Crusadina was. This is a matter of fact. Had she not been, she wouldn’t have involved herself on a fight with the Smoothie cultivator, nor gotten cocking resulting on three city blocks being demolished by a batted-away eleven-years-old. The only building that remained standing was the local crackhouse, through which Crusadina had passed without issues by virtue of its broken windows being perfectly aligned. Crackheads do magical things sometimes.
The long-haired writer, who had been barely missed by the underage projectile, had not noticed the danger yet. “… You see, It’s not that I hate gay people. I simply believe they are not people. Not because they are gay, no, people can be gay: the dehumanization, you see, is preemptive. Anyone who will in some moment be gay is preemptively dehumanized so we don’t have to be homophobic: we are just discriminating ostensibly straight people, see. The dehumanization just carries on when they undergo homosexualization. This is a problem when making characters, as readers cannot empathize with homosexuals, as they were straight people who would in the future chose a path that rendered them into non-people. The choice to choose to be gay in the future, then, is what unpersons them…” he ranted and ranted to nobody in particular.
Crusadina hoisted herself from between the rubble and admired all the walls her body had destroyed. She was beaten and aching all over, but this pleasure was worth it. “I am the wrecking ball of the Gods, here to tear down the capricious cities of men and the accidental sins of nature alike,” she repeated like a mantra, exhilarated by the sheer hardness of her flesh.
Katie dove from the skies to land by her side, on top of a matrimonial bed full of abiotic and biotic debris alike. “Crusie, are you alright?”
“I am better than that, Katie: I am the divine punishment for the masons of the mind and the masons of the chance. Both men and evolution were judged and declared guilty, and I shall dispense their punishment.” The girl’s eyes showed unstable, quivering pupils, as if they were about to change shape once again.
Katie thought the girl was being a pretentious moron, but didn’t say anything because she needed her job to remain in the “extant” category of taxpayers.
The Smoothie Cultivator Shot the ground with his straw cannon, propelling himselv into the skies in a perfectly calculated arc to land upon his victim. He raised His mce-cup and held it aloft as he descended.
Crusadina conjured a barrier of siege towers around her, and crossed her arms over her head: She felt cocky enough to tank the hit.
Katie pulled out the newspaper and started going through the classifieds: she was going to need a new walker of the Road of Siege to give advice to pretty soon.
The plastic cup collided with the lattice of wooden frames, and through the cracking and splintering beams the Smoothie cultivator could see Crusadina’s smug grin.
Both cultivators funneled fvitla energy to they techniques. The smoothie cultivator into the cup, and Crusadina into her wall of …wall of… wall…
Crusadina’s concentration and barrier both broke as she felt the power abandoning her, so she hopped to the side, but not soon enough to save her left arm, that got the full impact of the cupmace’s savage swing.
Her bones gave in; the arm twisted and she preferred a toe-curling cry. Her arm wasn’t answering anymore. It had been dislocated, the humerus fractured in several parts and the radius and ulna didn’t fare much better. Her limb had been given the lesbian noodle treatment, and stopped being straight as it got wet with her blood.
“Do you surrender?” The man unstuck his weapon from the ground as he stared at the battered lass while exuding superiority. “I wouldn’t like to kill a child that’s so talented and ambitious.”
“I would,” Crusadina honested between sobs.
“Well, I wouldn’t and that’s it. Surrender.”
“No, smelly man!”
“Do you want to go to somewhere less populated so we don’t destroy the capital of my future empire?” He offered, pointing his massive weapon towards the section of the city where they rounded up the undesirables, like lawyers and fashion designers.
Crusadina saw a chance and channeled her Per (the vital energy) into her working arm, muscles tensed, and she visualized a battering ram tearing through the walls of her enemy’s defenses.
When the Smoothie cultivator turned, he saw a little empowered fist that had decided to pound him like the greatest dinosaur hater of all time pounded the Gulf of Mexico, and, in part due to the surprise and in part due to being distracted, he didn’t react in time. Crusadina’s little fist smashed him in all the face as he channeled Ian (the vital energy) onto his skull, to, among other things, avoid his brain becoming that which he cultivated.
Spinning and turning chaotically the Smoothie cultivator got launched back towards the market, unable to recover his stability due to the shock of having his beautiful face marred by a brat.
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After colliding with a fruit stand that had dense enough melons to put an end to his flight, he touched his visage in disbelief. His nose. His cute, perfect nose! This was unacceptable.
“This is unacceptable,” He xianxiaed, repeating information already provided, because it was unacceptable. “This affront, it won’t go unpunished.”
He raised from the rubble and melon mush, nose crushed and bleeding. His aura shining a sickly green. “Unacceptable! I fear the scalpel! I cannot undergo rhinoplasty to fix this! My nose, my flawless nose!”
His skin started sprouting bloody… strawberried, to be smoothie-politically correct, straws, and thousands of cups manifested around him. “You will pay for this! With interest! And no payment plans!”
The smoothies amalgamated over him, and around his arm a bigger arm made only out of cups formed. His other cup-made arm, however, ended in a big straw: a cannon to rebuke the one who had ruined his hitherto unblemished turn-up nose.
