The monstrous leviathan rises from the depths, swimming across the bay toward Super Awesome City. I grin. At last, the battle where I prove myself has come. Every shortsighted inventor who dismissed my ideas, every teacher who gave me detention for starting food fights in class—they will all look upon me as their savior. “Load the pineapults!” I bark. Soldiers of the newly-created Edible Defense Corps™ rush to obey. Gears whir. Ropes tighten and release. Thousands of pineapples fly though the air, pelting the scaly beast on the snout. Our foe roars in pain but continues to advance. Well, that was only my most obvious attack. Any fool could weaponize pineapples, but the arsenal wielded by the rest of the EDC is truly a work of genius. My genius. I unclip my radio. “Unleash the Sky Shakes!” A squadron of bombers rises into the sky, pelting the monster with wave after wave of milkshakes in a wide assortment of flavors. Thick, multicolored liquid seeps into its eyes, and the monster jerks his head about wildly. “Commander Bob!” My right-hand man, Spatula Sam, leaps from a frosting-coated parapet and lands in front of me. “We have a problem—an amphibious invasion of some sort.” I look down at the beach. Sure enough, people in sinister cloaks are swimming ashore and running into Super Awesome City, wielding strange, sheet-like weapons. Of course. A cult of evil cultists that worship the monster and want to rule the world. I should’ve expected as much. “This won’t be pretty,” Spatula Sam mutters. “If we have to repel ground troops, many more of our men will die.” “Their names will be baked forever into the bread of history!” I clap Sam on the shoulder. “Come with me, friend. Let us put the fear of food into these cultists!” I descend into the city, two trusty bananarangs in hand. Innocent civilians scream in terror, fleeing as cultists brandish their weapons—which appear to consist of white sheets tied to long sticks. Not very threatening, but I can’t let my guard down. Perhaps those sheets are cursed with dark magic. “Hey! You!” I wave at the nearest cultist, then hurl a bananarang. “Get out of my city!” The cultist scoffs as the bananarang flies past his head. “You missed!” I smile at his naivety. A moment later, the bananarang slams into the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. I retrieve my weapon, peel it, and take a bite. The other cultists look at me in stunned silence. “He killed Fred!” one yells. I glance down. “Oh, him? He’s not dead. Just unconscious. A bananarang isn’t a lethal weapon, ignoramuses. But this…” I reach for the blueberry bazooka strapped to my back. “This, on the other hand…” The cultists pale and slowly back away. “Um… sir?” Spatula Sam says. “I may have misread this situation. I don’t think they’re invading us.” One of the cultists hoists his weapon in the air. “Actually, we were sent to negotiate with you—” “Negotiate?!” I roar. “You think we’ll just surrender? You think you can subjugate the proud people of Super Awesome City to your false god in the bay?” “God?” The cultist raises an eyebrow. “Toothyface isn’t a god. Where did you get that idea?” That's… a good question. Where did I get that idea? “My name is George, chief ambassador of the moving island of Toothyface.” The cultist bows. “Our home, which has the distinction of being alive, has quite an appetite. When I heard Super Awesome City had a surplus of food, I thought we could work out a trade agreement.” I spit. “Trade? I spent years turning all that food into weapons of the EDC, and now you want me to trade it away? No! We will fight, and I will win glory and honor for Super Awesome City! For the Edible Defense Corps™!” George shakes his head. “Bad idea. You’ve got Toothyface riled up now, and he’s never in a good mood when he’s hungry. If we don’t get him fed quick, he’ll destroy the entire city!” “My men will resist that monster,” I growl. “How many will die, though?” George asks. “My own people can’t stop him. We’ll have no choice but to evacuate while Toothyface rampages.” “Could you at least consider a trade agreement, sir?” Spatula Sam raises his hand. “I’d rather not die.” I clench my fists. Negotiate, and go back to being nothing more than an inventor with useless ideas? Or fight, and win respect for myself—and possibly death for my comrades? Toothyface’s thunderous roar shatters the air. I glance toward the bay, at his black maw surrounded by gleaming white spears. A third course of action appears before me. I can’t help but smile at my cleverness. “Fine,” I say to George. “Your island gets a full belly. In exchange, I ask only that you leave and never return. If you dare break our agreement, know the Edible Defense Corps™ will be ready for you. We won’t let you off so easily next time.” Sam lets out a sigh of relief. I turn on him. “Don’t breath a word of this to anyone. You understand?” “Yes, sir!” Sam salutes. My glory is secure. The EDC will drive away the fierce beast, and Super Awesome City will hail me as a hero. I tune my radio to all channels and send an order to the courageous defenders stationed across the city. “Aim all ammunition at the monster’s open mouth! We can’t penetrate its scales, so we’ll have to target its fleshy insides. Repeat, fire only at the mouth!” Pineapults crack, cheese cannons boom, and grape gatlings chatter. For a moment, food blots out the sun— then the yummy barrage crashes into the sea monster’s maw. Toothyface chomps, chews and swallows. I smile in satisfaction and clap George on the shoulder. “And that, my cultist friend, is how you defend a city.”
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Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
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"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
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