The Grokk was not a thinker. It was a doer. Its entire existence was a straight line between stimulus and response, between order and execution. For weeks, it had been a model of single-minded purpose. Walk North. Bookstore. Smash.
It had ignored cities. It had ignored armies. It had walked through forests, its passage marked by a trail of snapped trees, and across plains, its footprints creating new, impromptu ponds when it rained. It was a masterpiece of demonic bio-engineering, a weapon so direct it was almost elegant.
It was now less than a league away from Oakhaven.
It stood at the crest of the last hill, its two tiny, malevolent eyes peering down into the peaceful valley. Its simple brain, guided by the Demon King's targeting rune, sifted through the shapes below. Hut. Barn. Stable. Outhouse. And then... a building with a sign. The sign had shapes on it. Letters. The rune on its forehead resonated. This was the place. Bookstore.
TARGET ACQUIRED, its brain concluded.
The second part of its directive was now active. Smash.
For the first time in its long journey, the Grokk allowed a sliver of its true nature to surface. An aura of pure, unadulterated, hostile intent, an emotion as simple and powerful as a tidal wave, began to radiate from it. It was the simple, joyful rage of a creature about to break something.
The effect on the Imperial Tranquility Quarantine was immediate and catastrophic. Every warning rune, every psionic sensor, every scrying mirror within a five-league radius turned blood red and began screaming.
In the hidden command bunker, the Sentinel Commander stared in horror as a single, massive threat icon bloomed on his tactical map, right on the edge of the Sacred Zone.
"REPORT!" he bellowed.
"Hostility Index just jumped from zero to... to off the scale, sir!" an analyst stammered, his hands flying across his control panel. "It's the ambulatory geological event! 'The Wanderer'! It's not a hill, sir, it's a—"
"I CAN SEE THAT, LIEUTENANT!" the Commander roared. He saw the projected classification. Class-10 Behemoth. Code name: Grokk. A species thought to be extinct, a creature of the old wars, capable of leveling a city in an hour.
"Why wasn't it intercepted?!" he screamed into his communication crystal, demanding answers from the regional command.
The terrified voice of a sub-commander replied, "Sir, our orders were clear! Do not engage unless hostile! It showed no hostility until just now! It... it walked past three of our legions! They just waved at it! They thought it was a tourist attraction!"
The Commander's blood ran cold. The sledgehammer had slipped past the most sophisticated defense in the world because it had been polite enough not to think about smashing things until it arrived at the front door. It was a strategic failure of such epic proportions that heads would literally roll.
But there was no time for that now. The Behemoth was at the gates.
"Activate all containment protocols!" he commanded. "Arch-Mages, raise the Aegis Shield! Crimson Vanguard, engage! ENGAGE!"
The Empire's vast, peaceful security apparatus lurched into frantic, violent life. But it was too late. The Grokk was already moving.
It took a single step, its massive foot shaking the very earth.
BOOM.
It lumbered down the hill, gaining speed. It was not fast, but it was inexorable. Trees splintered in its path. Boulders were kicked aside like pebbles. It was headed directly for the center of town. Directly for the "Tome and Trinket."
Inside the bookstore, the atmosphere was blissful.
Ren had discovered the magical ice-box was stocked with an astonishing array of ingredients, discreetly delivered each morning by Imperial agents pretending to be cabbage merchants. He had been given a new purpose. The Master's genuine smile had ignited a tiny spark in his gloomy soul. He was now experimenting with what he called "Optimistic Oatmeal."
Aurelia was cross-referencing her edicts with Valerius's chronicle, trying to find a philosophical justification for a flat tax rate.
Lyno was sitting in his wobbly armchair—the Throne of Flux—sipping a genuinely delicious cup of tea and nibbling on a perfectly toasted (not burned, not sad) piece of bread. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this new life wasn't a complete nightmare. Maybe he could get used to—
BOOM.
The entire bookstore shook. A few books tumbled from a high shelf. The teacup in Lyno's hand rattled in its saucer.
"What was that?" Aurelia asked, startled.
Seraphina was already at the front window, peering out. Her amethyst eyes widened, not in fear, but with a feral, hungry gleam.
"A challenger has appeared," she announced, her voice filled with a dangerous thrill she hadn't felt in weeks.
Valerius and Aurelia joined her. They looked out at the street. And then they looked up.
The Grokk was now standing in the town square, having just flattened the very cart Lyno had once hidden behind. It towered over the buildings, a twenty-foot-tall monster of rock and rage. Its tiny eyes were fixed on their location.
It let out a roar, a sound of pure, brainless destruction.
"GROOOONNNKKK! BOOK! STORE!" It bellowed, having somehow managed to verbalize its core commands.
Valerius Zathra stroked his beard. He did not look afraid. He looked intrigued.
"A Grokk," he mused. "How... unsubtle. A creature of pure id, of unthinking destruction. The polar opposite of the 'Baker' envoy. They have changed tactics. This is a fascinating new gambit by our unseen rivals."
Aurelia felt a tremor of actual fear. "Sage, that thing can tear this building apart in a single blow!"
"It can," Valerius agreed placidly. "If the Master allows it."
They all turned to look at Lyno.
Lyno had also scrambled to the window to peek outside. He saw the monster. The giant, roaring, bookstore-hating monster.
The tiny flicker of hope that had kindled in his chest was instantly extinguished, doused by an ocean of pure, undiluted terror. His bladder threatened to stage a full-scale mutiny. The half-eaten piece of toast dropped from his nerveless fingers.
[It's for me,] his mind shrieked. [It's all for me! They sent a giant monster to smash my bookstore because I made the Princess cry and the Emperor mad! THIS IS IT! THE BILL HAS ARRIVED AND IT IS TWENTY FEET TALL!]
He did what he always did in the face of certain death. He panicked. He stumbled backward, his arms flailing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, for a place to hide.
His gaze fell upon the only thing in the room that wasn't a wall or a piece of furniture. It was Ren, the sad chef, who had emerged from his new kitchen and was now standing in the doorway, paralyzed with fear, holding a single, lonely-looking turnip.
Lyno's panicked, cornered-animal brain latched onto the only thing it could. It wasn't a plan. It wasn't even a thought. It was an instinct.
In the face of the giant monster that wanted to smash his house, he grabbed the closest thing to him.
He grabbed the sad chef.
He half-shoved, half-dragged the trembling, turnip-wielding Ren in front of him, holding him up like a very pathetic, very confused human shield.
"Aaaaaah!" Lyno squeaked, cowering behind the trembling cook.
His three followers witnessed this act.
They saw their Master, the entity who could annihilate legions with a thought, being threatened by a creature of brute force. They saw him grab his newly chosen Culinary Oracle.
And they did not see an act of cowardice.
Their minds, perfectly synchronized in their magnificent, reality-bending delusion, came to a single, breathtaking conclusion.
Valerius gasped, his eyes wide with revelation. "Gods above... he's not hiding!" he whispered to the others. "Don't you see? The Grokk is a creature of pure id, of primal hunger and rage! The Master isn't using a spell... He is presenting it with its antithesis!"
Seraphina's eyes widened as she understood. "The Chef... a being of pure nourishment, of gentle alchemy... It is an 'offering'! He is trying to pacify the beast not with force, but with the very concept of sustenance!"
"It's a philosophical counter-attack!" Aurelia breathed, utterly awestruck. "He is meeting a statement of pure destruction with a symbol of pure creation! He's not using his cook as a shield! He is wielding him as a weapon!"
Outside, the Grokk raised its massive, stony fist, preparing to bring it down and fulfill the final word of its sacred directive. The end of the Tome and Trinket bookstore was seconds away.