It was a beautiful morning in Anytoon, USA. The birds were singing, the sun was smiling down, and Spoony the cat waved to it as he stepped out his front door, getting a wink in return as it cast a cheery glow over the landscape. Trees swayed rhythmically, as if dancing to an invisible tune, their leaves sporting vibrant hues of green, red, and even polka dots.
Pablo Steelknuckle Horatio Felidae Witherspoon the second, known as Spoony to his friends, took a deep sniff of the early morning air and took a single wide step to the side. The anvil which tipped off his roof from the tripwire he had pretended not to notice, smashed his porch into a gravelly cloud. “Not good enough, Paulie.” He said over his shoulder to the open door as he brushed some of the gray dust off his lab coat and red fur.
He twitched a particularly large pebble out his ear, feeling just a little bit of pride.
His little brother, Paulus Felidaeus Slamstringus Maximus Witherspoon, though Spoony called him Paulie, was getting good at his chicanery, all according to plan. Though Spoony had moved out long ago, graduated top of his class from Noodle-Noggin University with his doctorate in Whimsy Widgets, a bachelors in chicanery, and a Masters in tomfoolery just around things out, his little Paul had started struggling in his basics since he’d left.
It wasn’t a secret the little kitten didn’t want Spoony moving away. Especially as far as Anytown was from Snickerburg. To say he’d been stunned his little brother could barely make, much less throw a banana cream pie was an understatement. It was their parents who suggested Paulie spend the summer at his house.
Spoony chuckled to himself, knowing that his brother had always looked up to him and wanted to follow in his footsteps. And now that it was Spoony teaching him the art of pranking and mischief-making, he could toss a pie precise enough to knock a man into a shaving chair at 600 yards. By the time school started again, he’d probably get straight A’s in his classes. He noticed he wasn’t the only one chuckling and looked up to see his little brother seated on the anvil, his red furred face all smug kitten fangs and waving cheeky curved tail. Before Spoony could speak, Paulie pointed to the ground and mouthed, ‘Look down.’
The cat did and nodded in appreciation. ‘A feint thrust to moulinet,’ Spoony considered as he examined the pit trap he hovered over.
It was deep, clearly had been quickly dug. Yet its square shape would be perfect for a trap door if the need arose. Which he would bet his little brother had found the need. Spoony grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose. Paulie was definitely becoming a master in his own right. He wondered what other delightful surprises his little brother had in store for him when he came back from work. Spoony clapped his paws together and said, “Well done, Paulie. You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time.”
Paulie’s grin widened as he hopped down from the anvil. “Thanks, big bro."
Then, with a whistle and a puff of dust, Spoony dropped.
His head had barely passed the lip of the pit before his brother put the first board down, hammering nails away. Spoony picked up his suitcase where he had fallen with him and opened it. He pulled a door out, unlocked it, stepped through to the front porch, and was just in time to see his little brother pounding the last nail down with a hearty THWACK.
Patting down his hands, Paulie turned away, strutting with a happy smile on his face, completely oblivious.
Spoony slipped a hand in his pocket, rummaging until his fingers found what he was looking for. Pulling out the Louisville Slugger, he waited until the kitten bumped right into him.
He froze, face buried in Spoony’s vest as his hands began to feel around to make sure he was real. Waiting until the perfect moment when his brother knew but not so long to give his little bro a chance to slip Bunnetti reversal, Spoony gave him a quick, soft BONK to the noggin which sent the boy stumbling away with stars around his head.
Spoony chuckled to himself as he watched his little brother stumble and fall face first into the flower patch under the window in a puff of glittering pollen. “You really thought you could outsmart me?” he asked with a smirk. “I taught you everything you know, Paulie.”
Sneezing, Paulie rubbed his head and pouted, “I just- Achoo! wanted to surprise- Gahpbh...! surprise you, big bro.”
Laughing, Spoony picked up his little brother and swung him around, feeling proud of how far he had come. “You’re getting there, Paulie,” he said, ruffling the kitten’s hair. “But you still have a lot to learn. Now, let’s go get to Rosie’s and get some breakfast, I’m starving.”
