>>5208350Time for you to step in. Letting go of Caulifla's hand you begin marching forward, your boot striking the ground with enough force to crack it as you bellow out.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, SHITSTAIN?!" you bellow in your best instructor voice, the big drunkard turning around to face you. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!"
“Gen- *hic* General Karn?” he asks, clearly confused by your sudden appearance. But that was not the correct answer.
“OH, SO YOU THINK THAT
YOU'RE GENERAL KARN? DO YOU ALSO FUCK MY WIFE, AND RAISE MY KIDS, GENERAL KARN?!” you shout angrily, getting right up in his neck-less face. Luckily you're still transformed from this morning, else he would no doubt have towered over you like he does everyone else present. “I'LL GIVE YOU ONE MORE CHANCE TO TELL ME YOUR NAME, BEFORE I KILL YOU RIGHT WHERE YOU STAND!!”
“FUCK YOU!” comes his eloquent reply, and he swings on you. Making his last stupid mistake for the day. You don't even try and dodge his strike, planting your feet firm and taking his punch square to the face. His heavy blow sends a powerful shock wave out from your head. The gathered crowd shouts in surprise as the shock wave washes over them, knocking dozens down. But you remain standing, and don't move from your spot. “Wh-Whut?”
“Wrong answer.” you reply, reaching up and grabbing his right wrist with your left hand. Then with a small effort pull his fist back away from your face, then crush his wrist.
“GYAAAAAAH!” he cries out, dropping down to his knees as he screams. But you don't let go, holding him by the arm as you draw your right fist back. You're about to deck him, and knock this asshole's head clean off his shoulders, when you realize that your daughter's still upset and probably won't appreciate not being able to save him afterwards. So you sigh out, and give him another chance.
“Since my daughter's watching, and isnt' in the mood to watch a moron die, I'll give you one last chance, asshole.” you say, voice low and menacing. “Answer me, or die. Your choice. What. Is. Your. Name?”
“G-G-Goar.” he replies, eyes wide with fear. “M-My name is Goar.”
“Well well, Goar. I'm so glad to hear you've decided to volunteer for my training course.” you say, voice now a lot less threatening and almost cheery compared to just a moment ago. Then with little effort haul him back up to his feet by his broken arm, the man crying out in pain again. “Come on, get up Goar. On your feet soldier!”
“Gaaa, aaaah! Y-Yes SIR!” he shouts out against the pain, but you get him standing upright. You let him go, and despite his arm being clearly broken, refuses to hold it or show any signs of being injured. At least he sobers up quickly.
cont
