Landlords squealed and converged on Norman and his squadmate who was once one of their own. The latter blubbered and pointed at Norman: an incoherent attempt to make them see the light and gut him alone.
The squadmate flinched as Norman raised his flash knuckles, kata-style.
TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!
Rapid-fire bursts of light strobed from his fists, peppering the landlords. Battle cries turned to screams. Every beam hit its mark, lighting up the landlords’ flailing bodies in snapshots of agony.
Amy Mini nudged a thought into Norman’s head: a glimpse of things to come, and precisely when they would.
He crouched.
The squadmate rubbed the sting from his eyes. Even indirect light exposure was torture. A dull, rosy radiance flashed at the edge of his blurry vision. Amy Mini had expanded into a dome. Therein crouched Norman, low like a jungle cat, with the predatory vibe to match. It set the landlord on edge. Norman was ready to do something, or waiting for something, but what?
With all the excitement of becoming a wanted man, coupled with the dose of light he got anyway, the landlord-turned-squadmate had somehow forgotten the ‘Red Tide’ outside. Now? He couldn’t hear own his thoughts. They scattered before a sound so loud that he felt it in his skull. The roar of a tsunami, and a cacophony of horrors that had no right to be part of such a thing. Whatever Amy had unleashed, it was almost upon them.
His frayed brain finally eked out enough juice to put two and two together. So, this was what Norman was prepar-
FRRWWMMMMM!
The building lurched. It tilted. Landlords tumbled.
Norman was in the air.
His whirling kick snapped a landlord’s head sideways. Had the victim been less than nyctal? A broken neck, guaranteed.
Norman leaned left. A keychain hurtled where his head had been. He severed the chain and several more with a beam.
KLAKNG!
Metal met keratin as flash knuckles clashed with the bony key of a landlord who got too close. He slipped past the key. In the landlord’s eyes, his fist became a sun. That sun became four as the knuckles came to fore. An electric impact. White turned to black. The mark of a fist steamed from the landlord’s forehead as he fell back.
More keychains flew in. Norman dodged three, deflected a fourth. Caught a fifth between his palms. Its force slid him back. A sixth came. He couldn’t block it.
Amy Mini darted in.
She enveloped the keychain. Crushed it.
“AAAHH-rmph!” hollered its wielder before she latched around his face, muffling his cream. Tendrils shot out from her, yanking in three more and smashing their skulls together. She zipped about like a rabid pinball, sending landlords flying to and fro.
The squadmate wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He definitely wasn’t doing the job Norman forced upon him, but it didn’t look like he had to … which didn’t make sense. Silently rooting for his former colleagues, time and time again he saw them fall. Amy, he understood. She was an apex predator, but Norman? He was just a guy, a non-nyctal normie, and he was wiping the floor with them. Even with those electrified flash knuckles, it didn’t make sense. Was he really not a nyctal, or was he something else?
( ( PTLLOOOOOOOM! ) )
Something else.
A bright bomb had detonated. The squadmate didn’t know how or why. All he knew was the pain. As he and his fellow landlords collapsed, Norman stood strong, staring out the window. No nyctal could ignore this.
Amy Mini keened. She must have been in a lot of pain. That was good. Norman bundled her close in an effort to comfort.
The bright bomb’s light vanished far too quickly. With legions of brainflies dead and Dread’s aerosol thinner than ever, the squadmate caught a glimpse of what was outside. It was … too dark, blacker than any night. Something peeled itself open from the shadows. It was too big. He couldn’t tell what he was looking at … ah … That was an eye. Deep, crimson, entirely inhuman. He wished he hadn’t seen it.
.
