This is a continuation of  Borusa-Ryalam's Scaling Up YCH, featuring a returning role for his ever-ravenous inteleon Dimitri, featuring plenty of galaxy-gobbling growth! It was a pleasure to work with  Borusa-Ryalam as always, especially given the concepts/ideas he had for this piece. This sequence allowed me to develop and try out plenty of new techniques, and overall, I'm very pleased with how everything turned out, especially in regards to the planets and suns/stars!

Thank you again to  Borusa-Ryalam for commissioning me for this project, and I hope you all enjoy!

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A loud, steady emergency beep blares in the darkness, as the cooking show in front of the slumbering, shadowy form suddenly fizzles out. The screen turns to black, except for the glaring, blood-red characters which read, EMERGENCY BROADCAST. A cold, mechanical voice forces itself out from the speaker, screeching dully, "-ergency. Emergency. Emergency. An anomalous disaster has struck your area. Stay indoors while the crisis is underway, and if you are caught outside, seek shelter immediately. If no shelter is available -" The broadcast halts for a moment. Perhaps there is interference, or perhaps there simply aren't any good instructions for any event - or, perhaps there aren’t any for this event alone. A deep, crashing groan rumbled like thunder in the distance, somewhere outside the smudged, blackened window. Sirens wailed, somewhere out there, before suddenly stopping. An irritated grunt and a belch is the only response the drowsy deer offers.

The voice crackles back into existence. "-ncourage you to speak with your local non-denominational faith leader in these times, by telephone or text message, preferably. Your local authorities have everything under control. If your local authorities cannot be contacted or have since dissolved, trust in your federal government and National Guard. If they too cannot be reached-" This time a dial tone replaces the voice. Commotion stirs below the window. Through the haze of the glassy portal, the neon lights of the city flicker for a moment. Again, the message returns, "-to help you now. A bulletin explaining the situation will follow this message. Emergency. Emergency. Emergen-"

The ill-maintained flatscreen flares white, washing the cluttered living room in a pale, gloomy blue. A moment later, flashy visuals come into focus, as a calm, morning jingle played and a pre-recorded female voice chirped out, "You are listening to LUX 9, the most trusted name in Ne-" The voice stops. The broadcast flickers for a moment, before cutting to two well-dressed news hosts, one a white she-cat and the other a dark-furred wolf. "Good morning - this is Lucy Simmons and John Aberton, reporting live. A real early morning today, huh John?"

The cat has a delicate weave of auburn hair perched atop her grinning head, but for anyone looking closely, it’s clear that the grin is more than a bit forced. A few strands of her hair frizz out anxiously, eager to escape the tight confines of her hairdo. Her face looks pinched beneath her hastily caked on makeup, with her eyes quivering ever so slightly.

Her co-host on the other hand was the complete opposite, with not a hint of worry tugging at his confident, calm smirk. Leaning his arms on the table, the suave, slick wolf’s voice rose, clear even through the light static. “Real early indeed, Dianne. But, certainly not as early as the morning the folks downtown have gotten - rolling power outages have hit almost every part of the city, with rumors flying wildly across social media about what has caused them. Citing safety concerns around a damaged transformer, Police have evacuated homes on Market Street, Hazelbough Avenue, and Icarus Lan-“

The television flickers again. A deep, rumbling noise reverberates through the walls of the cramped space. There was something else accompanying the rumble…. A deep, resounding growl - like that of a ferocious beast… or a hungry stomach. An ugly, jarring crack erupts on the right-hand wall of the room as a helicopter blazed past the window, its light bearing down on something ahead. The TV feed springs back to life again, with the suave, relaxed wolf continuing his monologue.

“-while that notice of Trespass and Endangerment may sound serious, we here at LUX 9 are far, far too dedicated to bring you the latest, breaking news to mind a silly little fine-“ Diane begins to cut him off, her eyes squinting as she says, “Er… John? What are you talking abou-”

John motions somewhere off screen, and the feed readjusts, showing a different angle with him front and center, with his cohost’s audio suddenly silent. He readjusts himself, with Diane’s confused visage leaning at him in the background. His smile is stalwart.

He continues, “We are about to go live to the LUX 9 traffic copter, which is flying close to the disaster zone. We’ll be switching over to speak with-“ The TV flickers for another moment, before returning, “-and his pilot. That’s to you-“ In a quick, stiff flash, the screen changes drastically, along with the audio.

The footage is now of much lower quality, focusing hazily in the skyline of the neon-rimmed city. A pudgy, Hawaiian-shirt bedecked lion is looking in the same direction as the camera as the cameraman shifts the lens, trying in vain to get a clear, focused shot. He adjusts his shirt microphone as his muffled voice jitters out, “A bit nippy up here John, I can’t really get a clear-“ The feed snaps out again. The growling grows even louder. The walls of the building shake aggressively, the crack on the side growing. Loud, hammering footsteps outside the door, along with panicked, confused yapping, yammering, and yelling. The form in the room briefly stirs from his slumber. He lazily reaches his saggy, fat arm over to his alarm clock, groaning and thumping it as the shouting grows louder. An empty bottle and takeout container tumble off the bed as the bloated man readjusts himself, turning his antlered head to a more comfortable angle and letting one of his fat-caked cervine legs ooze off the side of the bed.