Paulie whooped as Spoony tossed him through the window of his red sports car, hopped behind the wheel, and backed out of the driveway, the engine roaring to life. They drove out of the neighborhood down main street, passing various houses which went from typical to wobbly structures, leaning this way and that, yet remaining perfectly habitable. One house looked like a giant shoe, complete with laces that occasionally tied themselves in knots. Another resembled a giant cupcake, and the frosting on top would occasionally change flavors and colors, depending on the inhabitants’ moods.
“So, what are you gonna teach me next?” Paulie asked from the passenger seat, all but glowing with excitement. Flicking on the turn signal to make a right, the cat pondered for a moment, rubbing a gloved hand on his chin in exadirated thought.
“Well...” He began and stretched the word until he was rolling the Ls on his tongue, only stopping when his little brother punched his shoulder.
“C’mon,” he urged. “Just tell me.”
Chuckling, Spoony made a show of rubbing his shoulder. “Well, what did that transfer student talk about? Uhm...” He actually had to think about the name for a second, prodding the pronunciation with his tongue. “You said he had white hair? A key ray? Aim-Ka-Bow?”
His brother’s flat look was all it took to tell him he’d got the name wrong. “It’s Akira.”
“Ah, right.” He would fully admit he didn’t have a head for names but those toons from the east had really strange ones. ‘Like their humor.’ He thought. It was Akira who’d been the influencing little Paulie’s drop in grades. Not on purpose but those toons did things so differently over there that it was no doubt cool to his brother. “What did he call it? Flash stepping?”
“Yeah! He could just dodge anvils like it was nothing andthentherewasthebeamblastnamedafterakingand-“ Paulie nodded so vigorously his eyes began spinning. Spoony gave him a little tap on the head to straighten them out and cut down the flow of information, “he could slice through things without needing to wind up. Just-POW!” Paulie mimed chopping with his hand, fingers out straight. “Clean through a brick wall!”
A postman delivering letters by soaring through the air on a propeller beanie flew by, while a gardener used a spray bottle to grow flowers. They were just passing by when the flowers bloomed, exploding into a burst of fireworks. Spoony was observant enough to recognize the ACME Corp logo on the side. Probably used too much.
As they approached the city proper, they passed a bustling farmer’s market where the vendors were as quirky as the surroundings. A vendor selling balloons handed a child and his mother a bunch, which promptly transformed into various animal shapes and began to float around, emitting cheerful tunes. A fruit stand displayed fruits that would tell jokes when squeezed, causing bursts of laughter from both the customers and the fruits themselves. “Wow. Impressive.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
“I am.” He wasn’t, honestly. Maybe he was just too old to get it or had to be there to see it, but the showmanship just wasn’t there. The windups and payoffs were all part of it. Where was the drama? The Punchline?
“But since you brought up the teleporting, how about I show you how to make your own Instant Door or maybe a... “He paused for effect. “Goldberg?”
The gasp could’ve out sucked a vacuum cleaner. “Really?! Dad hasn’t even taught how to make one!”
“Well, I’m sure he won’t mind then. We can surprise him when summer’s over.” Spoony promised with a wink as they pulled up to Rosie’s, a slice of chrome-plated Americana, serving the usual diner staples which could be found about anywhere but only Rosie’s had the best pancakes, Paulie’s favorite.
They were greeted by a menu that had a mind of its own. The dishes would jump off the page and perform a little dance before settling back into place in their pictures, making the task of ordering an entertaining experience in itself. And the food, oh the food, was a symphony of flavors and textures that defied culinary expectations.
A blur of activity from the kitchen and pancakes somersaulted onto plates, omelets pirouetted in the air, and sausages danced a merry jig in the sizzling pan. While his little brother munched away, Spoony’s thoughts hovered around the subject of those Eastern toons. Akira, wasn’t the first he’d ever heard of. In fact, he worked with a professor at NNU, Professor Hinata, on project ARC.
They called themselves ‘Any May’ or ‘Auntie May’ or something around those lines.
'Not that they would call themselves something normal,' Spoony thought as he chewed. He moved the unfair thought aside. It just got under his fur how they seemed to need to do everything differently. So, over the top and exaggerated yet with no punchline. The ultimate straight men and as unflappable as they got.