“̸̡̼͖̠̳̺͓̩͓̇̈́̀͠Ơ̴̧̛̖̹̭̻̻͙̇̔̉͑̄̕͝Ơ̷̧̫̼̳͙͖̟̠̏̽͛̑̀̓̅͐̄̚Ι̦Ơ̷͇̰̟͕̮̺̈͌M̴̡̛͖̻̟̞̻̳̬̹̍́̈́̄́̀̓̈́̎̌M̴̪͍͙̐̈́̄́͊͌Ṁ̵͙̆͐̊̊͝Ó̴̡̰̥̭͓͉̱̹̖͌̀͊̄́̌͐͌ ̷̮͙͍̰̊̐̏̔̌̚͠͝Ι̡̞̗̝̻͓.̵̢̻̰͑͊̆́̈́̿͂̚͘͠.̷̛̛͇̰̻͇́͒̎̈́͆̔̌͜.̶̡̡̨̡̞͈̠̣͓͖̘͆̀̀̓̀͛̏̄͘͘̚ ̶̲́̊̈́̀̐̓̏̍̊͝͝O̶̧͇̮̜̹̗͎̅̆̓̽̋̂͑̕͠Ọ̵̍̇̏̊͋͑̀̚͜M̴̖̗̝̹͚̔͑̿̾̕M̷̦͐̈́̏͗̉̀̑̋̇̊͝M̸̨̩̠̞̠͚͇̼̮͖̦̒͌̓͑̒̆ ̵̧̜̱͔͔̻̤͊̆̈́̀̅͝…̷̯̹̭̻̭̺́̇”̸̧̣̭̲̖̬͔̦̳̑̏̓͜
.
What … what on Earth was happening outside? If nightmares had a voice, this was it. The squadmate wasn’t sure if he preferred to be out there, or trapped in here with Norman.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Try to hold it back a little longer, Amy,” Norman whispered down to her.
Amy Mini squeaked an affirmative.
An idea popped into the landlord’s head. He suppressed a grin and tried to act casual, discreetly reaching down for his keychain. Raising it in what he thought was a sneaky manner (it wasn’t), he prepared to sling it at Norman. If he played his cards right, this would get him back into the good graces of his coworkers!
He caught something at the side of his eye.
KLACKK!
Just in time, he parred another keychain with his own, but the hits kept coming.
“Please, Mr. Lottalong!” he begged. “I’m innocent! Just-just stop for a sec and I’ll-!”
“Be quiet, Mr. Squeam!” the little guy giggled as he, uncoordinatedly, did his best to break through the Mr. Squeam’s parries. His strikes were all over the place, but he had the spirit. Through sheer feistiness rather, Mr. Lottalong made it past a parry and plunged the keychain towards his would-be-victim’s abdomen. Mr. Squeam caught it just in time, but the angle was not in his favour. With Mr. Lottalong relentlessly writhing it closer, there were no breathers to get a better grip.
“I never liked you!” Mr. Lottalong enthused, squeaking out grunts as he forced the keychain closer. “First, I’ll start with yer guts, then yer brains, and, and, and … oh, I’m so excited!”
“I … DID … NOTHING WRONG!” Mr. Squeam roared.
“Nothing wrong?” came Norman’s question.
A flash struck the nutrient bulb on Mr. Lottalong’s keychain. It burst, splattering everywhere.
“You farm people, like cattle,” Norman calmly declared.
The pain caught up with Mr. Lottalong. In a way, the keychain was a separate entity, but when it was harmed? It let its host know exactly what it felt. Mr. Lottalong’s cries came to an end when Norman punted him across the room.
Three landlords faced Norman at once. Flashes. Then punches. A blazing mix of the two. There was more than enough for everyone, and Norman was very generous. Norman’s voice was eerie in its calm, as though he were angry past the point of raising it. The hits landed harder than ever. Norman’s flash knuckles glowed orange as they began to overheat. Mr. Squeam had a feeling Norman wanted to punch him, but these three got it instead.
“Men, women, daughters, grandpas,” Norman continued. “You feed them to your keychains, your buildings, and you think you’ve done nothing wrong?”
Mr. Squeam answered, in hopes it would distract Norman. “D-don’t act like you’ve never eaten a burger! Animals eat animals! There are no rights between predator and prey!”
Two landlords down.
“You’ve made a misjudgment,” Norman stated.
He grabbed the last landlord by the back of his head and dragged it into a waiting knee. That last blow? Mr. Squeam felt it. It broke through his atrophied empathy.
