"You're quite the joker. But this is no laughing matter."
D-Boss tilted his head slightly, eyes cold.
"These guys behind me? They're everyone you embarrassed on that stage today. And what's about to go down is simple—they're going to beat you to a pulp, take your prize money, then I'll ask you some questions."
His grin widened.
"After that, they'll continue whooping your behind. Okay, I guess that's settled. Any questions?"
Vorden smirked, arms crossed.
"Yeah, I got one." He leaned forward slightly, his tone dripping with amusement. "Where exactly am I involved in all this? I mean, forget your tone—your words alone are hilarious."
He gestured lazily.
"Beat up? Me? You must be joking! Bruh, you don't want to mess with me. You gathered a bunch of sticks and called them a gang. They resemble ants that haven't eaten."
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
'What is wrong with you? Can't you just shut up for a minute?'
He had done it now.
Well. Life was short.
Unbeknownst to him, the other side had begun to grow wary. The way he spoke—the sheer confidence—it made them wonder if he had something up his sleeve.
"Who do you think you're calling sticks and ants?!" someone snapped, temper flaring.
"Doesn't matter what tricks you have—we outnumber you. And every single one of us has been posted before and gained a skill or two." Another clenched his fists. "We don't fear you!"
"So why waste our spit when we can just waste him?"
STOP!
D-Boss raised his hand, fingers curling into a fist—demanding silence.
"It's surprising how you can keep your cool," he muttered, his eye twitching in irritation. "But that will take you nowhere."
Then, he smirked.
"Tell you what—because of your bravery, I won't kill you." His voice turned cruel. "Instead, you'll get beaten until you wish you were dead."
The crowd shifted uneasily.
Even D-Boss wasn't dumb enough to kill someone over a rap contest. If word spread, he'd either become a laughingstock—
Or worse, an object of ridicule.
Besides—he wasn't interested in destroying Vorden.
He wanted to know how he knew that song.
"Don't knock him out immediately," he whispered. "I still want to ask some questions. Also—be cautious. We don't know what he has up his sleeves."
A man wearing a bandana stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.
"Don't worry, we've got it under control."
He moved in cautiously.
Vorden let out a short laugh.
"Are you sure you want to fight me?"
The moment he said it, he knew it was foolish.
But at this point, words were his only weapon.
"Listen, I've been in this stage before. If you let me go, I'll make a movie about it—something like 'Sticks and Ants: Honor Among Fools!' Not a bad deal, don't you think?"
He was pressed against a wall.
His brain scrambled for anything that could save him.
The bandana man snarled.
"You're dead!"
He launched forward—a brutal roundhouse kick aimed at Vorden's right leg.
Still cautious, he didn't put all his might into it.
Vorden's stomach dropped.
'Oh, crap! Crap! Crap! Is this where it all ends?'
BOOM!
His leg snapped.
Bones shattered like a brittle twig.
A sickening, splintering crack.
ARGHHH!!
A bone-chilling scream ripped from his throat.
The pain was indescribable.
The man in the bandana froze.
He had expected Vorden to have some kind of strength after all that smart talk—but instead?
He was pathetically weak.
That wasn't even a full-force kick—yet his bones shattered like glass.
Weak was an understatement.
Seeing that Vorden was not a threat, the others stepped forward, emboldened.
At first, they held back—almost lightly tapping him.
But the thrill of dominance crept in—
And some went overboard—snapping his fingers for sport.
"It's always the same."
"No matter where I am."
"No matter how far I go."
"It's always the same."
…
"I hate it."
"I hate it."
"I'm tired of being weak!"
"I AM FREAKING TIRED OF IT!!!"
Vorden's scream ripped through the air.
TITLE: DAVID
[UNLOCKED]
SKILLS GAINED:
Impervious to physical, sonic, and mind attacksInvincibility100% Accuracy
A white crown materialized on Vorden's head.
It looked both there—and not there—at the same time.
His body radiated a brilliant, blinding glow.
Like a god.
Untouchable—yet capable of destruction.
BOOM!!
Vorden threw a punch at the man in the bandana.
The force sent him flying—through a wall—then another—then another—until he slammed into an aluminum door with a thunderous dent.
Blood poured from his wounds.
Seeing this, the others—including D-Boss—realized:
They weren't about to win.
They bolted.
Vorden threw a punch after them.
No matter what they did—
They couldn't dodge.
It was like the blow was destined to hit them.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each punch landed.
In just five seconds—
They were out cold.
And would remain so for two months.
The white crown vanished.
The glow dimmed.
Vorden collapsed—panting, sweating—like he'd run a 50-minute marathon.
His limbs grew weak—his body drained.
"This David stuff takes way too much out of me," he muttered. "Only five seconds, and I'm already this tired. It'll probably take days for me to get my strength back."
What was more amusing—
Every injury he had suffered—
Was gone.
"There you are."
A familiar voice.
Vorden froze.