CHAPTER 211: The Colossus's Gavel and the Glacier Cage
An enormous and violent portal erupted in the air, tearing the mountain's stillness with dimensional thunder.
But unlike the other squads that had been spat out into thick forests or abandoned ruins, the physical transmutation contingent appeared exactly in the center of the main courtyard of an immense and fortified mercenary bandit lair.
The silence lasted a microsecond.
"ENEMIES! CALL THE MASTER!" shouted a lookout from the guard tower, blowing a bone horn.
In a matter of seconds, the doors of the bastions and tents burst open. Thousands of bloodthirsty bandits swarmed out, surrounding the twelve Morningstar colossi with notched axes, heavy spears, and drawn bows, ready for the carnage.
Borg, surrounded by thousands of blades aimed directly at his throat, swept his gaze across the courtyard. He observed his massive brothers—Tormund, Aion, Bren, Magnus, and the others—and a broad, wild, and absolutely brutal smile split his face. The giant cracked the knuckles of his fists, which were the size of siege boulders, echoing off the walls.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" bellowed Borg, his laughter making the wooden beams of the fortress tremble. "WHAT A PLEASANT PLACE THEY SENT US TO VISIT! COME ON, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! DADDY WILL TEACH YOU SOME NEW TRICKS!"
The barrel-chested colossus raised his arms while the fire of war ignited the pupils of the twelve Morningstar warriors.
"LET'S DANCE!"
The first to break the inertia was Borg himself. With a flash of his storage ring, he summoned his main weapon onto his palm: the Black Iron Bonebreaker Maul.
The head of the hammer was an immense rectangular block of deep-sea black iron, as large as the trunk of an oak tree. It had no ostentatious ornaments; its surface was rough, matte, and riddled with scars from ancient battles, absorbing the courtyard's light with an overwhelming visual heaviness. The two-meter handle, forged from reinforced steel and beast of burden tendons, was wrapped in hardened rhinoceros leather to prevent his calluses from slipping with blood.
The instant his hands closed the grip, he channeled his Qi to activate his weapon's seal: [Heavy Inertia].
The air around the enormous metallic mass hummed violently due to the multiplied density. Its weight increased tenfold in a fraction of a second.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" roared Borg, launching himself into the air at a terrifying speed for his size.
He brought the hammer down directly onto a tight formation of fifty mercenaries. Once the strike began its descent, the kinetic force became impossible to stop or deflect. The metal crushed the enemy shields, spears, and armors as if they were dry parchment.
CRASH!
The impact against the ground not only opened a deep crater but also generated a shockwave of pulverized rock and sparks that destroyed bodies within a fifteen-meter radius, turning the infantry into a bloody pulp.
"This is exactly what I wanted!" Borg shouted while swinging the maul, bursting skulls and torsos left and right. "I had so much frustration built up from Lady Lilith's training! So much torture, and now I finally get to take it out on you! Do your best, little insects! HAHAHAHA!"
While Borg demolished entire battalions and blood stained the dust, his eleven brothers did not stand idly by.
"HAHAHAHA! Good, Borg! Let me help you add a little art to this massacre!" erupted Ignis, his delicate and almost effeminate features deformed by the thrill of destruction.
The young redhead extended the palm of his hand. The enormous red flames surrounding his body were violently retracted, compressing toward the center of his palm in an act of absolute control: [White Sun Intent: Internal Combustion].
The ancestral Yang fire of his bloodline changed color in a blink, going from a volcanic red to a pristine, blinding white. All that immeasurable thermal energy was trapped in a perfect sphere the size of a simple marble, floating above his fingers. The concentrated heat was so extreme that the space around the small orb distorted, forcing the nearest mercenaries to cover their eyes from that unbearable glare.
Ignis looked at them with a deranged smile.
"Here is a gift from me. HAHAHAHA!"
The warrior threw the small white marble toward the center of the largest group of archers.
BOOM!
Upon touching the chest of the first bandit, the marble instantly released the retained ocean of heat. There was no external wave of fire; it was a relentless internal combustion that devoured the Qi, flesh, and bones of the enemies from the inside out, reducing thirty men to a cloud of white ash in a second.