On top of that their humor was quite... not to his taste.
After a huge stack of flapjacks swimming in butter and syrup and dropping his now more hyperactive than usual brother off at Daycare making sure to give him a bottle of hot juice just in case he got injuried, Spoony made his way to Noodle-Noggin University.
NNU was a stereotypical college campus. Stately designed and grand, Spoony pulled through the gates and parked his car in his usual spot.
He was getting out when a campus police officer he didn’t recognize hurried up to him, waving his hands to get his attention.
“Professor Pablo? Professor!” The brown furred goat greeted breathlessly as he trotted to a stop. “Sorry. I just saw you come in. Need to let you know the parking lot is closed. At least this one.” Spoony scanned the parking lot notice for the first time that was empty save for his own car. Rather unusual. “I didn’t see a sign, uh...”
The goat who actually appeared more and more familiar at a second glance, recognized the opening Spoony gave and took it. He stood a little straighter, curved horns as polished as his badge and stuck out a hand. “Finger. Filling in for Uncle Billy.”
The cat smiled, the penny finally dropping. “Uncle Billy. As in Billy the Kid? He finally took that vacation he’d been moaning about?”
The kid named Finger released his hand and nodded. He pulled an old tin can out a pocket and took a bite.
“Yep. Got me the job.” He explained as he chewed. “Said I was the only one he could trust to do it right.”
Spoony kept the surprise off his face at those words. Billy was a mean old goat and didn’t have a kind thing to say about anyone. Crotchety and literally chewed thumbtacks like sunflower seeds, people said he was hired by the founder himself the day the school opened. And that he negotiated in his contract that he couldn’t be fired for any other reason besides not doing his job. He would speak his mind and didn’t care if you liked what he had to say or not. Spoony liked him for that, if for getting under the new Dean’s skin if nothing else.
“Well, next time you see him tell him I said hi.” “I will.” Spoony turned to his car and moved to the front. Grabbing the front bumper with both hands, he folded the car up and over. After doing the same to the rear, he removed an iron from his suitcase and began to iron the coupe flat. He made sure the steam setting was on, he didn’t want the seats to have wrinkles when he picked Paulie up later. He continued ironing and folding and folding and ironing until the car was a notebook paper sized rectangle on the asphalt.
Satisfied, he tucked it into his suitcase with the iron and was about to walk away when he noticed, Finger still standing there. “Was there something else?”
“Uhm...” The goat... kid really, nervously twiddled his thumbs. “Can I get your autograph?” He quickly hurried to go on as if Spoony was about to walk away. “It’s fine if you don’t. I just never thought I was gonna ever meet you and-“
Spoony cut him off with a hearty laugh, ears twitching happily. He had to admit being recognized was the last thing he expected. “Of course. Pencil, Ink, or Stamped?”
Finger’s eyes went wide. “Stamped? You still do that?”
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“Yep.” He didn’t do it very often nowadays. His short stint with stardom when he was but a kitten was many years behind him.
“Stamped, please.” The goat answered, giddy with excitement.
Spoony rolled up his sleeves. “Then you know the drill.” Finger didn’t even hesitate. He leaned forward, head turned slightly to the left so his right cheek was to the cat, eyes closed.
Spoony reached into his pocket and pulled out a bat. Unlike the Louisville slugger he’d used earlier that morning, this one was much older and well cared for. Carved into it's blunt face was a symbol of a Spoon with a dash next to it, following the dash was a capital letter ‘E’.
Spoony wound up and brought the bat across Finger’s cheek with all his might. The campus officer went flying, arcing across the parking lot, smashing through the window of the security booth, and landing in a heap on top of the desk which splintered into pieces. After a moment, a hand rose from the pile, making a thumbs up.
“Th...anks... You’re the best.” He wheezed around the tweeting can's circling his head.
“Anytime.” Spoony declared as he turned, heading to his lab.
His expectation for an easy day was shattered however when the moment he stepped into the building, the intercom pop-hissed to life. "Mr. Witherspoon, the dean would like to speak with you in his office." The old creaking voice of Miss Holt, the Dean's secretary, buzzed above the congregation of students. A cough punctuated a short pause. "Again, Mr. Pablo Steelknuckle Horatio Felidae Witherspoon to the dean's office, please."
