The remaining two pitiful crocodiles screamed and jumped him. Too bad Joey could see this coming. His butt was clenched. He would not pee till tomorrow. He’s as fresh as the morning breeze and had control over this situation like a master driver doing donuts like he’s the head chef, or whatever, of Crispy Cream.
Joey finger-combed his head, pouting as he slowly closed his eyes. Like following a rhythm, he hee-hee’d away from the first one who was supposed to bust his brains out with a club. He snapped his fingers, touched his crotch, moved it up and down, flipped his imaginary cape while hooting like a melodic owl, and turned his body to dodge the spear. The last one dropped his weapon and fell to the ground, mystified. Damn right, he should be.
Joey finger gunned the stunned crocodile with a sinister grin. It shivered. Ah. The two others returned, enraged. The first one tried to club him again. The second peppered him with thrusts. They all missed, not just by a mile, but by a goddamn tomorrow—no, a goddamn year. He tipped his imaginary fedora to appease his audience and moonwalked to safety. He snapped his fingers again. He snapped twice and laughed. The spearman came and aimed for his head. It missed. He jabbed his face. It faltered. He followed the usual one-two combo, and it fell to one knee, groaning. He tap-danced, signaling the monster’s impending doom as the clubber aimed for him. He dodged again, turned to the spearman, and delivered a whopping one-two with a three where it was supposed to be an uppercut, but he was too tall to pull it off at the right angle. So, he settled for a right hook that brought the bastard down.
He should get a bell boy next because he’s knocking it.
Then there was another one, the clubber, that he had been ignoring for, like, forever. Joey snickered. Fine. He’d have to do the hard work. He kicked the monster in the chest and pushed back before it could step on George. There was no need to talk about that cute little plant. It’s cute. It’s prickly. It’s gorgeous. It’s cheering him on, but he’s the superstar right now. But gosh. Joey slapped his thigh and kicked the monster’s throat to sweetly deliver that chin music that missed its mark because he’s just that sexy.
The monster held its throat, gurgled, had its eyes go white, and crumbled to the floor. They’re too weak. Damn, it’s like they’re not trained at all. They’re so slow. Sloppy. He’s like the strongest now. The ladder had been decimated, destroyed. He ran out of more words to describe that feeling right now, but he had to get his shit together. He had a lot of fodder to beat. And he needed to start with these plebs. He flipped his hair like he’s filming a dry shampoo commercial with less fragrance and more sweat. He patted his shoulders and walked towards the last man sitting since the others were now hugging the floor.
Poor dude. This guy probably went in here like he’s going to have a good time, have a ball and murder them all. Then they saw this hot, beautiful man backed by a very hot goddess, and he’s like, “Oh no, we’re getting bodied” or shit. Joey cracked his knuckles. He just had to pull in the leg work.
But four more monsters dashed into the scene through the window. Gosh, it’s like none of them knew how to use the front door. Joey could easily mistake them for vampires if they weren’t green. But something was different. He narrowed his brows. They’re a bit faster, and the four got there in record time—
Joey punched one in the face. His fist bounced off against its thick, muscly skin. He didn’t deal any damage at all. His gaze darted to the ones he beat and to the monster that he punched. Damn. They looked jacked as fuck. He let out a low laugh and shook his head before getting himself bitchslapped so hard that he found the floor in the next second. And it had his world turning so fast that he questioned for a moment if he was in the ceiling. He was actually on the floor because he saw George almost get trampled—if it weren’t for these jacked dudes staying away from his glory. Ah fuck. They’re armed too, and they’re not going to hesitate to kill him. Shit.
One in particular. He could give him names. He couldn’t even move his arm anyways. He’d name him Ringo. Yeah, Ringo. Ringo raised his stone club, grinning. Wait. Was that pity? Oh, hell no. Ringo licked his lips and brought his stone club down, but Jonathan came to his rescue, flexing his bulging and rippling biceps and driving his fist forward into Ringo’s head. It looked like Jonathan dented his face for a second before he threw him off together with his group.
“The Baddest Swing of the Eternal Darkness of a Million War Prisoners!”
Lucy swung a fucking crowbar at an unsuspecting victim from behind. One of the Elite Four fell. So they’re just three now, with two more to worry about since Ringo was recovering. Guy probably didn’t get up due to cringe damage. The remaining ones raised their guards almost immediately like they just realized that there were actually other people in this room.
“And now, to deliver the Song of Death.”
Lucy dropped the crowbar and screamed like a depressed mockingbird mocking itself. Everyone, except Jonathan, got to move on from that powerful cringe damage that she dished out like a nuclear blast that had its victims live long enough to suffer. Jonathan threw all of his weight into an attack and delivered a bomb that knocked one of their enemies unconscious. He dodged a heavy stone club aimed at his neck and gave back a proper left uppercut that dropped the last monster cold.
Lucy coughed at the moment her voice broke. No one dared to laugh. She picked up her crowbar, bashed Ringo’s head, and gave Joey a thumbs up. Jonathan, on the other hand, stretched his shoulders and blew his fists like it’s the hottest thing ever. He pointed Joey to the stairs where they left Uncle all tuckered out and planking by the steps.
“Watching you gave me more pain than Lucy’s performance.” Jonathan smiled. “I don’t like repaying debts, but I’m doing this for that old guy, Uncle, and him.” He pointed them to George shyly before clearing his throat. “Get up. We’re taking them all down with you.”
Joey smiled as Jonathan offered him his big hands and helped him up. The rest of the crew stood from the shadows, looking determined yet scared. Joey patted his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and faced the door. He was glad that he had people that told him not to eat shit and die this time.
“We could’ve just let him consume his own excrement and pass on from this world,” Lucy said.
Or fucking not.