Giving them no time to breathe, Ignis channeled his Dantian to the limit and unleashed a continuous barrage:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Ten white spheres exploded in a chain reaction all over the courtyard.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! YES! MORE! LET'S MAKE MORE ART!" Ignis laughed, having lost any trace of martial sanity.
"Stop that damn madman!" roared one of the mercenary captains, an expert at Stage 8 of the Semi-Saint Realm, raising his sword to cut him down. "He's going to burn the entire...!"
BOOM!
A white sphere exploded directly in the middle of his face before he could finish the sentence, vaporizing his skull instantly.
"Don't interrupt me, insect," spat Ignis, preparing another barrage.
At the other end of the courtyard, the carnage unfolded at a very different, dark, and heavy pace.
Aion walked slowly through the chaos. His long, pale silver hair fluttered in the wind, and his storm-gray eyes lacked the euphoric gleam of his brothers. In his right hand, he dragged The Void Anvil, a short hand hammer, forged from a rectangular block of matte black iron with no reflections, featuring a gray dragon bone handle. The weapon emitted no light; it seemed to suck the colors from its surroundings, emitting a low-frequency hum that made the teeth of those who heard it vibrate.
Will she be alright...? thought Aion, his heart squeezed by melancholy as he crushed an enemy's head with a lazy swing. Did my little sister reach her destination safely? Will Aia miss me as much as I miss her?
Suddenly, a squad of fifty elite men—five in the Semi-Saint Realm and forty-five in the Origin Realm—surrounded the silver colossus, cutting off his path.
"Let's kill this one first or capture him!" shouted the squad commander. "That way we'll stop those two lunatics burning the courtyard! Quickly!"
When the fifty men lunged at him, Aion simply raised his hammer and struck the stone floor forcefully: [Static Gravity].
DONG!
The inertia of the blow was transmitted to the earth, creating a crushing gravity field within a thirty-meter radius. The fifty mercenaries felt the entire sky fall upon their shoulders; their knees shattered in unison and they fell face-first against the floor, spitting blood and unable to lift a single finger.
Aion walked among the immobilized bodies, stopping in front of the Semi-Saint commander. His storm-gray eyes darkened with a demonic shadow.
"You know what?" whispered Aion, his voice breaking with a mix of sadness and a terrifying homicidal fury. "I have a sister. She is the most beautiful, strong, and intelligent woman in this world. And today... I was ordered to separate from her."
The bandits paralyzed on the ground looked at him in terror. These guys appeared out of nowhere in their fortress, started slaughtering them as if it were a game, and this lunatic starts giving a family monologue in the middle of the battlefield! They were completely sick in the head!
"I don't know if she's cold... I don't know if she's hungry... I don't know if she's okay or if some miserable man has already tried to get close to her," continued Aion, gripping the handle of his hammer until the tendons in his forearm crackled. "AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S THE WORST PART?! I'M NOT THERE TO PROTECT HER FROM THOSE BASTARDS!"
Aion raised the sole of his heavy boot and positioned it directly over the mercenary commander's right hand.
"And to top it off, I have to stay here wasting my valuable time with scum like you... brute animals whose first instinct is to pick absurd fights. Not like my cute and smart sister. And you guys... arrived at the worst possible moment. Hehehehe."
Aion dropped his full weight.
CRACK!
"AAAAAAAGH!" the bandit's shriek tore through the air as he felt every bone in his hand pulverized against the stone.
"YES! SCREAM LOUDER! COME ON! HAHAHAHA!" laughed Aion, stomping on the limbs of the immobilized men without mercy.
From the rearguard, where the others waited—Tormund, Bren, Draven, Nylas, Goran, Maren, Korg, Magnus, and Elian—a collective sigh arose.
"Wow..." murmured Elian, shaking his head with his relaxed posture and his silver hair plastered to his face. "Those three have completely lost their sanity, haven't they?"
"Well," smiled Korg, crossing his massive muscular arms, "Aion is a calm guy in the palace. But it only took being separated from his sister for a minute for him to lose his mind. Hehehe, how cute."
Several of the colossi let out knowing laughs.
"Yeah, you're right," Elian agreed. "But anyway, let's get moving. We can't leave all the fun and the heads to them."
Right the second Elian finished saying those words, the air in the courtyard froze. Six columns of dense, oppressive, and violent Qi erupted simultaneously from the fortress's upper bastion.
