LIGHTNOVELONLINE Part 9 - I DON'T Like You
“Shtap right there!” came a gratingly obnoxious voice.
Norman turned to its source and dialed down the infrared on his nightsight. He raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was expecting to see, this wasn’t it. Standing further down the street was, well … the guy looked human, in a severely caricaturised way. He hobbled on legs less than two feet long that seemed to struggle in maintaining a walking pace. What they lacked in size was compensated for by the sheer girth of his body. His eyes were inhumanly wide, wild with accusatory focus. Norman couldn’t tell if he was frowning, or that fish-like expression was just part of his facial structure. With pudgy little hands that nearly touched the ground as he waddled, this fellow looked like he’d topple over at any point. In his right hand was a stun baton. Unlike the souped up variant Norman wielded, it looked conspicuously ordinary, albeit tattered by poor maintenance. Norman wondered if this nyctal could handle the light it emanated. A long cord was in his left hand. To the untrained eye, he could have been holding a rope. Norman knew better. On the other end of the cord was something that may or may not have been a dog. The idea was reinforced by the fact that he seemed to be ‘walking’ it ... which probably wasn’t the word for this activity. Part of Norman wished he was naïve enough to think it was.
The maybe-not-canine’s long fur was dark. Scratch that. After zooming in, Norman surmised that it likely wasn’t fur. Sometimes, the creature had four legs. Other times, it had more, or less. Its pointed limbs, branching at the tips like roots when they touched the ground, seemed to be made of this fur-like substance. They divided and merged on demand in masses of tendrils the width of hair. What appeared to be a primary eye was at the centre of its face, accompanied by numerous, mostly smaller ones that ran from temple to flanks. Its rounded face had no discernible mouth or other distinguishing facial features. Ordinarily, Norman would be happy not to see a mouth full of pearly white daggers, but the fact that he had no clear idea how it consumed its prey wasn’t entirely comforting. There were worse possibilities than the norm.
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AMBIVALENT_TRENT: Should we be concerned about this?
A1GHT_DEN: they’re nyctals, so I’m guessing yeah.
UNREPENTANT-MEMER: somehow, I don’t think Nyctalo Avocado is threat-shaped. I’m just sayin’.
“Can I help you?” asked Norman.
The sad truth was that human nyctals were seldom rational. It paid to placate them whenever possible.
“I’m inveshtigating a dishturbance in the area, and YOU are my shushpect!” declared the nyctal, spittle flying out of his mouth with every pronunciation of the letter ‘S’.
Norman guessed said ‘disturbance’ was the twilight angel/whistling wing battle … or perhaps the heat eater’s screech. Who could be sure?
The nyctal shone his stun baton into Norman’s face. Norman didn’t even blink. It was embarrassingly dim. The battery must have been worn down to the point of near-uselessness. He doubted its taser function would be anything to write home about. However, Norman had a feeling that didn’t matter when the wielder was strong enough to kebab a victim in the process of trying.
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HARD-BACK-M8N: dem arms, doh
CRINGY-BINGER: What do you mean? Wait ... he got biceps?!? Dem arms be swoler than a chimp!
LAFF_IT_ON: sleeper build tings
UNREPENTANT-MEMER: You might not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like.
“Identify yourshelf!” demanded the nyctal.
“I’m Norman, and you are?”
“My name ish The Neighbourhood Watchman!” the nyctal proudly proclaimed, standing akimbo as best as his anatomy permitted.
Norman knitted his brow, biting back a question. Someone asked it anyway.
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INQU!SIT_R: so his first name is ‘The’?
JARON-DA-MON: does that make his pet ‘The Neighbourhood Watchdog?’
“Thish ish Papooshi, my beshtest besht boi!” The Neighbourhood Watchman declared, gesturing his companion, whose hair-thin tendrils explored the ground as though sniffing out a scent.
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LAFF_IT_ON: lol!
N-TROPEY: Are we in a Big-Lipped Alligator Moment?
BAJANETTE11: Not sure if this is cute or frightening.
ENTO_MOLLY: I’m surprised the dog thing lets him walk it like that
LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Oh sweet summer child.
RAIDER-COMMANDER: It’s more likely that it’s walking him.
LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Don’t tell them. They still have some innocence left.
RAIDER-COMMANDER: Some of them live here. They need to know.
“What’sh with that dishreshpectful look on your fache?“ demanded The Neighbourhood Watchman.
