Cereal Killer, in the form of:
Asesino en cereal Omega
Cereal? Pfauh! You spit out cereal, what fetid, unwelcomed effluviums, what snickling, brabbling, wickedly waggling, uninvitable pleonasms, nor wheat nor oat nor rice shall accost your finedangling senseness! Begone, you say, and you prepare to torch them all to Hades. A diet of meat, for you, morning or evening, meat, yes! More meat! You are cereal killer Omega.
::)::
A night like any other, you are wandering an idle street when you think you hear a voice mumbling something about… despots? Why despots? Their words sound grandiose and absurd, but you are shaken. You immediately rush home, and by the time the front door closes to your back you are drenched in sweat. Something has awoken in you, as though a key were turned in a lock deep within the recesses of your soul, and you can never go back. Or, maybe… If you destroy that voice. Maybe then, you will find peace. Yes. You must. You must destroy all cereals.
You win when all cereals have been incinerated or nothing can stop the same.
(Modnote: this means they were a Mafia Goon.)
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Flavor fakeclaim
Vanilla cereal, in the form of:
Muesli
You would be nowhere and nothing without rolled oats, but when you are little more than rolled oats you are worthless, by no fault of the oats. You are your best self when soaked or submerged, you must neither be sweet nor bitter, and while you should never be difficult to chew, you always are. Nuts, seeds, and dehydrated fruits are your needy children, and they dry your mouth and lips to a desert—your kingdom for a yogurt. Much to your own chagrin, you are a muesli.
::)::
You’ve always been afraid of death. Please don’t kill me, you whisper prayerfully to the night, but you know it ignores you. Sometimes a strange longing takes you, and for a moment you believe you’re about to meet your end. “Los geht’s!” you sob sincerely under your breath. “Die Meuchelmörder in den Getreideflocken nehmen mich weg.”
One day, as the rising sun peeks through your huddled cardboard covers, you have an epiphany, or at least a thought. “Ich bin der Fürsprecher der Despoeten,” you proclaim unconvincingly. “Und niemand bringt mich zum Schweigen. ¡Adelante, meine Waffe ist meine Stimme!” You emerge from your dusty fortress into the dawnlit lands and set out ayonder with tongue in hand. You may be a little bland, but you certainly have an appetite.
You win when all threats to cereal have been eaten.
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