The toon didn't even skip a step, continuing on to his original destination. After all, as far as he was concerned that was his father's name.
"WOAH!" He yowled as he jerked to a stop so suddenly, his shoes kept walking for another five steps before he was forced to whistle to get their attention.
The fist snagging the back of his lab coat, bunched up for a better grip and before he knew it, he was hoisted into the air and brought nose to speaker to the frowning intercom, one of it's free newly sprouted hands wagging a disapproving finger. "You know I'm talking to you, sir."
"No, you weren't." Spoony responded with a straight face. "That could've been anyone. Even my dad."
"And how many Pablo Steelknuckle Horatio Felidae Witherspoons do you think actually..." The wood frame at the top groaned as it raised an accusing eyebrow. Spoony remained relaxed, twiddling his thumbs and whistling an idle tune.
"Pablo Steelknuckle Horatio Felidae Witherspoon," It leaned in, getting right next to his ear. "THE 2ND!!! Get over here NOW!!"
"Oh, now you know my name, do you?" Spoony asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he finally turned around, only to find the intercom staring daggers at him. "Very well then, I shall visit his majesty post-haste." He made a show of bowing, his eyes never leaving the intercom. "As you wish, your highness."
With a snort, the intercom dropped him back into his loafers and, feeling a bit insulted, Spoony took some time inspecting them, poshing away imaginary scuffs. Once they were literally sparkling, he inspected his reflection and picked a bit of bacon out his teeth. "AHEM...!" The intercom tapped him on the shoulder, pointing to the clock on the wall.
With that, Spoony turned on his heels and headed towards Dean Dudd's office as slowly as possible, his tail swishing back and forth with each step.
Holt was there, waiting for him with a frown etched on her face do deep she looked like less a mule and more a nag. She clearly would rather be anywhere else than in this office with him. His grin got a little wider with that.
Spoony put his feet up on the table in the waiting room, leaning back on the couch as he kicked his feet up and balanced them on the desk, beginning to whistle a jaunty tune. This was the fourth time this week the Dean had called him down here. The first three were about the same thing, too. The THCT.
That project was his baby, and he was not about to rush it for some pompous, short-sighted suit who had no idea what he was talking about. He’d worked long and hard to make sure the thing worked, and it was almost ready. It just needed a few more weeks.
“Mr. Witherspoon,” she said, her voice as dry as the desert. “The Dean will see you now.”
The dean's office was as tacky as ever. In fact, it seemed there was even more gaudy junk than last time. It was almost as if the dean had tried to make his large and (once) spacious office as tacky and ostentatious as possible, as if to show off his wealth and power. In the center of it all was the dean. Dramatic as always, his back was to the door as he gazed out the large window that looked out over the campus.
Spoony rolled his eyes as he took a seat in front of the desk, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to stand being in here for long. “I didn’t give you permission to sit.”
The cat shrugged brushing off a puff of cigar ash which sprinkled his lab coat when he sat down. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t ask.”
Dean Dudd half turned, the morning light rimming around him. With the green scaled snake being ever the drama queen, his pinstriped suit and a tie, and cigar in his mouth he looked like something out of a cheap mob movie. His long, forked tongue flitted out, flickering in the air as he eyed the cat. "You know, Mr. Witherspoon, most people would show a slight amount of respect."
Spoony sighed, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet up on the dean's desk. The hint of a smirk played on his lips as he twirled a pen he plucked out a mug around in his fingers. "And most deans have better taste in furniture."
"What took you so long?" He demanded gruffly, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he glared at Spoony, taking a handkerchief and dabbing a spot of blood where he must’ve bit his tongue.
"I was taking my time, enjoying the scenery and all that," Spoony replied with a shrug as he took a seat across from the dean.
Dean Dudd blinked, his tongue flicking out again as he seemed to swell up a bit. "Your flippant attitude is not appreciated," he said simply.
"Indeed?" Spoony's smirk grew wider. "Well, at least we have something in common then."
The snake let out a low growl. "You seem to forget who you're talking to, Witherspoon."
