roadtomastery
patreon
Chapter 186: Brock’s Breakthrough
🕑 Added 2023-05-09 17:36:01 +0000 UTCWahoo!
---
Brock felt like his eyes were open for the first time. He saw his soul. It was beautiful.
His inner world was a gaping nothingness peppered with floating leaves. It felt crampy and impossibly expansive at the same time, like space had lost all meaning.
Brock floated in the middle of this world, gawking at the leaves surrounding him.
“Bro…” he muttered.
Right in front of him hovered the Big Thought. It was a flexed bicep, an arm that extended from the shoulder down and must have been working out for decades. The skin was missing, allowing Brock to observe its clean musculature. Every muscle was impeccably defined, bringing a sense of awe that he had never felt before.
Not even Father had such muscles. Not even Big Bro.
He felt an urge to bow to this flexed arm. To show his belly, declaring subservience. But, at the same time, something held him back. This was his soul. This arm was his Big Thought. Why would he submit to something that was his?
That would be very un-bro-like.
Squaring his jaw, Brock adopted a bodybuilder stance, showing off all of his gruesomely worked-out muscles. He brought his arms above his head and flexed them. He then clasped his palms behind his back, also flexing. He was challenging the big arm for dominance.
The big arm accepted the challenge. It flexed harder—and, in an instant, Brock’s entire world was covered in muscles. In power. He released a monkey cry as muscles drowned his world, and out of instinct, he flexed harder. Veins popped all over his body. His eyes went bloodshot.
The arm wasn’t content to just sit there and be challenged. It attacked. Brock felt fear cloud his senses, but he responded with his bravery muscle. Immense pressure surrounded his body. His every physical muscle twitched as it was pulled apart, their tenacity put to the test. Brock was in excruciating pain. He yelled, but by then, it was already over, and Brock remained whole.
After all, he followed a rigorous work-out routine that spanned his entire body. A good bro didn’t leave weaknesses.
The arm redoubled its efforts. It transported Brock to a world of forests, where several highly-muscled brorillas were flexing their hardest. He was like a dwarf amongst giants. The brorillas finished flexing, then stared at him, waiting to see his performance.
Brock felt the judgment in their gazes. He was small—smaller than all of them. His muscles, though strong, weren’t as impressive. It was like being in his pack all over again.
His bottom lip began to quiver. His arms flopped to the sides. He was too weak to be here. He did not belong. They would mock and cast him out, like Father had done.
The brorillas around Brock liquified, combining into one, large brorilla.
Father.
Harambe.
Brock shrunk before his father’s gaze. The large brorilla, the leader of the pack, stared him down, expecting something. But what? Brock had tried so hard, but he wasn’t grown yet. He wasn’t as big as the other brorillas. Perhaps he never would be.
Brock opened his mouth and almost made submissive monkey noises. Almost.
At the last moment, he held himself back. Why was Father doing this? He had already kicked Brock out. What more did he want? How could he expect Brock to be even stronger than he currently was? He was trying his very hardest!
A veil was lifted from Brock’s eyes. Indeed, he had tried his hardest since leaving the pack. He had followed the teachings of the brorillas to work out and act as a bro would. He had dutifully followed his big bro, and though he made a few mistakes, he learned from them and never repeated them. Brock was doing everything he should.
What more did Father want?
Whatever it was, Brock couldn’t give it. Father, the biggest of bros…was wrong to stare. His brain muscles had made a mistake.
Brock shook from the realization.
The world blinked before his eyes. His father’s accusing stare melted along with the big brorilla himself, revealing the large arm again. It was a brorilla’s arm, obviously, just without fur and skin. And perfectly sculpted.
Brock narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong here. Whatever was happening felt disjointed. The hand was the Big Thought representing Muscle, but his father… What did his father have to do with that?
What was Brock missing?
The arm flexed again. Pressure showered Brock, enveloping him. The little brorilla flexed his muscles, but his thoughts were incomplete. Yes, he had the strength to resist. But what was he supposed to do? What was the path forward?
