Day 3: Mad Rocks and the Heroine's Charge
Bang!
Bang!
“Waaaaaah!!”
“Waaaaaah!!”
“What the hell?”
I'd been sleeping like a baby, feeling great, when the racket woke me up against my will. How long had it been since I told them to stay quiet? And here they were, already losing their shit and making a ton of noise. Worst of all, I'd been having a steamy dream! Why did it always happen that just as my majestic junk was about to slide right into place, something yanked me awake?
At this point, I was starting to think even those sexy dreams were some asshole up there going, haha, you piece of shit, you're a loser even in your dreams, moron, and waking me up on purpose. Nightmares were tough—you knew they were coming, but you couldn't wake up. But a super hot dream? Bam, eyes wide open. Nightmares even picked up where they left off if you dozed back to sleep, but sexy dreams vanished like the Little Mermaid turning to foam.
Fuck, I was just about to bang the Little Mermaid. What would a mermaid's pussy feel like with that fish tail? I was on the verge of solving that mystery! Forget kids' pure innocence—I was at the age where twisted adult desires ruled. Even if I found that wish-granting bluebird, it'd just be dinner now.
And yet, they stole my precious few hours of dream-banging—not eternity, just a goddamn nap dream. Whoever it was, I'd kill 'em. No joke.
The bear pelt draped over me bristled like it agreed. Yeah, my old pal, I haven't forgotten you. Our beautiful friendship always tugs at my heart. The power of friendship is mighty—like drawing a card you didn't even put in your deck or pulling one out of thin air in those kids' card scam games. Back then, in cartoons, I'd think, whatever, that's bullshit. But now? Kids spitting lightning bolts like pasta strands everywhere. Couldn't I just bullshit my way with “power of friendship” once?
Not impossible at all. Alright, let's use our friendship power to crush these idiots!
Yeah! Let's show 'em our power! It felt like the bear from my childhood—another me—was patting my shoulder.
“Hey!!”
“Whoa? Boss is up!”
“Boss!!”
The morons spotted me and came charging over, hyped for some reason.
“Kiiing! We're so excited we're crying buckets, kiiing! Boss is the greatest boss ever, kiiing kiiing!”
“Chwiik! We didn't know how awesome you are, Boss! Chwiik! Truly great!”
“...You assholes mocking me for just having a wet dream, huh?”
That shady line felt familiar, making me uneasy, when the unusually chipper idiots shouted to each other.
“Move! Boss is coming through!”
“Red Bear! Red Bear!”
They were chanting my name like fans now. Had they pulled some stunt while I slept? I pushed through the path they cleared.
“Huh?”
The elephant dude was lying turned toward the cliff, the rubbery Jelly King Slug tied to his tusk. In the corner, Hellbat Sunbat was slinging head-sized rocks like a massive slingshot.
“One more shot!”
“This one's for two kills—I bet three goblin heads!”
“Four for me!”
Whoosh! The rock flew fast, kicking up dust way down below.
“What're you doing?”
I asked out of genuine curiosity. Elephant Dude flapped his ears from the ground.
“Boss said we could throw rocks and play, so we're chucking 'em at the humans. Prrroo.”
“I did say throw rocks and play, but...”
Why so intense? I'd pictured them goofing around like kids playing pretend. Reality? Straight-up Angry Birds, pelting humans one-sidedly. Why were these braindead idiots suddenly creative here of all places?!
Whatever. Like that kids' book: do it yourself. Was that it?
That's why I kept 'em from going down, from fighting! To starve 'em out on this peak. Drop their morale!
Morale's huge in war. Bodies fight, but morale's that baseless booze-fueled confidence making you charge stronger foes. Why else in Romance of the Three Kingdoms do generals retreat when advisors whine about low morale, even with numbers on their side? Morale's “willpower”—mental fuel.
Picture this: you're losing bad, thinking we're fucked, then reinforcements hit the enemy's rear. Even a small squad spikes morale: Hell yeah, our guys are here!
Our situation? Total numbers disadvantage against the alliance, camp on top so no supplies, terrain sucks—no help from allies even if they came. Time's against us.
So I lied to drag it out, neuter their fightin' spirit, make 'em easy prey. But now their fun rock game boosted morale instead! What now?! These brutes who rolled around fighting found a new toy: We don't even need to go down—they'll flee or climb up begging.
Tell 'em to stop? “Don't do it.” “Why?” “Just fucking don't.” “Boss siding with humans?!” “Traitor! Traitor!” Their simpleton logic: block human-killing, get beat to death.
Ugh, if they sucked at shooting, I'd shut 'em up. But damn, they were good. Cliff-base outposts shattered, rocks reaching the tiny human main camp. Dust clouds now, black specks flying.
Remember that story? Kid drops eraser from 20th-floor apartment, kills someone below? Eraser that deadly—imagine head-sized rocks from 30-40 stories like catapults! Black Rock Mountains lived up to the name: black meteors raining. Humans below either retreat or charge up.
We're elite one-man armies, bellies full. Let the walking buffets huff up—we feast! Fucked. My perfect plan ruined by rock-throwing!
This insane situation—wanted to flop and tantrum—someone yelled.
“Hey! Something's coming up there!”
“What? Who'd come in this mess...?”
Something real was coming. A silver figure on a pure white steed charging the peak at full gallop.
“Isn't that the hero?”
“Kieeek! Yeah, it's the hero!”
“What?! Hero?!”
Shocked, they dropped rocks, freaking out. Probably scouting why quiet us suddenly went Angry Birds. And a hero! Solo powerhouse, sure, but we're continent's human-killers. Can't break us all, even with sacrifices.
They might die here!
“Shut up!”
I calmed the pro Demon King serial killers first. Couldn't let that reckless fool die yet.
“Slingshot guys excepted—anyone taller than me, hide from her sight. Shorter ones? Act dying or dead like you're about to drop.”
“Eek?! Why!!”
“Listen! Part of the plan!”
Rock fun boosted loyalty—they obeyed quick. Big ogres, trolls bolted opposite side. Smalls played dying or dead.
“No, some stand up. All down looks suspicious.”
Tough ones like Warhog, Carolus V, Minotaur stayed up; rest down.
“Yo, piglet, doggy, calf—you follow me.”
“Why?”
“Gonna meet the hero. Their boss coming, so ours should too, right?”
“Ooh! Boss challenging the hero!”
Risky, but gauge her skill. Me and three trailed down. Signaled slingshotters to stop, dashed toward the pristine white horse (actual horse).
Alright, let's see that face.
Descending fast, distance closed. Horse head now 10m away! Struck a pose, started my line.
“Welcome to the Black Rock Mountains, stranger. I oversee our idiot, dimwitted underlin—”
Sssshing!
“Gaaaaah! Boss's arm?!”
Flash—left arm gone. Villain or not, let me finish my line?!
Hey, Pepe? Mermaids? Y'know, the half-fish chicks? Where do they stick their dicks?
Oh... my... God. Whoever said snake sex was the best?