The feed returns as quickly as it had left. The helicopter is now soaring past a towering skyscraper mid collapse - the camera is just able to catch the form of the tower fall, its neon lights flickering in the dim. As the lion gaped at the scene, readying himself for the inevitable collapse, his face turns from horror to surprise. Rather than crumbling and bursting into a thousand bits, instead, in front of the camera, God, and everyone, the skyscraper bounces. Yes, you heard it right - bounces. It teeters for a moment, before falling again, this time staying down, shrouded in the thick, blackened clouds of dust and rubble. The camera refocuses, trying to get a clear shot of the devastation, instead, finds the rubble and smoky heaps overshadowed by a massive wall of… blue? Was this some sort of freak tidal wave, hundreds of miles inland?

The lion desperately clamps onto his hat, sputtering before him, desperately trying to clamp onto his hat, sputtering, “I- John, folks back at the studio - I… I can’t even begin to explai- wait a moment… what’s… there’s something moving at the top of the… wave…”

The lion turns, whispering to the pilot and pointing forward. The camera adjusts for a moment, the neon light flaring brightly as the haphazard motions take their toll on the footage. Then, a dark billowing hole filled the screen, consuming... well, something. The lion stutters, “I- can… can we get a spotlight goin- go- go- go.” The screen sputters and fizzes, the lion’s slack-jawed face repeating that same word again and again, as the camera angle drifts. A terrified scream echoes somewhere near the end of the hall, followed by a commanding shout, much lower in pitch. The footsteps return, this time pounding in the opposite direction, in a desperate, fruitless dash towards the emergency exit. The groans outside grow louder - and closer…

The feed restarts. The leonine reporter’s fat features are contorted into a display of utter horror. The camera, at long last, focuses on something definite - an absurdly large, yawning maw, over which two deep, flab-encrusted arms hold two entire trucks, the faded out logo of “Globe Gobblers” barely visible under the creature’s grubby paws. Across its expansive rolls of growing, growling flab, mounds of rubble and dust drift here and there, as the unstoppable surge continues, demolishing entire skyscrapers in its wake.

The lion’s feed becomes distorted again as some incredibly strong gale seems to shake the helicopter. Moments later, the walls of the dimly lit apartment shake violently, an ear-rending belch rattling through every inch of the building. The lump formerly slumbering on the bed shoots up, clutching his ears in shock. He shakes his head, dully turning his chubby, cervine head towards the TV, his bloodshot eyes squinting in the gloom. Something presses up against the window.

The lion on the screen shakes violently, desperately gripping his hat as it flutters in the wind, panic spread plainly over his pudgy face. He starts, “I-… it seems like Mr. Lusk’s coin-flip donation of city-wide neon lights over the proposed city-wide defense grid was rather ill-informed!” The lion chuckles nervously, the pilot desperately trying to steer the helicopter behind him as the view from the window spins from side to side. The lion heaved as the helicopter took a sickening spin, still clutching onto his hat for dear life, barking out one final transmission, “I- I think we’re going down John - j-just… tell my wife I- I- did eat that pie she made for her bookclu-!”

The feed stuttered for a moment as the orange-patterned surface of the monster’s massive stomach spins right behind the lion, repeating his last moments for a few seconds. The apartment’s occupant gapes at the TV. Was… this some sort of joke? The feed cuts back to the news studio, revealing a deeply disturbed cast and crew. Interns mill about the stage, jaws agape at what just happened. The once buttoned-up Lucy now looks utterly distraught, her hands clasped over her mouth, her wide eyes glistening in the studio light. Even the ever-stoic John looks ruffled - but… not as ruffled as he should’ve.

John, grinning once more, swung back to the camera, smoothly announcing, “Well, there you have it, folks! The end of days is upon us. It looks like we’re all about to be consumed by some impossibly immense… what was that… a Pokémon or something? Whatever the case, hold your loved ones close and your food even closer… And, if you’re like me, thank your lucky stars that your ex-wife got the downtown penthouse instead of the private spacecraft you kept for just such an emergency - oh… that doesn’t apply to any of you? Oh well, better luck next time - not that there’ll be one. Back to you, Lucy!”

Lucy slowly turns to John, her mouth fully agape as she looks at him in horror. All eyes in the room are focused on this one, pompous, proud wolf. John glares at her, a cruel smile on his face, as he prepares to unleash ten years' worth of pent-up workplace rage on his co-host. He scoffs, lashing his tongue like a whip, “Ah, nothing to say without your precious little teleprompter, eh? I’d be shocked if you could even say the word ‘the’ without a computer forcing it out of that pretty, plastic little face! Well, I’ve got plenty to say, least of all to you - but, I’ve really, really got to get going. This is John Aberton, signing off, for good -“ he says, struggling to get his microphone out, ruffling his suit, revealing the ill-fitting girdle beneath, pudge straining against the garment, “-and, can I just say, from the bottom of my heart, everyone in this rotten, flea-ridden studio can kindly go to HE-“

Before his profanity-laced tirade could finish, the power suddenly goes off - for good. The deer grunts nervously, his belly gurgling in the darkness, before being answered with a much louder gurgle from outside. His last thoughts before flab consumed his building were on just how badly he wanted one last midnight snack…