His giant armor kept being created, growing to several meters tall.It took him a second to get a bearing of his new avatar, but, inside the protection of it, he jumped back into battle, meters away from where Crusadina was throwing her broken arm around to make sure she still felt anything besides pain.
“Crusie, do you want me to get some of those blue pills old men use? Maybe it can cure your flaccid arm,” Katie offered her extensive knowledge on medicine.
“Say your prayers, brat.” He pointed at Crusadina with the straw-cannon, and she froze looking at it. Moving was extremely painful for her, so she couldn’t dodge. While the fruit juice and yogurt gathered in a bulging ball in the straw’s end, Crusadina’s mind ran. She couldn’t block, for that weakened her. she3 couln’t attack, as the force of her last punch had let her aching all over. She needed a prohctile, yet the shockwave e created by punching the man’s face had blown all viable debris away. She needed a projectile… and birds were quite aerodynamic. She channeled her Devo (The vital energy) into one of her meals. Poor Crusadina she thought in third person because, and I am sure you have noticed, she was quite special, she is sacrificing her meal for the cause.
Then as soon as the cannon released his sweet load, she casted a spinning chicken to collide with the beam. Her arm remained extended, her vital energy (The Nian) flowing into the bird carcass as it made contact with the beam.
The shockwave made Katie lose her wheeling and trip on her side against all known laws of physics. “You can, crusie!” She said, eyes inexistent but wide open as she pretended to watch the collision of powers.
The Lemon-and-chocolate beam kept pouring out of the cannon, and the Smoothie cultivator decided he would put his all into the attack. To hell with the town, he needed to kill Crusadina. He needed to avenge his nose! So he pumped more and more power into the beqam, making it grow wider, bulgier as it began consuming the ground underneath and splattering the whole place with drops of lemon-chocolate smoothie. “Die, nose ruining brat!”
With only oen arm to channel her energy, ccrusadina felt her will waning. The winds created form the collision menaced with throwing her away, which would cause her to be consumed by the beam in the coming instant. The chicken was slowly returning to her, unable to push her opponent’s attack back.
She tried to invoke the power of friendship, but her brain returned a 404 when she tried to think of a friend. Any friend.
In the last moment before she gave up, she winced from the pain as a fluffy paw touched her shoulder. “Excuse me you fuck, my arm is broken and…” She cut her response short when she beheld the figure by her side, his ethereal green hyena fursuit shining under the evening sun. “Dad?”
“Yes dear, I have come to aid you in your moment of need,” the man inside the cartoonish fursuit said.
“But mom said you had gone out to buy cigars! Why did you never come back?”
“She misinterpreted me: I said I was going to get smoked with the fags. My friends. We committed… suicide… for… reasons,” he said, trying to not pop a spiritual boner at the memory of that beautiful last furparty. “Reasons, darling.”
“But that means you are…”
“Dead? yes, dear. Sometimes, a man has to die for the things he loves, for the things that put him through… hard…ships. But you are alive, and won’t remain so if you don’t win this battle of mights.”
“But dad, my body aches all over. My spirit and will are nearly depleted, and her’s just too fruitful.”
“But, Crusadina, if you lose, who will destroy the walls of the world? The fate of the whole universe is in your unbroken hand.”
“What about the broken one?”
“I have a fet… empathic inclination for amputees,” The father said. “But if it heals, good for you!”
“I cannot, dad.”
The Smoothie cultivator yawned, created a wristwatch out of straws and looked at it. This was taking forever.
“It’s not about the walls you bring down, daughter of mine, it's about the ones you enslave to do your bidding. What’s a gun, but a cylinder of walls doing a catapult's job?” The furfather let out an inspirational speech, and it reached deep inside Crusadina.
She felt newfound energy coursing through the channels of her body. She felt her pupils reshaping, taking in the form of siege cannons. Walls would serve her, and she would make them kill their own families.
She had visions of Mons Megs building spaceships, of more advanced cannons boarding them and colonizing moons and planets all across the solar system, bringing down alien walls as well as they had brought down the local ones. Her hair changed color, turned flaming red and she felt as if her bones were replaced with gunpowder and iron. She had reached it, breached through to the Interplanetary Cannon Artillocracy cultivation stage.
She pounded most of this newfound energy into the chicken, giving it a new impulse, pushing back the lemoness.
“This cannot be happening,” The Smoothie cultivator whispered. Then he tried funneling more power onto the attack, and he found out he was running out of juice. “Damn, my attack is getting cockblocked!” Were his last words before the chicken drilled through the weakened beam, and then his body, obliterating both his cup armor and, his —slightly less disposable— ribcage.
Without another word he died, and Crusadina fell on her knees. “I won… this city is mine to destroy!”
“Yay” Katie Yayed.
Then Crusadina looked around, but she didn’t catch even a glimpse of the glowing fursuit. Her daddy was gone, and only the issues remained.
A second later, the pain returned to her arm, “Oh, the adrenalin is wearing off.”
What followed was an expert demonstration on her part: a constant, heartfelt chanting of the first letter of the alphabet.