Six figures floated down arrogantly onto the battlefield: six experts in the Saint Realm!
Nylas looked up, his almost black eyes fixing on the mercenary leaders.
"Looks like the bosses of this scum finally showed up," Nylas said calmly. "I'll leave them to you six. I will help clean up the trash to finish quickly; I'm very interested in starting to practice that body technique the Patriarch gifted us. So don't play with them for too long."
The others nodded, sharing the same burning desire to cultivate the Indestructible Body of the War God.
They quickly divided their tasks: six of them would intercept the enemy Saints, while the rest would secure the perimeter and exterminate the infantry.
"Good. Let's get to work," said Nylas, taking a step forward.
He unreservedly released his bloodline: [Authority of the Gravity Well].
An oppressive and dark density shot out from his feet, covering an exact dome of two hundred meters. Everything within that territory—the air, the ambient Qi, and the bodies of the mercenaries—instantly became fifty percent heavier. The carrion birds flying over the walls plummeted and crashed into the ground; the arrows shot at them lost their vector and buried themselves in the earth halfway.
The hundreds of mercenaries felt their own internal organs turn to lead, crushing their lungs and cutting off the circulation of their Qi.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The sound of bones snapping under their own body weight echoed throughout the courtyard, accompanied by a chorus of agonizing shrieks. In the middle of that field of absolute immobility, Nylas was the only one moving with the freedom of a ghost.
"You are the perfect guinea pigs to fine-tune my martial arts. Hehehe," Nylas smiled.
The warrior threw himself into close combat, unleashing his [Underworld Claw]. His punches and kicks were enveloped in black flames and dark static that cut flesh and injected a freezing burn into his prey's meridians, paralyzing them even further. When a group tried to crawl backward in retreat, Nylas opened his claw and fired his [Chains of Darkness]; five projections of black static streaked across the ground, entangling the fugitives' limbs and anchoring them to the floor while draining their vitality to feed his own energy.
Seeing that the infantry was desperately trying to flee toward the fortress gates, Draven took a step forward.
"Well... I'll leave those arrogant old geezers to you guys. I'm going to close the cage," said the two-meter-tall barbarian.
He summoned his main relic onto his palms: the Tome of the Living Glacier.
The immense, heavy book, whose covers were carved from two slabs of deep blue glacial diamond and its pages woven with flexible crystal, exhaled an Absolute Zero vapor. Draven dropped to one knee and slammed the diamond spine directly against the stone tiles of the courtyard.
CRASHHHHHH!
A roar similar to a millennial iceberg splitting in two shook the mountain's foundations. From the earth sprouted colossal pillars and geometric walls of translucent blue ice, crisscrossing and welding together at supersonic speed around the entire perimeter of the fortress. The ice grew with pulsing cyan veins, sealing the doors, blocking the walls, and covering the open sky of the courtyard, transforming the barracks into a freezing, inescapable slaughterhouse.
At the same time, the frost crept up Draven's own body, covering his musculature with an [Organic Exoskeleton] of crystal that brutally enhanced his physical strength, while the freezing vapor of his [Cryostasis Pulse] froze the fireballs and runic arrows trying to reach him in mid-air, turning them into inert ash.
Draven aimed with his tome and fired hundreds of high-density ice spears and arrows into the crowd, while the enormous Tormund—the bald giant weathered like old leather—charged forward without saying a single word, using his massive body to crush mercenaries with bare fists.
In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by the ice walls and the dark gravity, the six colossi designated for supreme combat remained standing: Bren, Goran, Maren, Korg, Magnus, and Elian.
In front of them, floating with expressions full of fury and contempt, waited the six leaders of the fortress.
At the head of the mercenaries floated Scar, the Commander of the Scum, known in the underworld as The Golden Reaper. He was an expert at Stage 7 of the Saint Realm, wielding a heavy war halberd and wearing a breastplate composed of plates looted from fallen cultivators.
"Who the fuck are you people?" roared Scar, his crude, violent Qi cutting through the ice vapor. "Why are you attacking our fortress unprovoked?!"
Elian smoothed his damp hair and smiled with a magnanimous, relaxed attitude.
