Concussion Royale
Lindsey’s eyes burned red like a cracked furnace. She stared down Mildy with murderous heat, her fingers twitching into claws.
And then she moved.
A blur.
A ripple in the air.
She vanished from the front—and appeared behind him like a phantom.
Her claws came down.
Sharp. Precise. Aimed to slice Mildy into elegant, bloody ribbons.
But Michael had seen this trick before.
He was already turning.
Both hands shot up—and caught her by the wrists.
The slam of force echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Locked in a power clash, their arms trembled from the tension. Their feet scraped the floor, neither backing down. The tiles beneath cracked from the pressure.
But Lindsey was stronger.
With a sudden shift of her weight, she twisted Michael off-balance and slammed him hard into the floor.
CRACK.
Concrete dented beneath him. Dust shot up. Michael lay sprawled, coughing dryly, eyes spinning.
Raymond didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed the stunned Mildy and hurled him across the room toward Michael.
Mid-air, Michael caught him—arms trembling in a bizarre princess hold.
“Take him and run!” Raymond barked. “I’ll hold her off!”
Michael stumbled back, still holding Mildy. Lindsey’s blood-red glare locked on them.
She was already charging.
Raymond stepped in.
One punch.
The Concussion Punch.
Lindsey didn’t slow.
She met it head-on—threw her own fist to collide with his.
BOOM.
The impact shattered the silence.
Walls shook. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Lindsey was sent flying.
Her body blurred mid-air, then dropped like a meteor. Blood sprayed from her mouth, her nose, even a line from her ear.
She crashed down, knees hitting tile. Her breath was shallow. Vision blurred.
Raymond stood steady, exhaling.
“Dead-on hit. Hundred percent.
Normal folks can’t even twitch after that.”
Lindsey slowly turned her head.
Blood streaked down her face—but she grinned.
“Just a little small scratch.”
Her claws curled again. Her spine straightened.
Round two was loading.
Two Men, One Monster
Lindsey stood back up, still gritting her teeth. Her body trembled—not with fear, but with rage. Raymond didn’t wait. He slammed his fist down, hard, into the concrete floor.
BOOM.
A brutal shockwave tore through the ground, splitting tiles like crackers. The vibration crawled up Lindsey’s legs, shot through her spine, and smacked her brain like a mallet.
She dropped again—eyes rolling, blood seeping from her ears, nose, mouth, and even the corners of her eyes.
She wiped it off casually.
“That all you got? Just a little… small scratch.”
Raymond’s eye twitched. That was a full-power concussion punch. People usually vomit out their intestines after taking one of those.
Far away, Michael had already dashed off with Mildy in his arms—cradling him like a frightened princess. He ducked into the nearest women’s restroom and shoved him inside.
“Pretend you’re taking a shit. Don’t come out until we finish fighting.”
Mildy nodded, face pale.
“Too late. I already… it’s all in my pants.”
Michael winced, didn’t look back, and turned to run.
But just as he stepped out, a young woman pushed open the bathroom door.
She saw them.
Two men. In the women’s restroom.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened to scream.
She didn’t get the chance.
Michael, moving purely on instinct, swung his hand in a perfect knife-chop.
Her head fell clean off. A soft thump echoed as it rolled across the bathroom floor.
Michael didn’t even look back.
He sprinted toward the main hall. Toward the thunder.
He knew. Raymond couldn’t hold her off alone.
And sure enough—he was right.
Lindsey had already appeared behind Raymond like a ghost.
Raymond wasn’t built for speed. He barely had time to flinch.
Her claw came down, aiming straight for the back of his neck.
One strike—just one—and his throat would be gone.
But she never landed it.
A flying kick—sharp, fast, like a silver bullet—crashed into Lindsey’s ribs.
Michael.
His timing was perfect. His leg snapped like a whip. Lindsey flew sideways, smashing into the wall with a human-shaped dent.
Raymond stumbled back, breath caught in his throat.
“Oh shit. That was close…”
Michael landed beside him, still staring ahead.
“Yeah. She’s strong. Even the two of us together… we might not beat her.”
Raymond swallowed hard.
The floor was cracked. Blood was everywhere.
And Lindsey—Lindsey was still getting up.
