Lawrence—yeah, that broken, glitched demon bunny who's also a dimensional merchant extraordinaire—is out here singlehandedly wiping the floor with fifty Tier 9 angels. Fifty. Tier 9. Angels.
Now, imagine this: one guy, tired as hell, facing off against fifty elite celestial warriors whose feathers can pierce dimensions and whose blood can absolve sins. Who wins?
Lawrence. No contest.
Not to flex too hard, but dude's got weapons that literally end realities. He's not just strong; he's the walking, chewing, existential threat you don't want to wake up next to.
The fight? Honestly, less messy than expected because he's efficient. No overkill, no unnecessary drama, just a clean sweep. He's not here to turn it into a slasher flick. He gets the job done and moves on.
After the smoke clears and the angels are… well, gone, Lawrence is exhausted, worn to the bone. So where does he go?
To the Murder Drones reality—because guess what? Among the chaos of multiverse hunting and endless betrayals, N is the only real friend he's got. No sugarcoating it.
Lawrence arrives, looking rough but somehow still cool. They don't talk much at first, just nods and silent respect—the kind only true friends can share without saying a word.
And now… the obligatory fourth wall break, because why not?
"Okay, okay, listen up. I'm not gay. The author confirms it. I'm not interested in anything robot-related. Especially not N. Seriously."
Lawrence rolls his eyes, voice dripping with deadpan.
"Author said it, so chill. No shipping wars here."
He grabs a big-ass whiteboard and starts drawing out his actual problem: the fandom.
"You know, I know there are like... five types of readers out there."
He points at the board, where he's scribbled:
1. Normal Readers — The chill ones who just want the story.
2. Psychopath Readers — Yeah, the ones who send rule34 art. Ew.
3. Shipping Fans — Who love to pair up everyone and their dimensional grandmas.
4. Respectful Readers — The unicorns. Seriously, these folks are rare and precious.
5. Meme Senders — The lifeblood of internet culture.
"And there are billions of types out there, making it impossible to please everyone. You ever try? Yeah, doesn't work."
He smirks.
"Relate this to your own life. Got no friends? Well… uh, that's your problem, not mine. Sorry, reflex."
Finally, he shrugs and says, "Q&A time. Don't be shy. Comment, ask questions, I'll answer. Let's keep it real."
---
Lawrence leans back, exhausted but still that sharp, sarcastic bunny who just obliterated fifty celestial badasses.
If you thought angel hunting was glamorous, think again. It's work. But someone's gotta do it.
And no, it's not you.
---
End of Chapter 15