How long did he have to persist for?
Weights appeared around his wrists and ankles. Dumbbells stuck to his fingers, and a weighted bar fell on his shoulders, urging his knees to bend. Brock maintained himself, instinctively coming into form.
His entire body was shaking. Every muscle was taut to its limit, but the pressure remained. Nothing was changing. He was doing something wrong.
No. He was just doing nothing. This was not the bro way. This was weakness. Passivity.
Brock had made many sounds in his life. He had laughed and mocked others, screamed, yelled, and thumped his chest. Even said human words. But, at this moment, as rage and shame at his own mental weakness flooded Brock, he made a new sound. He roared deeply.
Brock fueled his muscles with resolve and pushed them further. At the same moment they ruptured, the weights were thrown off, breaking against the walls of his soul and leaving him free.
The world shattered around him like glass. Father appeared again, his gaze as accusing as before, but Brock only snorted. He got into a bodybuilding stance and flexed his muscles. They weren’t large. But they were strong. That was the purpose of muscles. To have strength. Not to be big.
Father narrowed his eyes, but Brock was no longer a child. He met his father’s gaze head-on and shook his head.
You are wrong, he said.
His father’s eyes shot wide. He prepared to charge. Brock stared him down. When his son stayed his ground, Harambe’s body lost its strength. Old age passed through its eyes; then, elation. Harambe nodded, and the vision dispersed, leaving behind only darkness with floating leaves and a large arm sculpted with muscles.
But there was more. Lines were visible around the nothingness, throbbing muscles on the walls of Brock’s soul, and he could feel that each of those was his. He was reclaiming his soul. The big arm was his, too, no matter how much it tried to control Brock’s soul.
The arm noticed Brock’s rebellion and was enraged. It clenched its hand into a fist and swung at him. Brock saw Big Bro’s spirit in this fist, but he did not buckle. He did not cower. His Big Bro was a righteous bro; and what this hand was doing was wrong. It needed to be taught a lesson.
The large fist flew at Brock’s face like a swinging log. It was as large as his entire torso.
Brock raised an open palm. As the large arm approached and he stayed his ground, it gradually shrunk to the size of his own fist. He grabbed it in his palm and wrapped his fingers around it, stopping it.
“Bro,” he said, shaking his head. “No.”
The fist resisted. It still sought to press on. Brock frowned and clenched his fingers, digging them into the fist and shattering it. With a violent shiver, the arm reformed, watching Brock like a snake in the bush.
It wasn’t an enemy; just an unruly bro. Like a child. And Brock was no longer a child.
Having overpowered the fist, he approached it boldly. Its pressure now broke against his muscles like a hollow tide. The arm clenched its fist again, ready to fight to the end.
Brock reached it. With the brightest smile on his face, backed by undeniable strength, he stretched out an open hand. “Bro,” he said.
The hand hesitated. A moment later, its fist slowly unclenched, revealing an open palm. Slowly, as if in fear, it grabbed Brock’s into a handshake. Brock shook it, reconciling his muscles with his soul. “Bro,” he said, nodding, and he felt the big arm return the favor.
He knew the truth now. The hand wasn’t his. It wasn’t a tool to use, but neither was he a vessel for it to conquer.
They were bros. And he was the big bro.
The world’s borders opened before Brock’s eyes. Suddenly, his entire soul shivered, and his mind split into a thousand pieces. Each found itself observing a different scene of people—either humans or brorillas—interacting. In every scene, Brock was both an observer and an actor. It was a peculiar feeling.
He observed, then took charge. Every situation was borderline un-bro. He slowly but firmly grabbed the scenes and set them straight. Every single one of them. It was a piece of cake. The correct decisions came naturally to him, as if emanating from his heart—as if he’d swallowed the rulebook that all good bros had to follow.
He had learned about this rulebook. It was one of the brorillas’ most sacred entities, a fountain of knowledge that only the greatest of bros could master.
The legendary Bro Code.
Brock felt pride surge inside him. His knowledge and understanding were tested, but he prevailed every time. Before long, the thousand visions were all resolved, and Brock was back in his soul, but everything had changed.
