Chapter 18 – “The Break Beneath the Mask”(Rework)

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The gentle clinking of silverware echoed through the dining hall of Mewni's royal castle. The table was a grand one, covered with gleaming cutlery, porcelain plates stacked with regal portions, and the air itself was seasoned with the aroma of roasted meats and strange multiversal delicacies—roasted flame hare from the Flame Realms, baked prism apples from the Crystal Depths, and void-glazed carrots, a particular favorite of one demon bunny among them.

Lawrence sat quietly, hunched just slightly. He was elegantly dressed, as usual, in a Victorian-modern hybrid look—collar sharp, coat long, buttons silver. He was eating like a gentleman. Every bite was mechanical. Chew, swallow, small sip of the void-brewed tea. Repeat.

The others around the table—Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Niffty, Sir Pentious, Alastor, Star Butterfly, Marco Diaz, and several ranked dimensional merchants—were far more animated. Talking. Laughing. Teasing. Even debating politics of a dozen collapsed dimensions. N was leaning closer to Lawrence, chatting as if nothing else in the world mattered. But to Lawrence, it was muffled. A faint drone of meaningless syllables. His hearing was warped—not literally, but instinctively.

Something was wrong. Not visibly. Not detectably. But instinct? Instinct never lied.

He tapped a finger on his teacup. Three times. A silent, personal signal: High alert. Zero confirmation. One anomaly detected.

N continued talking beside him, oblivious.

Then it happened.

Reality… folded.

The table, the food, the castle, the noise—it didn't warp, fade, or explode. It simply… cut.

A perfect seam. A surgical no-clip.

And Lawrence was gone.

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His body collided with damp carpet. Yellow walls buzzed with dim fluorescent lights. The smell—musty, unkempt, like decades of unwashed hotel rooms and artificial lemon cleaner—filled his nose.

Lawrence lay there a second longer. He slowly sat up, brushing dust from his coat. His face remained blank. Eyes cold blue, scanning. Lips moving slightly.

"F*ck."

He stood.

The place was the stuff of every seasoned dimensional traveler's nightmares. The infinite purgatory. A space between spaces.

"The Backrooms."

His voice echoed, absorbed strangely by the stained yellow wallpaper.

Stillness.

He took a few steps forward, shoes crunching on a decaying chip bag.

Lawrence. Demon bunny. Veteran IBPM platinum-rank agent. A creature who had killed gods, overthrown demonic pantheons, outlived a dozen cursed timelines, and helped rebuild the multiverse thrice over.

Even he winced.

"Oh joy," he muttered.

---

Meanwhile, back in the royal dining hall…

Screams.

Panicked voices. Queen Moon stood up so fast her chair tumbled backward. Star looked pale. Charlie was trying to contact someone via a cursed phone. N was still staring at the spot Lawrence vanished.

"What… what was that?!" Marco barked.

Gilbert entered through a dark portal, tentacles swaying with an oddly casual grace, even in chaos.

"What are the odds," he said flatly, "that a dimensional shear would occur in a non-volatile reality? Inside a royalty-anchored convergence zone?"

Moon grabbed his shoulder. "Just tell me what happened!"

Gilbert glanced at the air. His eldritch senses scanned the flicker left behind.

"He no-clipped. Not voluntarily. Most likely a break. A tear. A fissure. Possibly targeted."

"Targeted?! By who?!"

He didn't answer.

Back in the Backrooms…

Lawrence had started walking. His steps were steady, boots echoing into oblivion. He pulled out a long metal rod from his coat. It flickered—adjusted to the unique electromagnetic frequency of the space.

"No exit beacon. No energy signature. No mapped waypoints."

He paused. Tapped the rod.

"But there's… a signal."

Faint. Fragmented. A distress beacon. Someone else was here. Or maybe had been.

He narrowed his eyes.

"A survivor? Or bait?"

He began walking again.

No panic.

No fear.

Just protocol.

---

4th Wall Break.

"Oh yeah," Lawrence said, glancing directly forward as if the fluorescent lights were studio lamps.

"I know you're watching. Reader. You're probably expecting some epic monster fight, some edgy reveal, or worse…"

He paused.

"…some Rule34 creep bullsht. Newsflash. I'm not into robots. I'm not gay. The author confirmed it five fcking times. I like my void carrots and peace, thank you."