"Mmm... there isn't really a deep reason for attacking you. They simply dropped us here and it happened. And well... you were the ones who pointed a thousand weapons at us as soon as we appeared, so let's just say this is all in legitimate self-defense. Don't you see it?"
Scar frowned, the veins bulging in his neck. Seeing the ice walls Draven had raised and feeling the gravity at the edges of the courtyard, he understood there was no escape route. It was victory or death.
"If you had the idea of escaping when things got ugly..." continued Elian with the innocent smile of a holy monk, "I'm afraid that won't be possible anymore. So, would you be so kind as to simply die without causing too much trouble?"
"HAHAHAHAHA! BOSS, DON'T BELIEVE THE WORDS OF THESE ARROGANT BRATS!" roared Jin The Wall, the siege expert at Stage 5 of the Saint Realm.
Covered in scars and wielding an enormous black bronze shield alongside a spiked mace, Jin dove from the air without waiting for orders, generating explosions of suffocating heat with his Qi to crush Elian.
"I'll take care of this bronze block! I like it! HAHAHAHA!" bellowed Bren.
The bald, muscular warrior launched himself from the ground, unleashing the power of his supreme gauntlets: the [Volcanic Vajra: Knuckles of the Behemoth Core]. The massive pieces of tectonic obsidian covering his forearms breathed fire, and the spheres of crystallized magma on the back of his hands went from a dim red to an incandescent white that scorched the oxygen in its path.
Both titans clashed in mid-air.
CLANGGGGGG!
The impact sounded like the explosion of a volcano. Despite his Stage 5 cultivation, Jin was incapable of withstanding the monstrous physical force of a Morningstar dragon. He was sent flying backward like a cannonball, and upon looking at his Heaven Grade shield, his eyes widened in horror: the black bronze had splintered deeply at the center of the impact!
"Tsk... I thought you'd hold up a bit longer," Bren mocked in the air. "But I see you have a nice shield. When I kill you, it will be perfect for scratching my back! HAHAHAHA!"
"Damn animal!" roared Jin, stabilizing himself to clash with him again.
On the ground, Elian looked at his four remaining companions.
"Well, guys... everyone pick an opponent you like."
Hearing those brats divvy up his fortress generals as if they were cheap goods in a mortal market, Scar's fury boiled over.
"Miserable brat! How dare you talk about us as if we were livestock?!"
"Eh... but you are, aren't you?" Elian replied, blinking innocently.
"KILL THOSE FOUR!" bellowed Scar to his lieutenants. "AND LEAVE THAT BLUE-HAIRED KID TO ME! I'M GOING TO RIP HIS TONGUE OUT!"
The remaining four generals launched themselves into the assault like beasts.
Zang The Lead Axe, a brute at Stage 3 of the Saint Realm who despised the elegance of the Dao, fell like a meteorite, kicking up clouds of blinding dust, wielding his heavy, notched axe with the intention of splitting Korg in two.
Korg, the colossus with golden hair and green eyes, did not move a single millimeter. He simply raised his right arm, wielding his [Gauntlets: Crucible of the Tyrant King].
DONG!
The edge of the massive axe clashed directly against the matte black metal and orange runes of the gauntlet's palm. Zang opened his mouth, spitting saliva from the shock; the impact was not only stopped dead, but he felt the tendons and bones in his own arms tremble and crack from the kinetic rebound.
What kind of monster is this?! He's strong... absurdly strong! thought Zang, backing away in panic.
Meanwhile, taking advantage of the dust cloud kicked up by Zang, the fortress's assassin—Hu Lei The Iron Hound, an expert at Stage 3 of the Saint Realm—slithered through the shadows like a viper. Wielding his gloves with black steel claws, he appeared directly behind Bren, who was still in the air fighting Jin, ready to pierce his heart treacherously.
Before he could launch the swipe, Hu Lei's instincts screamed of extreme danger.
He spun in the air and his pupils contracted to the maximum: running straight toward him was a two-meter-tall giant, with musculature so exaggerated it threatened to tear his clothes, baring his teeth in a wide, fierce smile that made him look like a prehistoric beast.
It was Magnus, who had intercepted the treacherous attack while wearing his [Annihilator Vajras: The Pillars of the End]. The massive gauntlets of black metal and molten gold emitted a gravitational hum so dense it distorted the light around his shoulders.