"And you seem to forget I don't care," Spoony shot back with a lazy wave of his hand. Admittedly, he once had cared about the opinion of the dean but that ship quickly sailed after Dudd had begun downsizing on the campus. So many people lost their jobs and where had the money from those checks gone? It was an easy guess since Spoony was holding a pen that recognized being 500 smackers. “What do you want, Dudd?”
The dean’s snake eyes narrowed into slits, and an ominous smoke started wafting from his nostrils as he leaned forward. He seemed to make up his mind about something and then he did the one thing Spoony didn’t like.
He smiled.
“I’ve been reading your reports on the THCT project.”
“And?” Spoony asked.
“And I’m not impressed,” the Dean said. “This project is behind schedule, and I need you to finish it. Now.”
“It would’ve gone faster if you hadn’t gutted the school, you know?” He mentioned, laying on the sarcasm so thick it could’ve been spread on toast. "Fewer resources, fewer people. You can't seriously expect miracles to happen when you've practically strangled the project from the get-go."
Dean Dudd's smile faltered momentarily before returning with a vengeance. "Excuses," he drawled, pointing a forked-tongued, accusatory finger at the unruffled cat. "Your lack of progress is not because of my budget cuts but your inefficiency and obstinacy."
Spoony chuckled, twirling the expensive pen in his fingers. "Dudd, you wouldn't know progress if it bit you in the tail."
The dean's eyes flickered dangerously, smoke billowing out from his nostrils as he leaned forward again, bearing down on Spoony. "I suggest you watch your mouth, Witherspoon. I am still your superior."
"And a good thing too; I'd hate to be responsible for this mess," Spoony said gesturing vaguely to the ostentatious surroundings. "But let me tell you something," Spoony continued, leaning in theatrically, "You can huff and puff all you want, but this project isn't some cheap magic trick that I can just pull out of a hat."
Dean Dudd leaned back in his chair, letting out a throaty chuckle. "I'm not interested in excuses, Witherspoon. I want results."
"And I want an espresso machine in the lab," Spoony shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. "But we can't all get what we want."
That swung him back into anger. Igniting with like a furnace, the dean slammed his hand on the desk, shaking the many trinkets and baubles littering its surface. "This isn't a joke! The Board won't tolerate another delay!"
Spoony's eyes traced the agitated rattling of a baseball sized crystal orb on the desk. He was quite fond of it. Maybe he would take it as a souvenir next time around.
"Then maybe they should have thought about that before appointing a snake to run this school.” He hissed back, slipping the pen into his pocket. "Now, if we're done with veiled threats and petty insults, I have a project to get back to."
The dean's nostrils flared as he roared, causing Spoony’s fur to ruffle in the hot gust of air. “You’re walking- ACH!” The chokeing sound came cut off a building rant as Spoony casually tossing a pie into the snake’s open maw.
"Oh, my apologies," Spoony said, his voice dripping with insincere apology. "I thought you were hungry."
The Dean was too busy dislodging the pie from his throat to respond. He wheezed and sputtered, nostrils flaring smoke like a puffing furnace, beating his chest with a rattle that sounded like maracas having a seizure.
Spoony stood and bowed slightly at the waist, sweeping his tail behind him in a languid motion as he started to Cha-cha his way out.
Spoony was almost at the door, when he glanced back. "Oh, and Dean Dudd," he said with an overtly syrupy sweetness, "Do try not to choke on your ambitions. It leaves such a bad taste in your mouth. Ole!"
The dean coughed and spluttered, globs of pie splattering over his immaculate suit as he cleared the obstruction out. His face was tinged red with fury and embarrassment. "Witherspoon! You will pay for-"
Spoony didn't hear the rest of the threat, slamming the door behind him with a simple 'click.' As he sauntered down the hall, a satisfied grin tugged at his whiskers. Despite the odds against him, he always managed to find joy in putting old Dudd in his place.
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“Well, that was rude.” Spoony remarked as the worm... thing got finished roaring in his face. Its breath was so rank, he could feel it int the back of his skull. He’d tried to tell it off for what it was doing but clearly it didn’t want to listen. He wiped the slobber off and flicked it away.