He rolled his eyes.

"And if you were one of the people who commented on the last chapter like 'please make a scene out of the bunny girl moment'—you've already lost the argument. Touch grass. Drink water. Pet a cat."

He shook his head.

"The author? Yeah, he's a 13-year-old. But he's writing. And he's got potential. So instead of clowning him, support him. Same goes for other small fanfic creators. This stuff isn't easy, especially with a brain melting under hormones, school stress, and inconsistent WiFi."

He snapped his fingers.

"Oh, and no, I'm not giving an ad. Again. Even if the author promised me void-carrot sponsorship."

---

Lawrence wandered deeper. His rod beeped.

Something was behind the wall.

He turned his head. Slowly.

The wallpaper bulged.

Out popped a head. Not human. Not monster. Just wrong.

It hissed.

Lawrence didn't move.

"You're not Aynsc," he said coolly.

The thing tilted.

"I was hoping for at least level 94.2. Maybe some fun."

It screeched.

He shot it.

A single blast from his concealed gun-arm obliterated its head. It slumped.

He didn't blink.

"I've had worse."

He kept walking.

More yellow.

More buzzing.

More unsettling silence.

---

In Mewni, Gilbert was now surrounded by scientists from multiple dimensions. Holograms danced. Data scrolled. Queen Moon paced, while Charlie and Star held hands, trying to stay calm.

"Where is he now?" Star asked.

Gilbert rubbed his head.

"If I had to guess? Backrooms. Level 0. Possibly 1."

"Can we pull him out?"

Gilbert's answer was silence.

"...Gilbert?"

He looked at them. One eye open.

"Unless he finds a way to exit himself… no. We can't even pinpoint him unless he triggers a specific beacon."

N clenched his metallic fists.

"He'll be fine. He's Lawrence."

---

In the Backrooms…

Lawrence finally found a hallway leading to a stairwell.

He stopped.

Looked down it.

Pitch black.

He took a breath.

"Alright. Time to go deeper."

He jumped.

---

The fall was long. Too long. But he landed gently. Another level.

The air was thick. Smelled like mold and burnt paper. Pipes leaked steam. The floor was moist.

"Level 2."

He walked.

Another entity skittered ahead. A faceless man with twitching limbs.

He didn't waste time. Two shots. It collapsed.

Another.

Another.

He walked through it all.

Then he saw it.

A message on the wall. Written in blood.

"LAWRENCE?"

He blinked.

"Who the h*ll…?"

A flicker. A figure appeared.

Not an entity.

A girl.

Dirty. Frail. Covered in bruises.

"Help… me…"

Lawrence narrowed his eyes.

"Survivor?"

She stumbled.

He walked forward.

She lunged.

A trap.

But he was faster.

He struck her with the rod—now electrified. She shrieked and dissolved into static.

He sighed.

"Backrooms AI mimic. You're gonna have to try harder than that."

He kept moving.

---

Another break room. Another hallway. More wires. More pipes.

Then finally—

A door.

Rusty. Flickering light over it.

He opened it.

Behind the door… a room.

Inside—

A survivor.

An actual one.

Pale. Wide-eyed. Clutching a bent spoon.

"…You're not an entity," they whispered.

"No."

"Are you real?"

He walked in. Sat.

"Real enough."

They began to cry.

"I've been here for three years…"

He paused.

"I've been here for two hours and already regret every life choice."

He reached into his coat.

Pulled out a dimensional flare.

"Lucky for you… I brought a portable gate."

He flicked it.

A portal shimmered.

"Let's go."

The survivor hesitated.

Lawrence sighed.

"Do you want to stay here with yellow walls and static voices or come back to a castle with void-flavored carrots?"

They ran into the portal.

He followed.

---

He emerged back in Mewni. Dusty. Tired.

But alive.

Everyone gasped.

"Lawrence!"

He raised a hand.

"Next time someone invites me to dinner, check the fcking floor integrity.*"

Then he collapsed into a chair.

Gilbert handed him a new cup of tea.

N patted his shoulder.

"You alright?"

Lawrence sighed.

"I saw things. Horrible things. Carpet stains older than your timeline. But yeah… I'm good."

He looked up.

"Where's my damn carrot ice cream?"

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