Echo Chamber of Pain
Lindsey didn’t hesitate.
She blurred behind Michael again — and the battle resumed.
Michael spun around to intercept her. Their fists clashed. Raymond joined in, throwing a mix of normal and concussion punches. The variety kept their tempo high.
Lindsey began reading their rhythm. She dodged most of Raymond’s strikes — especially those carrying vibration force — and countered Michael’s instead.
She knew taking a concussion punch meant a moment of daze. A brief half-second where she’d be wide open. She couldn’t afford that.
So she danced through their strikes — claw against knuckle — for over a hundred rapid exchanges.
Then came the turning point.
Lindsey swung toward Michael again. Their fists collided.
Suddenly, both fighters froze.
Their bodies shimmered in place. Reality twisted.
Raymond had landed a concussion punch to Michael’s forearm mid-strike.
The shockwave rippled through Michael’s bones… and slammed into Lindsey’s body through the point of contact.
Lindsey spasmed in midair, vision fading. Blood burst from every hole on her face.
But Michael didn’t drop.
He had come prepared.
New vibration-proof glasses. Muscles already braced.
He recovered in 0.1 seconds.
With all his strength, he launched a full-force punch into Lindsey’s abdomen.
Her stomach crumpled.
And in the next instant, Raymond leapt into the air and drove a vertical kick straight into her jaw.
Her head snapped back from the impact.
For the first time, Lindsey looked… dazed.
The Toothless Storm
Lindsey was blasted backward, her body flung through the air like a sack of broken bones.
It wasn’t just the latest punch that did her in—it was the buildup. The stress, the rage, the sharp, gnawing toothache that had been pulsing in her jaw for hours. In a desperate move before the fight, she had swallowed twenty antibiotics all at once. A gamble. It killed the pain, but it drained her strength.
She was still strong, but not at her peak. Not enough to handle what came next.
Michael and Raymond weren’t holding back anymore.
They rushed her like animals—legs, fists, elbows, knees—driving her back with an unstoppable barrage. Raymond’s knuckles were glowing now, every other strike laced with the signature vibration of a concussion punch.
Then came the finisher.
Raymond stepped in and slammed a full-powered concussion punch right into her gut.
Boom.
The shockwave exploded through her body. Lindsey didn’t just stumble—she flew. She shot backward like a cannonball, crashing straight into the wall at the end of the alley. The concrete cracked. Chunks of brick collapsed over her body.
Dust settled. Blood dripped from the cracks.
Michael and Raymond slowed their breath. They weren’t here to kill her. Lindsey was part of the Frugal Organization—some kind of high-ranking fighter. Taking her life would mean war. But a message? A warning? That much was necessary.
Raymond exhaled through his nose, flexing his shoulders.
Michael stood tall again, brushing dust off his new vibration-proof glasses.
But just as they turned to leave…
BOOM.
The wall exploded outward. Shards flew in every direction.
And from the smoke—she emerged.
Lindsey’s eyes burned with madness.
She roared and lunged, claws out, both arms swinging with brutal, animal fury. Before they could react, her hands were already tearing into them.
Michael’s chest ripped open with three deep slashes.
Raymond caught one to the ribs—four gashes bleeding down his side.
Both men staggered. Blood soaked their shirts. Especially Raymond—his muscles were built for power, not durability.
Michael grit his teeth and threw a punch, forcing Lindsey back again. She choked on blood and stumbled. Raymond jumped in with a sharp vertical kick to her chin.
This time, Lindsey flew back again, but landed on her feet—barely.
All three fighters were gasping. Hunched over. Bloodied and exhausted.
Michael spit onto the ground and growled, “That’s enough, Lindsey. We’re even.”
But Lindsey shook her head, still wobbling, still defiant.
“No. I’m not done. I’m beating both of you down. And then I’m gonna find that bastard who kicked my tooth out—rip him into eighteen pieces…”
She was shaking with rage.
Then she blinked.
And paused.
For the first time in hours…
The pain was gone.
She touched her cheek. Her jaw. Nothing. No throbbing. No sting.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Wait…”
She murmured—
“OMG… that unlicensed doctor actually… cured me.”
What she didn’t know was that the antibiotics had finally kicked in. Her immune system surged during the heat of battle. Blood flow ramped up. The infection? Cleared.