“Sorry, Sir. I was just confused,” Norman apologised.
“A perp with reshpect! Who woulda thought?“ marveled The Neighbourhood Watchman.
Norman didn’t quite like that he was already labelled a ‘perp’.
“It’sh my job to keep the people shafe from the likesh of YOU!” spat The Neighbourhood Watchman.
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RAIDER-COMMANDER: He’s not walking the creature. The ‘rope’ is attached to his wrist.
AMBIVALENT_TRENT: I hate where this is going.
“Oh, that’s a comfort! There isn’t enough appreciation for hard-working heroes like yourself, going out of your way to keep the streets safe,” Norman praised.
The Neighbourhood Watchman halted the perpetual waddle that was taking him nowhere fast, briefly growing silent.
“That’sh … that’sh true …” he agreed. “Are you a lawman ash well?”
“No, but I try to help out when I can,” Norman replied.
The Neighbourhood Watchman gave a brisk nod. “Gud. If you shaid ‘yesh’, I would have been shushpicioush. I have never sheen you on the forche before.”
Norman hoped that there weren’t more of these guys. Knowing how delusional night shifted people could be, The Neighbourhood Watchman might be a ‘force’ of one.
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RAIDER-COMMANDER: The ‘rope’ between him and his pet is a tube of nerves and feeding conduits. It’s similar to the ‘key chains’ used by the landlords, allowing the two organisms to share information and nutrients. You can liken it to an ethernet cable crossed with an umbilical cord. Arguably, the ... ‘dog chain’ ... is its own organism.
SMOL_STUPSE: ... That’s so much worse than I expected.
JARON-DA-MON: speak for yourself. i have a dark mind, apparently.
“Um, may I be excused, Sir?” Norman requested. “It’s late and I’d like to get home before-”
“NOT SHO FASHT!” The Neighbourhood Watchman blurted. “Papooshi needs to interrogate you! He eats liars …”
The Neighbourhood Watchman paused as he witnessed Papooshie yank a pig-sized eldritch grub-looking-thing out of the ground. The canine(?) enveloped the grub. His hair tendrils constricted. It popped. Chunks and pulp squeezed between the tendrils like salsa. Papooshie spread those tendrils across the grub’s remains and rolled around in the juices to soak them up. Finally, Papooshi pulled the bigger chunks into his body, leaving little trace of the grub’s existence. The Neighbourhood Watchman didn’t bat an eye.
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BAJANETTE11: 😮
LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: 😐
ENTO_MOLLY: 🤔 Yeah, I know, but ... is no one else fascinated by this?
“By any chance was that grub a liar?” Norman ventured.
“Are you backchatting me, perp boy?” demanded The Neighbourhood Watchman, waddling closer with renewed vigour.
Norman rolled his eyes before blasting both nyctals with a stream of light.
“ARRRRGGGH! YOU MONSHTER!” squealed The Neighbourhood Watchman. “YOU- YOU EVIL PERSHON! JUSHTICHE WILL PREVAI-!”
“Shutup,” Norman snapped snippily. “I’ve tried to be nice, I’ve talked, but you chose violence, so just get rekt.”
Whimpering hopelessly, The Neighbourhood Watchman bundled up Papooshie and shielded him with his body.
Norman’s face softened as he sighed and depowered the smitelight. “Look, we don’t have to do this. Let’s-”
“WRRRRAAAAAAA!” screeched The Neighbourhood Watchman as he hurled Papooshie.
Norman rolled clear and the creature shot by. It splatted into a dead street light like a wet wig and instinctively constricted.
*KrrRNNNK!*
The light pole fell like a tree, its middle crushed by the needle-thin tendrils.
*FFAASH!*
Papooshie jolted, went limp and clumped to the ground, stunned by a small, concentrated blast of smitelight. The cooldown took a second too long after such bursts. He heard stubby footsteps pattering up to him. There wasn’t enough time to turn from Papooshi, but maybe that wasn’t necessary. If he guesstimated correctly …
“OOF!”
Yup. That back kick landed right on the mark. At first glance, it might have passed for basic Taekwondo, but it impacted toe to navel. If most kicks were hammers, this was an arrow. Against the average Joe, it was enough to rupture an organ, but Norman didn’t stop there. He slithered between The Neighbourhood Watchman’s flailing blows, seamlessly melding a plethora of martial arts from Krav Maga to Silat. Modified variants Arnis and Bajan sticklicking made brutal use of the smitelight as a blunt weapon. There was no sportsmanship, no blow too lethal. Liver, throat, eye, edge of rib. Maximum damage, minimum time. This was life or death. On the upside? Nyctals could take it. On the downside?
