The battlefield was apocalyptic.
The sky above this particular dying dimension was split open like a cracked LCD screen, leaking black lightning and fiery red divine light that looked like spilled gasoline across a cosmic mirror. The smell of ozone, burnt feathers, and raw dimensional instability danced across the crater-ridden air.
And in the center of it?
Lawrence.
His coat was torn, barely hanging on by threads, glowing with scorching cuts. His breathing was steady, but his arms twitched from overclocked strain. Blood? Not his. His enemies? Unrecognizable.
He stepped over the still-smoking pile of bodies—Tier 9 Angels. Fifty of them. Gone. Soloed. Erased.
Who would win: One demon bunny with a curse, trauma, and a decade of unpaid therapy?
Or 50 celestial-tier ultradivine death machines?
Exactly.
The battlefield crumbled beneath him as he slung his massive, still-glowing void weapon back into his dimensional sheath. He wasn't cocky. Wasn't bragging. He was tired. Just another Tuesday.
Lawrence muttered, "That's the third divine genocide this week. I'm gonna need a damn juice box."
His eyes sparked.
"Or better…"
---
Dimensional Hop Initiated: Murder Drones Reality
Lawrence crash-landed into a rusty junkyard on Copper-9 like it was a beanbag chair. Dust puffed. Acid wind howled. His boots crunched a broken worker drone skull like stepping on a Pringle.
And then came the only voice that didn't make him instinctively grab a weapon.
"Oh hey!" N waved, holding a suspiciously hot slice of toast with acid-spray garnish.
Lawrence raised a finger. "Shut up. Let me absorb this peace for like 2 seconds."
N blinked, smiled awkwardly, and sat next to him on the giant broken vending machine they used as a couch. No words. Just silent bro moments.
And then—
Lawrence stood. He snapped his fingers. A whiteboard slammed into the ground.
"ALRIGHT, YOU FCKING FANDOM CLOWNS,* LISTEN UP."
---
4th WALL BROKE LIKE GLASS IN A DRYER
He pointed at the screen, ears flicking with aggression. "I know what some of you think."
He drew an image of himself with N. In crayon. Labeled "L x N ❤️?"
"I AM NOT GAY," Lawrence declared. "The author confirmed it. Like twice. I got the receipts."
A projector appeared.
"Exhibit A: Literally said 'I'm not interested in anything robotic.'"
He clicked the remote.
"Exhibit B: I'm not into dudes. I just respect the guy. He makes good toast."
He turned around and drew a diagram on the board. It was labeled:
> "The Five Classes of Readers That Ruin My Sanity"
1. Normal Readers. "You exist. You breathe. You sometimes comment. Bless you."
2. Psychopaths. "You send Rule34. WHY. I'm literally a bunny. What is wrong with you."
3. Shippers. "I see you. Giving me awful nicknames like 'Fluff Daddy' or 'Voidsenpai.' Get help."
4. Respectful Readers. "Rare. Like unicorns. Protect them."
5. Meme Lords. "You send edits of me flossing. Honestly? Keep doing it. I laugh every time."
Lawrence put the marker down. "There are billions of you. Getting a normal reader? That's like winning a lottery that spits out flaming bees."
He stared right at you again.
"Send this to your friend. Oh, what's that? You don't have one? Sucks. That's your problem. Reflex roast."
N clapped once. "Dang bro, that was a TED talk with trauma seasoning."
Lawrence turned, now visibly calmer.
"Sorry. Just had to vent. I feel like this chapter got hijacked by fan commentary."
N nodded. "You okay now?"
Lawrence sat back down, munching a carrot-flavored energy bar.
"I mean. No. But it's manageable. You got juice?"
N handed him a can labeled "N's BoomBerry™ Nuclear Edition."
"…Good enough."
---
Back at IBPM HQ
Gilbert was watching all of this on a monitor with tentacle popcorn.
"That boy's gonna start a cult one day."
Another merchant nodded. "Already did. Called it The Carrot Doctrine."
---
Meanwhile, in the Void Library of Reader Comments
A thousand reader voices buzzed in the spectral wind:
"Is Lawrence a top or bottom?"
"Do you ship him with N or Lotus?"
"I made a fanart of him with six abs. Is that canon?"
"Can I be his girlfriend please?? 😭🖤"
Lawrence glared through the fourth wall, sipping BoomBerry like whiskey.
> "Just comment your questions. I'll answer. But if it's Rule34, I will eat your spine."
---
I'm just fixing this chapter don't mind it