Malthus' horns ripped my dress.
Now I was bare-chested — abs glistening like they were sponsored by divine lighting, or maybe just a lot of sweat and the ambient glow of hellfire. My six-pack, a result of questionable diet choices and constant near-death experiences, flexed involuntarily, a sudden, sharp contraction like they were trying to audition for the main role in "God's Anatomy." They truly looked ready for a montage scene.
Then it happened — the background moans.
Not battle cries from the enemy. Not gasps of awe from a bewildered public. No, these were literal moans. They were the sound of a thousand bad fan-fictions being written simultaneously.
From the women watching.
Because apparently, the apocalypse is a turn-on now.
This fight was already hard.
Their moans made it harder.
But as Goggins says…
Stay Hard.
[ That's not what he meant by that, moron. ]
'The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.'
