Pussy Commander vs. Han-nam Deputy (3)
Let me explain. What the hell is Pussy Crunch? There's a sister technique called Nutcracker, but let's focus solely on Pussy Crunch for now. This dates back to far before those watermelon slashes etched into Goguryeo tomb murals—it's an ancient forbidden technique against women. No one knows the exact origin, but it's presumed to have been discovered by the ultra-macho Slav ancestors living around Siberia, who pioneered the first acts of domestic violence.
Pussy Crunch is simple: deliver a telephone punch to the opponent's vital spot with a resounding 'Crunch!' Once landed, the target freezes up solid like ice locking in winter—hence the double meaning in the name. But this technique has been a forbidden art since ancient times, deemed far too dangerous and inhumane a form of hand-to-hand combat. Countless men refused to pass it down, even if it meant becoming total pushovers themselves. They figured, even if they turned into spineless wimps, at least they'd be sweet to the women they married.
Me? Never married, so no restrictions. My misogyny-packed telephone punch now slams down on the black pig evil god.
Crunch!!!!!!!!!!!
'It hit!' Confirming the solid impact sound, I flashed a triumphant grin and checked the enemy's reaction. Now she'd just have to writhe in agony until her frozen pussy thawed out. Or so it should have gone.
-Kiiiiiiiiiiik! This is sexual assault! Die, Han-nam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh shit! Did she just activate the skill 'A woman's tears and consistent testimony are evidence and truth itself' to nullify the Pussy Crunch damage?! But backing down here means I'd be the salty Han-nam coughing up settlement money—no way in hell. You wanna test my Han-nam power?!
-Sso-choo-so-shim gal-jat keo-yeop-nong~
"You're not a sexual harassment target. You're a sexual violence target."
-!!!!!
"I mean siege warfare, of course!"
I leaped sky-high, grabbed a rebar beam from the factory ceiling, and yanked it free with all my might. The loose bolts made it pop out way too easily. Aiming it at her like a spear, I went into freefall. Add a Thousand-Pound Drop on top! If telephone punches don't work, I'll telephone-rebar that pussy gate like a battering ram. Didn't Jesus himself say it? Knock, and it shall be opened! Matthew 7:7!
"Pussy Slam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Pussy Slam, the advanced skill above Pussy Crunch—I'm sure you all get it without explanation. One of the deviant lust techniques derived from it is Gut Buster.
Kwaaaaaang!!!!
-Kwiii iiiiiiiik! Not bad for a 6.9-inch Han-nam gay! But no dice! Bo-ro-ro-ro-ro-ron!
The rebar sank halfway in, but she barely took damage. Leveraging her massive bulk, the pig evil god smashed surrounding objects to bits and charged with a monstrous bull rush. The sheer force blew away a clueless cameraman who lost his balance from the wind pressure alone. Things escalated to a full disaster when one factory wall collapsed, leaving us facing off in a new stage amid swirling dust clouds.
The pig evil god, oozing black broth, gripped the rebar lodged in her lower belly, yanked it out, and twisted it like a candy cane. Talk about resentment toward society.
-Don't gaze-rape me, Han-nam. It's disgusting.
"Sorry, but I'm not a furry."
BBW fetish? Hell no.
-Everyone says that, but they always sneak peeks at me. Every day was sexual violence victimhood before I discovered feminism...
"The only place your body could claim wrongful victimhood is an all-you-can-eat buffet. Even paying customers would kick you out."
-Shut your 6.9-inch dicklet, Han-nam gay. From now on, I won't waste a single second turning you into a 'third-class citizen'...
"Ugh!"
Immense pressure (body weight)! Her spiritual energy, boasting insane density and mass that could compress air itself, started crushing down on me.
-Hoh, holding up? Then try 500 times that, Han-nam gay.
"Grahhhhhhh!"
It felt like getting facesat by an elephant! The humiliation hit before I could even breathe—my head spun from oxygen deprivation. But man doesn't live by bread alone, and that means he doesn't live by air alone either. If I can't breathe air, I'll breathe faith! Open your eyes, Han Daeri! You're too damn cool to drop here!
-Now you'll become a guard dog too... Huh?
"I had it wrong. Attacking a tank-tough blob head-on with brute force was stupid from the start."
When carving meat, you follow the grain with the knife—so of course slamming attacks into this jiggling mass like headers just got nullified. The perfect counter for this foe? Defense-ignoring penetration strikes. Short form: Defense Pierce. And top it off with Unguardable.
"Aren't you??? Just a bit??? Chubby??? Needing??? XXXL sizes?????"
-!!!!!!!!!
"And you order a Maximum Jumbo Deep Cheese Bacon Potato Burger set plus Cheese Fondue Wedge Fries while dieting? Oh, diet cola makes it a diet? Epic."
-S-stop!
"I'm so jealous of big sis. I'm skinny, so guys gaze-rape me walking down the street, but you're built like a tank—no Han-nams dare touch you. Phew T_T T_T T_T."
-Stop!!!
"Customer, sweet potatoes, bananas, and apples are diet foods, sure—but that doesn't mean shovel a basin full for every meal. Even elephants are herbivores, but overeat like that and you balloon up, right?"
-STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Unable to endure the shame, the black blob finally recoiled inward, freeing me at last. A mass impervious to physical blows shriveling from mere humiliation. Praise makes whales dance, but mockery makes pigs shrink. Patent that snark-diet and I'd rake in cash.
Shaking off the clinging broth, I eyed the cameraman still filming from the corner. Time to wrap this fight. My stance: this was plenty for the highlight of a horror special pilot episode (Ep. 1). Land one killer zinger, crush her pride, then use the salvation cliché to ship the pig evil god off to Jesus. Pokémon style—beat 'em half to death, then Poké Ball. World's full of clichés like that.
Can you hear me, Jesus? See me, Jesus? Feel me, Jesus? I've prepared a burnt offering for you! You pulled that tsundere act pretending to want Abraham's kid but settling for a lamb, but anyway—here's my pig sacrifice. Accept this pig into heaven. Keep it by your side with boundless love. You have a duty to.
The camera won't catch this, so prep some effects. Exorcism theme—maybe flames bursting up?
That's when it happened.
A black mass burst through the opposite wall, lunging at me. I twisted away on instinct, but my reflexes ain't great—half my upper body got grazed anyway.
Chiiiiiik!
Unlike the black broth, this mystery liquid evaporated on contact—but the real shit had pierced my skin, infiltrating muscles, bones, and flesh, melting them into slimy fat. In seconds, half my upper body went limp like calamari, refusing to respond to commands. Hell, did I even have that half anymore? No sensation at all. Not dead nerves—more like that half wasn't my body anymore. Plug an anal bead in a guy, it won't feel like his tail.
That's too gay anyway.
Staring at my floppy right arm, I hunted the culprit behind this vicious attack.
"Oh, right."
No one ever said what I'd been fighting was the main body.
Crossing the darkness, a grotesque woman's face emerged from the wall, reeking of thick makeup. Like a bloated frog, cheeks puffed, throat churning with impure venom—it gaped at me again.
That sweet-swallow-bitter-spit attitude? As a prime product of proper K-mealtime upbringing, Han Daeri couldn't let such rudeness slide.
"What you should spit out ain't your filthy, ugly sins—it's the innocent souls you swallowed!"
Ripping off the dangling arm chunk, I stomped the stunned pig evil god's bulk and launched skyward.
"Go to heaven bathed in Jesus's snow-white pho grace!"
Jesus Heaven! Nonbelievers Hell!