Hu Lei crossed his claws to block the punch, but the force was so great that he skidded back fifteen meters, dragging his feet across the stone.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" shouted a bewildered Hu Lei. "HE'S A DAMN GORILLA!"
Time seemed to freeze for Magnus.
The titan stopped dead in his tracks. The smile on his face vanished for three seconds, while the veins on his forehead and neck swelled until they looked like bowstrings about to snap.
When Magnus looked at him again, his smile had returned, but it was a thousand times more polite, courteous, and terrifying than before.
"Me... a gorilla?" asked Magnus in a soft, polite voice, while he clenched his fists and the molten gold of his gauntlets crackled with killing intent. "If earlier I was just thinking of breaking a couple of your bones to fulfill the training... now I swear on my bloodline that you are going to suffer endless agony."
Beside him, Maren—the lean warrior with electric-blue hair and purple eyes—swept his gaze over the field and pointed his finger.
"Let's see who I'll pick... Mmm, I like you."
Landing in front of him was Madame Sura, The Desert Hyena, an assassin at Stage 4 of the Saint Realm famous for her ruthless agility and her taste for mutilation.
"Oh my... should I feel honored that a pretty boy picked me?" Sura mocked, unsheathing two curved swords.
Maren let out an arrogant laugh, adjusting the collar of his robe.
"Of course you should, you dirty commoner. You should feel eternally grateful and get on your knees that a being as magnanimous and superior as myself deigns to set eyes on you. HAHAHAHA!"
A muscle in Madame Sura's eye twitched with pure rage.
In a blink, she moved at a ghostly speed that would have left any mortal Stage 6 Saint paralyzed, unleashing a storm of slashes toward the youth's eyes and throat.
But she was completely and utterly wrong about her opponent.
Maren turned with deceptive slowness and deflected both curved swords with two fingers imbued with purple Qi, with an insulting contempt. Sura's eyes widened, stupefied; before she could react, she didn't see Maren's spinning kick coming, which sank deeply into her stomach.
BOOM!
The woman was launched like an arrow, crashing through three stone walls of the lower bastions while vomiting blood.
By process of elimination, the rocky Goran remained in the center of the courtyard facing the mysterious Master Mo, The Rotting Eye, a dark alchemist at Stage 6 of the Saint Realm who began to exhale a green, poisonous mist from his sleeves, concealing necrosis needles ready to fire. Goran simply crossed his arms like an immovable mountain, waiting for the mist to envelop him.
In the center of the eye of the hurricane, only Elian and Scar, the Stage 7 mercenary leader, were left facing each other.
Scar descended slowly from the sky, landing on a broken tile, his halberd flashing with a destructive golden Qi.
"Alright, brat," growled Scar, his eyes bloodshot. "I'm going to show you why you should never have underestimated us."
Elian blinked slowly, as if he were sleepy.
"Mmm... were you saying something? Sorry, you speak very quietly and I didn't hear you. But well, it doesn't really matter anyway," he said, shrugging passively. "Are you ready to die yet, old man?"
"I'M GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE!" bellowed the Golden Reaper, charging at an explosive speed.
Elian did not retreat, nor did he unsheathe a traditional weapon. He channeled the deep essence of his draconic bloodline: the [Mercury Heart].
"For starters... it annoys me to have to look up to see you when you jump. Come down here, scum," his voice lost its innocence, becoming cold and sharp as an iceberg.
Elian unleashed the effect of his blood: [Heavy Water].
In an instant one-hundred-meter dome around him, the physical air underwent a brutal mass mutation. Atmospheric gravity transformed into pressure equivalent to being submerged ten thousand meters under the ocean abyss.
Scar, who was propelling himself through the air with all his Stage 7 Qi, felt as if a mountain of liquid lead had dropped directly onto his back. His flight was cut dead.
BOOMMM!
The mercenary commander smashed face-first into the courtyard's marble with terrifying violence, opening a crater with his own face while his bones groaned from the submarine oppression.
"So... that was all you had," Elian said, looking down at him with contempt. "You are so pathetically weak you can't even stand up under a little environmental pressure. Tsk... how boring."