Nyctals could take it.
The Neighbourhod Watchman screeched like a swine as he swept a backhanded swat. Norman saw it coming a mile off. Reacting in time? That was a different story. Norman rolled with the blow, deflecting what he could and easing into it with palms as shock absorbers. That didn’t stop it from sending him spinning through the air.
Norman rolled into the landing like a spool of yarn unravelling on the ground. He spiraled to his feet. His ribcage was screaming. Sledgehammer. He imagined that’ The effects of the smitelight were wearing off, bringing the nyctal back to his original speed.
“I don’t like you!” Proclaimed the Neighbourhood Watchman. "Ash a matter of fact, I DISHLIKE you!”
*fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...*
“Eh? What ish that tiny shound?” asked the nyctal, digging a clod of wax the size of a fish cake from his ear.
*FFFOOOOOOOMM!*
The street lit up like day. Both blinded nyctals screeched in unison. The Neighbourhood Watchman furiously flung his pudgy fists about, seeking out any purchase he could get. He touched something and began to mangle. Once his vision returned sufficiently, he realised it was nothing but a mailbox. At least, he thought it was a mailbox. Hard to tell when it was disfigured near the point of a crumpled tin can. Norman was nowhere in sight.
“GRRRR! That PERP! Making me damage public property!” he raged, maiming the mailbox all the more. “Papooshi! Find the perp!”
Papooshi’s hair tendrils created concaves around his eye-like orbs as he went perfectly still. He reoriented himself in a specific direction and formed a single concave around his biggest orb. Again, Papooshie froze in focus. In the meantime, The Neighbourhood Watchman began digging through his nostrils for some supper. Having retrieved a particularly succulent morsel, he was about to eat it when Papooshie took off, heedless of his owner's meal. Yanked to the ground belly first, The Neighbourhood Watchman was dragged behind Papooshie like a toboggan.
A couple buildings away, Norman descended a wall and dusted off his hands. That took care of that.
“SSHTAAAAAAAAAP!” squealed The Neighbourhood Watchman, rounding a corner a couple buildings away.
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INQU!SIT_R: HOW DID HE GET HERE SO FAST!?!
Papooshi charged. Down went The Neighbourhood Watchman, hauled across the street at breakneck speed.
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INQU!SIT_R: Oh ...
SMOL_STUPSE: HE LIKE HE A DEMENTED PENGUIN!
ARN74: Norman, yuh gin ded!
Norman’s smitelight beam fell upon the pair.
Papooshi banked left, tugging his owner behind an abandoned car. Norman lowered the smitelight, beaming their legs beneath the vehicle. The car rocked back and forth as the frantic The Neighbourhood Watchman shoved and jostled until he flipped it onto its side. A sickening screech of metal grinding asphalt. Sparks flew from points of friction as The Neighbourhood Watchman pushed the vehicle forward. Mobile cover.
___CHAT
BAJANETTE11: 😨
Norman retrieved a flash grenade from his backpack and hurled it beyond the sliding car. It seemed The Neighbourhood Watchman had a similar idea at almost the same moment. His variation involved yeeting Papooshie high up and over the vehicle.
Then the flash grenade went off.
Papooshi convulsed in the air as the secondhand anguish of his owner made it through the cord attaching them. Norman didn’t bother dodging. The creature face-planted into the pavement in front of him, going limp in a heap of hair tendrils. That throw was never gonna reach anyway. Down but not out, Papooshie began to gather his wits. The hair tendrils slowly regained their form, hissing against each other in the promise of violence.
“Yeah, no,” Norman declared.
He extended his smitelight and gave it a zap. Papooshi spasmed back to the ground. The Neighbourhood Watchman’s anguished howls could be heard from the other side of the car. Okay, THAT should do it.
Norman sprinted on his way.
“N-NOOOO! You … can’t do thish!” griped The Neighbourhood Watchman as he crawled from behind the car. “No one … outrunsh jushtiche! TAXHI! TAX-!”
His cries were silenced. There was a great commotion. Papooshi yiped desperately as, from the sound of it, he was dragged away. Then he too was silenced. The merest moment had had passed, and it was over.
Norman eased to a stop and tentatively turned around. Alone on the street, save the overturned car, was a taxi, its windows pitch black.