Quoted By:
"Oh. A guest."
"<span class="mu-g"> Gneh. Gave me all kindsa shidd Sweetfudz. Shot me twice, loosed the dogg on me wivva Faya Flask, made me chase him innin out the Mart Street. Chopped me. Got me kit all half-tore before I even started on the mutt.</span>"
"Mm. So you want a junior disciple."
You feel Seafood's taking the pess, so you play straight n stuppud.
"<span class="mu-g">Nar Sweetfudz. I figger jezt deffs too quick ferrim. I fort I'd brungum fer yez. Mebbe yez can drain orf orl hiz bludd while he's livin n watchen. Make it moar pain n orful loik.</span>"
"I seeee. Your Shifu is your torturer and executioner, hmm. A dumping ground for offal and leftovers, hmm."
"<span class="mu-g">errr.. N-no</span>? <span class="mu-g">P-pleez no</span>?"
"Hmhmhmm. I will want a good answer later, Tudi. Think carefully. You. Come. <span class="mu-i">Here.</span>"
The boy's lifted and dragged through his air, his toes trailing on the ground. This was the same thing Seafood used on you, but at that time there were lotsa blood squiggles on the ground.
Either Seafood allus could do this without blood squiggles, or there's squiggles here wot yez carnt see snrff. But derr izzint any blood onna ground thoe?, or he no longer needs squiggles now. Whichever it is, you ready yourself to get punished in some gruelling way; when Seafood gives these kinds of questions he's in a mood, and it don't matter what you answer. Best butter yer skiddz n prepare yerz bugg'ole.
"Mm. Some intelligence; good spirit. Hmm. An Eight-Gate Affinity; powerful, if you find the right teacher. Someone who knows both Righteous and Deviant Peak-level Arts. Meat and bone a little thin, nothing a year wouldn't fix. Lad. You've seen how deadly this imbecile disciple of mine is, with just a little teaching. If you kowtow to me three times and call me Teacher, I will teach you much more. When you have attained Mastery, what will not be yours. Wealth, women, position, power. The world. Empire. <span class="mu-i">Revenge</span>," he says, glancing at you with the red pinpoints of his eyes. The boy follows his gaze into yours. In the eye that isn't swollen flows a black hate you've only seen one place else: in the gray grill-helm of the Goblin Slayer.
You shrink and flinch, hearing this. Waddafugg duud... Mebbe dis weren't the best idea at all...
"How about it."
"... ... yes. Teacher."
The moment Seafood lets him off the phantom grip, the boy goes on both palms and both knees, bowing his forehead to the ground in front of Seafood. You feel sicker each time his head knocks the floor.
On the third knock, before he can list his head again, Seafood in his little girl body places a hand on the back of his neck.
"I acknowledge your request." When he lifts his hand there's a black squirming <span class="mu-i">fing</span> on the boy's neck.
"But the Wind Incarnadine doesn't accept Disciples."
As the boy jerks up, surprised by the horrible new sEnSaTiOnZ, Seafood rams one more weirdseed inniz mouf, neck hollow, under navel.
"<span class="mu-g">Shiieedd.</span>"
