A sneering death mask peeked into Don's vision. Howling with fear, he reeled backwards and did the only thing he was ever trained to do.
For every time the neighbourhood boys would tear apart his bug collection.
For every time his senpai told him he'd never amount to anything.
For every time his father told him "you are no son of mine."
Every time he would go into his room and punch his pillow until he was sore, his wrists ached and his muscles tore.
Before the deathly figure had a chance to react, Don stopped reeling back as soon as the survival instinct kicked in. His black, gooey shoes slapped against the floor. She could see it coming as though it was in slow motion.
The muscles in his body bulged, pulling his raggedy shirt tight. His fist flew through the air like a cannon ball. It's leaden terror moved closer and closer to the bony crevices of the old hag's face, and then his big heavy fist slammed against her nose.
Both Madam Slime's neck and face made a horrifying crunching sound and she went flying towards the back wall, as darkened and rusty as it was. Her fragile frame crashed into it. Her eyes widened within her fractured and battered skull, and her old red robe fluttered around her in a tangled mess. She seemed to be glued to the wall for a second until she detached and collapsed against the floor.
Stak simply stood there with his big hairy mouth gaped open.
"Don," he said softly.
"Betcha didn't know I could do that?" Don smiled triumphantly with his fist in the air.
"You just punched Madam Slime."
Don's smile began to drop. The old lady was already on her feet, with the bones of her face breaking off onto the ground. She smiled.
"Oh, it's quite alright."