Scar roared like a beast. Burning his vital essence and detonating the entirety of his Stage 7 Saint Realm Qi, he managed to counteract the weight of the abyssal water. He jumped to his feet, his face bloody and his armor dented.
"NOW YOU'VE REALLY MADE ME MAD, BASTARD!" shouted Scar, leaping desperately toward the sky, though unable to reach maximum height due to Elian's gravity. "Tsk... I didn't get as high as I wanted, but this is more than enough to burst you! DIE!"
The mercenary raised his heavy halberd with both hands, concentrating all his golden Qi into the blade, and brought it down toward the earth with apocalyptic force:
[Halberd Technique: Hammer of Tyrannical Chaos]
A massive golden fissure tore through the ground, traveling in a straight line toward Elian like an earthquake designed to pulverize entire fortress walls.
Seeing the cataclysm advancing straight toward his feet, Elian did not hesitate nor show the slightest sign of alarm. He crossed his hands in front of his chest and unleashed his art of absolute defense.
[Event Horizon: Mantle of the Dead Sea]
Elian exhaled a cloud of dense, dark mercury vapor from his pores, which solidified on his skin into a liquid armor of silver and abyssal black light. Around him, the concept of kinetic energy simply died.
The destructive wave from Scar's halberd hit Elian's body dead on.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion raised a curtain of dust, pulverized rock, and sparks of golden Qi that destroyed all the paving within a fifteen-meter radius. Scar fell to the ground, breathing heavily and smiling fiercely, convinced that that siege strike had liquefied the arrogant brat.
However, when Draven's freezing breeze dissipated the dust... Scar's smile froze.
Elian remained standing on the exact same centimeter of earth, without a single scratch. The massive blade of Scar's halberd was stopped in mid-air, exactly one centimeter from Elian's forehead, held and trapped by tendrils of black mercury that climbed up the metal, having absorbed one hundred percent of the impact force.
DONG!
The dull, metallic sound of the weapon losing all its inertia bounced around the courtyard.
Elian looked at the motionless blade in front of his face and then shifted his deep eyes toward Scar.
"Oh? This was all you could do?" Elian said with disappointment, as a small crack formed in the pauldron of his liquid armor, which regenerated in seconds. "You broke my outer shell a little, I'll admit that. But if this is the maximum you can unleash... then I give you permission to die."
Elian's meridians ignited.
[Sentence of the Abyss: Collapse of the Stellar Pillar]
Elian did not use a weapon; he simply threw a straight, clean punch forward. In the second his arm extended, his Mercury Blood concentrated in his knuckles, multiplying the kinematic mass of his fist to thousands of brutal tons.
The space behind Scar was blocked by inertia, and the air in front of Elian's fist liquefied into a hum that promised to hit like a tsunami of lead.
Seeing that fist advance with a terrifying stillness, Scar's survival instincts screamed a single indisputable truth: instant death!
Without hesitating for a fraction of a second, the Golden Reaper activated his supreme skill, a technique conceived and perfected over decades of mercenary cowardice exclusively to flee: [Step of the Golden Retreat].
A flash of golden light blinded the space between them, and Scar's body propelled backward at supersonic speed, breaking the ground beneath his boots in a desperate escape.
Elian's fist closed on empty space.
There was no violent outward explosion. There was a sepulchral silence, followed by a dull burst of hyperdense pressure. The shockwave of his punch tore through the air forward, creating a deep groove that pulverized tiles, bastions, and wood, opening a kilometer-long trench in a straight line through the fortress.
Thirty meters away, Scar fell to his knees on the rubble.
The mercenary breathed with difficulty, sweating freezing drops that soaked his breastplate. He brought a trembling hand to his face and upon removing it, saw it stained red: despite having escaped quickly, the mere friction of that attack displaced by the kid's fist had deeply slashed his right cheek.
"That... that's dangerous," whispered Scar with a nervous laugh, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. "If that blow had hit me dead on... I really could have died. Ha, ha, ha..."
From the edge of the crater, Elian lowered his fist slowly. The liquid mercury armor melted into his skin as he fixed his unfathomable eyes on the mercenary commander who was sweating blood.
"Mmm... you managed to dodge that, old man," whispered Elian with an absolute coldness that cut off the courtyard's breath. "But tell me one thing... how much longer do you think you can keep dodging like that?"
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