As he initially set foot cresting the sandy dune, his mind raced with a series of perplexing thoughts. At first glance, he couldn’t help but believe that he’d unwittingly stumbled upon the elaborate set of a film production in full swing, complete with a meticulously rehearsed routine.
It was a knee-jerk reaction, a byproduct of his feline escapades which had led him into a myriad of roles within the world of acting. His mind instinctively conjured the idea of a toon routine, as if this would neatly explain the apparent mayhem that unfolded before him.
The scene that sprawled out before his bewildered eyes was anything but ordinary. Bizarre shadowy entities or creatures, seemingly ripped from the pages of a fantastical tale and then sloppily glued back together, encircled a heavily fortified encampment. Peculiar carts equipped with sleds rather than conventional wheels were circled around several large bonfires which had to be playing holy handbaskets with the camera’s lighting.
Amidst this strange landscape, a band of individuals, unmistakably human, clashed with these monsters.
Spoony couldn’t help but wonder where the cameras were hidden, convinced that this surreal spectacle must be a product of the cinematic arts. He observed, with growing intrigue, a luminous woman who stood out like a beacon. Her movements were fluid and graceful. Each swing of her sword had to be choreographed to look as impressive as possible.
Then this monster burst out the sand and snatched her in its maw, swinging her around and down into the sand with so much force, he felt from the soles of his feet to his teeth. Then it dropped her, her glow gone as she fell like a limp and bleeding doll.
With a nauseating gut punch, it hit Spoony. This wasn’t just violence. It was violence without a punchline. This, this was just violence, and he didn’t like it. There was no point to the pain but to hurt. No joke to laugh at.
The realization was enough to make the fur on his tail rise and a growl build in the back of his throat.
Before he had time to think, he raced down into the camp pouring every bit of speed into his sprint and stopping on a dime prevent her from being hurt anymore.
The tragedy + time = comedy coefficient proved that pain eventually could be laughed at, but he got the feeling the worm and his bullies, for that’s what toons that did this were, weren’t much for jokes. Checking to make sure the woman behind him was okay, at least as close as one could get after being shaken around like a dog with a squeaky toy, he turned and narrowed his eyes at the monster, and began rolling up his sleeves. “Guess I’ll have to beat some manners into you.”
With a small hop to build momentum, he wound up his mallet and brought it down in a powerful arc, connecting with the bully’s head with a loud POW. The mallet’s handle cracked, but not before the full brunt of the attack slammed down. The force of the impact sent sand spraying through the air and when he lifted his mallet, he saw what he expected - the worm’s head mashed in a perfectly compressed circle in the grainy sand. Well, admittedly there was a little bit of strangeness… He’d never glowed when he’d done it before.
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Zi Nuan watched in openmouthed astonishment.
As his aura surged, he spun the mallet in a dazzling arc, gathering momentum like a tempestuous wind. With precision clearly honed by years of training, preparing to unleash a devastating strike upon the demon.
The mallet’s hilt quivered, the creak of wood signaling the strain and reminding Nuan it was but a laborer's tool, yet it held its integrity until the moment of impact. The full force of his mighty blow descended upon the target. In an eruption of energy, sand burst into the air like a myriad of celestial sparks, a testament to the sheer power contained within this strike.
With a graceful lift of the mallet, his eyes met the anticipated result - the demon’s head, once arrogant and defiant, lay obliterated in the sand, its essence reduced to a perfectly compressed circle upon crushed grains, a symbol of his martial supremacy. Dead. Killed so easily.
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Ignoring the glow for now, Spoony quickly stepped back. Any other toon would’ve been about to get back on their feet/paws/ and extremities by now, raring for some payback.
He spared a glance for the woman he protected and really looked her up and down.
Okay, maybe he was in the far east with those 'annie-ime' people. She looked the part. The worm thing was... leaking now. He couldn’t tell what was oozing from it, not in the dim light from a nearby fire. But after another second or two, it was clear it wasn’t getting back up.
Odd, there weren’t stars or tweeting birds around the head.
It was only then he realized things were suddenly quiet.
Too quiet.
Ears twitching, he frowned as he saw the other monsters had stopped their attack and were now staring at him, as if they were waiting for him to make the next move.
He examined his mallet, the blunt cylindrical head hanging from the handle as if on a hinge.