The large hand waited quietly by the corner. It wasn’t hovering in space anymore; it was now firmly planted into his soul walls, spreading its muscles around his soul and making it stronger. Brock could feel the change. Everything about him was stronger now. Every muscle, both physical and mental, was enhanced like he’d been working out for ten hours straight.
But that wasn’t the biggest change. His soul was no longer a dark void. It was now lit with clear, bright light, and on its brown walls were lines and shapes. They weren’t letters of any language. They were representations of the unspoken rules that made up the world’s greatest book of conduct: the Bro Code.
And Brock could read them.
The Bro Code had become one with his soul, fused perfectly. No; perhaps that wasn’t its real name now. It was the Very Big Thought of Brohood. Through contesting the large arm—the Big Thought of Muscles—Brock had directly conceived and perfectly merged with his soul the Very Big Thought of Brohood. In the same fell swoop, he had also fused the Big Thought of Muscles into his soul, too.
Brock allowed himself a moment of unrestrained pride and elation; he could sense that what he had achieved was monumental.
He opened his eyes in the real world, shocked by the changes in his body. He had just become inconceivably stronger. The Big Thoughts were part of him now, flooding his every nook and cranny, enhancing him way beyond what was physically possible.
Only the Staff of Stone in his hand remained perfectly weighted. A confusing matter, but Brock couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just so happy. He was no longer weak!
The brown corridors now seemed inviting. He dashed through them, restless to meet an adversary and test his might. It didn’t take long; only three corridors down was a blue crab, pinching tiny stone outcroppings off the walls and eating them.
Brock skidded to a halt, staring down the crab. The crab watched him attentively; it hesitated between attacking or running. Brock smirked and hooked his finger at it, inviting it forward. He had already decided that this crab bro would be his sparring partner.
The crab made up its mind. It attacked.
A few moments ago, just this charge would be at the limits of Brock’s perception. Now, it seemed almost slow. He didn’t even need his Staff.
Brock let the weapon fall, electing to meet this bro in bare-armed combat. He leaned away from a pincer, letting it clip his rib fur, then smashed a fist into the crab’s face. The crustacean flew back, landed feet-first into a wall, and jumped at him again.
Brock growled. Punching was his big bro’s area of expertise, but Brock wanted to walk a path of his own, lest he end up trapped in Big Bro’s shadow. So, what should he do?
He jumped over the crab, which barely reached his waist. The pincers closed around empty air. Brock planted his palm on the crab’s head, following its rotation to land behind it. Before the crab could understand what was happening, Brock had wrapped his hands around its body from behind and raised it above his head, leaning back and planting its head into the floor with all the power he could muster.
The stone floor shook. The crab made a pained sound, its shell slightly cracked from the impact.
Brock’s face was split by a massive grin. He couldn’t wait to show Big Bro how strong he’d gotten.
He jumped upright, ready to go another round, but the little crab had had enough. Deciding that Brock was more than it could handle, it turned sideways and sprinted away.
Brock let it. After all, it wouldn’t do for him to bully this little bro.
Then again, what other fate awaited this crab? It would keep on eating stone until one of the bone monsters—the monsters that Brock knew how to avoid—devoured it. That was no life for Brock’s sparring partner.
That was no life for anyone, actually. Someone had to step up for the crabs.
With a few quick steps, Brock caught up to the little crab and stopped it. It didn’t fight back; it seemed almost resigned to its fate by now.
Brock shook his head. We have a lot of work to do, little bro. But don’t worry. Big Bro Brock is here!
---
And speaking of big and bigger bros, our 4th DnD one-shot just dropped! Dragon Egg Heist is a 5-8 hour adventure where, you guessed it, you have to steal the dragon's eggs unnoticed -- or die trying.
For more details, or to buy the adventure, head to DriveThruRPG!
Comments
Valerios
Yesssss!
johnc99
Drinking my tea, almost did a spit take at "The legendary Bro Code". LOL!
