the wind. He couldn't see her anywhere.
“Y’know, back in the old days, kids would get lashes for failing tests,” she reflected.
He clenched his teeth. This couldn’t be happening. Thiscouldn’tbehappening! It wasn’t fair! He’d WON!
“I thought that was pretty draconian,” Amy went on, ignoring his despair. “Why should kids suffer over a couple of math problems?”
A pregnant pause. Lord Brusque almost cried.
“But you’re not a kid, are you?”
The last thing he saw was a neon-purple belt.