No time to fix it. These guys were getting angrier by the second.
He threw his suitcase to the side and stuck his hands in his pockets. As he dug around and found what he was looking for, he pulled out a pair of boxing gloves from his boxing days. They were above regulation size, 21 oz, and bright red. It was clear he hadn't used them since he retired, and it showed; the material was only slightly faded from the once grueling daily training sessions. Its plush cushioning noticeably flat along the knuckles and the slightly yellowed white laces crisscrossed over the back of the hands, no longer pristine but still tightly tied.
The gloves made a dull thud as he tapped them together and creaked when he clenched his fists, the lack of air and cushioning making for a sharp thudding sound.
“Put ‘em up!” He angrily spat as he began bouncing from foot to foot, fire burning in his chest and a tingling from his belly. “I’ll take on all a ya’! No marquis of queensberry here!”
Spoony never considered himself a violent toon but now that he was closer, he noticed the people around him. Specifically, the ones not getting up. A lot didn't look good at all. These guys were less than bullies and that made him more than a little happy his gloves weren't as padded.
A sharp intake of breath drew in a rush of energy, his body instinctively tapping into the new depths of his being. He had no clue what it was, but it was like stepping on a live wire, all coursing through him like a warm current and making his hair stand on end. He checked the sky just in case he'd been struck by lighting and when there wasn't even a thunder cloud hovering above his head, he shrugged.
That was weird.
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Zi Nuan wondered if she was going delirious with pain. The Qi she was feeling, she’d never sensed the like. There was a Dao she could feel, but the Qi coursing through this man was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It possessed a strange sense of orderlessness, devoid of any elemental foundation she could discern. It defied the principles of cultivation, pushing when it should have drawn in and drawing in when it should have pushed. It was as if the very laws of nature had suddenly ceased to apply.
The overwhelming force of this Qi surged through the air, akin to an untamed river or a roaring avalanche. Yet, instead of crushing or sweeping her away, it overwhelmed the noxious demonic Qi that had plagued the area. Within moments, it buried the foul energy beneath its strange power, making the air surprisingly easier to breathe. By the ancestors, she could even taste it on her tongue.
He then tossed away his baggage and with not a single pulse of Qi beyond what was already swirling around him, his hands dived into his pockets. Zi Nuan initially expected him to draw forth a pair of daggers or some symbolic representation of his Dao to make sense of the enigma she felt. However, he emerged from his pockets wearing puffed-up mittens that seemed impossible to fit within the confines from which they appeared.
Then he took a stance not even the most undisciplined outer disciple would call martial. In her sect... her previous sect, anyone who dared stand in such a manner during a spar would have been met with laughter swiftly followed by death for their blatant disrespect.
The man shouted something in a language Zi Nuan had never heard before, his voice full of raw power and determination. His words seemed to stoke the fury of the demons even further, losing them from what might've been shocked and spurring them on to charge at him with renewed aggression.
Without warning, he lunged at the nearest demon, a grotesque creature with the body of a spider and the head of a goat. In a blinding flash, he delivered a series of lightning-fast jabs that left the monster’s head bouncing on its shoulders like a training dummy. Each punch sent shockwaves through the air, cracking the ground beneath their feet. Cracking the SAND under his feet.
As the disoriented monster staggered backward, he followed up with a devastating uppercut that launched it into the air. But it wasn't just launched; it was obliterated into countless pieces, showering the ground with grotesque remnants of flesh and entrails. The other demons paused, their expressions contorted with disbelief as they glanced back and forth between the man and the gruesome spectacle before them.
With a mischievous grin and eyes twinkling with mirth, he nonchalantly cracked his knuckles. Then, in another bewildering move, he reached back into his pockets and produced a...rope?
Not two ropes but a single bit of rope?
Emerging in both hands in a single coiled length from two different-?
Yelping, she nearly lashed out when a pair of hands began firmly lifting her up but stopped herself when the caravan leader son's voice spoke. “Princess, are you-
That was as far as she heard. Her distraction had been so total, she forgot the ruin her leg was and tried to stand. Agony exploded through her hip and with a sharp cry, she collapsed back onto the ground, everything going black as the agony consumed her.