The next moment, Norman’s flash knuckles were inches from his eyes. Mr. Squeam trembled to his knees, waving his hands in an attempt at placation.
“Mr. Squeam, you’re not the predator,” Norman growled. “Not here. Not now. There’s only one predator in the room, and he is angry. What do you think he should do to something like you?”
“YOU SHOULD BOW, YOU COW!” thundered a big, boisterous voice.
Norman moved, shoving away Mr. Squeam. A massive fist came down where they’d been, fracturing the flooring.
“BOW AND DIE!”
Another fist swung at Norman. He dodged it. Mostly. A glancing blow was enough to send him flying. Norman twisted through the air and landed like a cat. If the other landlords were goblins, this one was an ogre.
“YOU LIVE WHEN WE SAY LIVE, AND DIE WHEN WE SAY DIE!”
The big guy was charging.
~In his former life, he must have been a wrestler.~ Norman thought.
He danced out of the way and flanked the landlord with a kick. It was blocked.
~No. MMA. Pro level,~ Norman self-corrected. ~He’s five times stronger than Wade. Maybe more.~
The landlord pounded one fist to his chest. “I AM MR. LEATHERBACK, AND-! … rrmph!?”
Amy Mini had glued to his face. He shoved the avatar between his teeth and yanked, tearing it apart.
“WE ARE LANDLORDS!” bellowed the Mr. Leatherback.
The beaten down landlords began to cheer.
Norman ducked a blow and delivered a liver punch. No effect.
“WE ARE THE RIGHTFUL INHERITORS OF PLANET EARTH!” Mr. Leatherback went on.
He lunged. Norman rolled between his legs, launching a quick kick up in the process. The landlord didn’t react. His beefy hands clapped the air where Norman’s head once was. The shockwave was brutal. It was the force to crush a coconut.
“SO DIE!” Mr. Leatherback roared.
He threw himself backwards.
Norman hadn’t had the chance to get up. He corkscrewed to the side before the body slam landed. Mr. Leatherback’s hand chased him down, fingers digging into the ground, but Norman was already whirling to his feet.
“DIEEE!” repeated Mr. Leatherback, attempting to rise.
Amy Mini respawned. She zoomed down at his head. He snatched her from the air. She morphed around his hand and began to crush it.
Mr. Leatherback snarled and splatted her against the floor. Her avatar was left a mushy heap.
He rolled to his feet and barreled after Norman, zigzagging in his path every time Norman tried to get past. So, Norman retreated, but only for a moment. He leapt against the wall and spun off it, firing an aerial kick into the landlord. Mr. Leatherback blocked. Norman pulled back his foot mid-air and struck with the other one, at a different angle. The kick made it through, nailing the landlord in the nose.
Upon touching down, Norman unloaded two swift strikes into his liver.
The landlord barely winced.
“JUST DIEEEEE, YOU PIECE OF MEAT!” Mr. Leatherback raged.
Norman danced clear. The landlord’s fists came down, shattering the tiling through the organic carpet.
There was a lull.
Mr. Leatherback panted lightly. Those liver blows were pesky. Back when he was normal, a single one would have messed him up. Now, they were just an inconvenience.
He grinned. “How come you ain’t using dem fancy knuckles? Blow a bulb or something?”
Sure enough, Norman’s flash knuckles made a worrisome fizzle as the metal glowed. However, he barely seemed to hear the landlord. His gaze was like a scalpel, dissecting every detail of Mr. Leatherback’s movements. It was a strange kind of focus: the type one would see in a beast on the hunt, devoting every ounce of its mental energy to its target.
Mr. Leatherback repressed the slightest shiver.
“What’s wrong?” the big landlord mocked. “You can’t talk anym-?”
“I see you now,” Norman mumbled.
Calmly, he strode towards the landlord.
Mr. Leatherback fought the urge to step back. “You see me? Heh, what you seein’, boy?”
Norman stopped in front of him, grinning within grappling range.
“Everything.”