Her toothache was gone.
And now, standing in the wreckage, soaking in sweat and blood… she looked almost confused.
Maybe even… grateful?
Let me know when you want Session 11–12 (Toilet of Command & A Doctor Reborn in the Restroom) added in same format.
You said:
Yes
ChatGPT said:
Perfect. Here’s Chapter 82, Sessions 11–12, combined and formatted with titles in heading format, no session numbers, and full original content preserved.
Toilet of Command
Michael pointed at Lindsey with a single finger.
“Hey, you jerk! You owe our unlicensed doctor an apology.”
Lindsey blinked. Then gave a slow nod.
“So be it. You’re right… Where is he now?”
The three of them—Michael, Raymond, and Lindsey—walked toward the women’s restroom. Outside the door, a headless corpse leaned against the wall, with its severed head a few feet away. Michael casually kicked the head aside, as if clearing a soda can from his path.
They entered.
One of the stall doors was shut. A faint grunting sound came from inside.
Michael marched forward and, without hesitation, kicked the stall door clean off its hinges.
“Sorry in advance, Mildy—”
But it wasn’t Mildy inside.
It was a woman.
Squatting.
Mid-wipe.
She screamed.
Before anyone could process the awkward horror, the stall next door creaked open. A short, pale figure stepped out—pants around his ankles, the unmistakable silhouette of Mildy, the unlicensed doctor.
He looked up at them, deadpan.
“You looking for me? My pants are full of shit right now.”
Lindsey stepped forward, completely unfazed. She stared at him.
“Why?”
Mildy didn’t skip a beat.
“You scared the shit outta me. Literally. And pissed, too. Motherf—”
Before he could finish, Lindsey turned to the girl still squatting in the other stall.
“You. Wipe yourself, get dressed, and clean this man’s pants. And his ass.”
The girl, still frozen in mid-defecation, nodded like a civilian receiving military orders.
Michael and Raymond stood behind Lindsey, arms crossed.
“Even in a situation like this…” Michael muttered.
“She’s still got leadership,” Raymond finished.
They both nodded, deeply impressed.
The woman in the stall scrambled into action, while Mildy just stood there, pants around his ankles, blinking at the absurdity of it all.
A Doctor Reborn in the Restroom
Mildy lay on the baby-changing table like a sulking toddler, arms limp at his sides, pants still soiled. The girl—still half-dressed from her interrupted toilet break—reluctantly stepped forward, clutching a wad of paper towels.
“I’m not trained for this…” she mumbled.
“You are today,” Lindsey replied, arms crossed, eyes unblinking.
The girl exhaled sharply, muttered something inaudible, and began wiping down Mildy’s legs and thighs. His face twisted in exaggerated discomfort.
“Ah! Watch it! That’s premium tissue, not a sandblaster!”
Once he was mostly clean, she helped pull off his ruined pants. Mildy glanced down at his exposed lower half and sighed like a defeated emperor.
Meanwhile, Lindsey walked over to the nearby headless corpse—the unfortunate woman Michael had beheaded earlier. Without hesitation, she stripped the skirt and leggings from the body and tossed them toward Mildy.
“There. It’s not Prada, but it’ll do.”
As Mildy inspected the donated garments, he paused, then looked at the girl.
“I still feel…unclean. Spiritually.”
The girl froze, not knowing how to respond.
“What do you want?” she asked hesitantly.
Before Mildy could speak again, Lindsey stepped forward, her claw hovering near the girl’s face.
“Help him feel clean. Or I help you feel decapitated.”
The girl blinked twice. Then silently nodded.
Meanwhile, Michael and Raymond stood near the broken bathroom sink, arms crossed like proud uncles.
“That’s our doctor,” Michael said.
“Maximized the situation,” Raymond added. “Used the environment. Claimed every advantage.”
The girl gave a blowjob to Mildy inside a stall. Several minutes passed. Eventually, Mildy emerged from the stall in the borrowed skirt and leggings, his head held high, as if reborn.
“I’m clean,” he said with peace in his voice.
The four of them exited the women’s restroom together—bruised, bloodied, freshly dressed, and strangely in sync.
And for a brief moment, they even laughed.
Like warriors after battle.
Like survivors of something truly unspeakable.