Job Done

Elven warriors stand on the outer wall, their bodies the epitome of strength and agility, sculpted with clear muscle visible even under the moonlit sky. One of them shifts slightly, peering into the dense foliage beyond their post. "Do you think there's going to be an intruder?" he asks, his voice laced with a hint of anticipation mixed with doubt.

The other one, equally alert and poised for action, shrugs slightly. "Who knows, something must be going on," he replies, his gaze never wavering from the shadows that dance at the edge of their vision.

The night air fills with a subtle, calming presence as a song begins to weave itself through the trees—a song composed entirely of humming, a melody both haunting and beautiful:

"Hmmm, hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm, Hmmm, hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm, Hmmm..."

Their senses heightened, the guards remain vigilant, yet the soothing undertone of the humming song lulls the surrounding nature into a serene stillness. Suddenly, the tranquility is shattered.

"Who's there!?" one of the guards yells, breaking the melody's spell. They raise their spears, scanning the darkness as the humming continues, unfazed:

"Hmm-hmmm, hmm-hmmm, Hmm-hmmm, hmm-hmmm..."

"There!" the first guard shouts, spotting a fleeting shadow clinging to a tree, but as quickly as it appears, it vanishes, melting back into the night. "There!" the other echoes, his voice tense as he points to a completely different location. With terrifying speed, he launches his spear towards the new shadow, his action fueled by years of training and instinct.

Yet, the humming song transitions into an even calmer sequence, a lullaby for the vigilant:

"Hmmm, hmmm-hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm-hmmm..."

Then, a voice emerges from behind them, smooth and disarmingly calm. "Gentlemen, why don't you take a nap?" In the blink of an eye, a figure leaps over the wall, continuing the humming melody as he moves with supernatural grace.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm-hmm, Hmmm-hmmm-hmmm..."

Behind him, above in the tallest trees, both guards are found unconscious, left hanging in an unnatural slumber.

The crazy fuck takes a deep breath, savoring the exotic scent of the surrounding flora. 'These plants sure smell good. I wonder how much they're worth,' he muses internally, his curiosity fleeting as he casually picks one up before tossing it aside with disinterest.

"Intruder! Everyone around, don't let him escape!" a guard yells, abruptly ending the crazy fuck's moment of botanical appreciation. He places a finger to his lips, a mischievous smirk playing across his face. "Shhhh," he whispers soothingly, adopting a tone of mock reassurance. "No need to be loud."

The guards, undeterred by his antics, start closing in, forming a tight circle around him. The oldest and biggest one, exuding authority, steps forward. "You're coming with us, don't resist," he commands, his voice brooking no argument as the others point their bows and spears menacingly at the crazy fuck.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, a dramatic gasp escaping him. "Ah, fuck! You got me," he exclaims, his tone dripping with feigned defeat.

The team leader, unfazed by his theatrics, turns to the smallest elf among them. This elf, with his short lilac hair and eyes of a matching hue, appears almost fragile, clutching a magic staff with uncertain hands. "Search him," the leader orders firmly.

The petite elf stumbles forward, hesitancy written all over his face. As he approaches, the crazy fuck smirks at him, a gesture that causes the elf to momentarily back away.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to get fired?" the team leader scolds, his patience wearing thin.

"S-sorry," the little elf mutters, moving closer again. He begins patting down the crazy fuck, who quips, "Hey, hey. Be careful! My leather is worth more than your yearly salary." His tone is lighthearted, but there's an edge of truth to his words.

One by one, the little elf extracts an arsenal from the crazy fuck's clothing: three knives, five swords, ten spears, another ten swords, seven bows, and nine daggers. The team leader scratches his head in bafflement. "How the hell..."

The little elf, equally astounded, manages to find his voice. "H-his pockets have spatial dimensions. He must have paid a fortune for them to be implemented in his clothes," he explains, awe mixed with a hint of envy.

As the search concludes and a veritable mountain of weapons lies before them, the little elf announces, "T-that's everything." The team leader's gaze shifts between the pile of weaponry and the smirking prisoner, his mind reeling. 'Having multiple weapons is reasonable. However, he has a stack of every type of weapon... what the hell is wrong with him?' he thinks, struggling to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The team leader, his eyes cold and calculating, glares at the crazy fuck with a stern resolve. "You do anything suspicious, and my 17 archers will shoot you from every possible direction," he states in a tone that leaves no room for doubt or negotiation. Turning his attention to the little elf, he commands, "Hurry up and put handcuffs on him."

The little elf, with a noticeable tremble in his movements, stammers a "Y-yes" before taking out a pair of handcuffs. With a focused effort, he secures them around the crazy fuck's wrists and tightens them. He exhales deeply, a soft chant escaping his lips, "∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎." Mana flows from his hands into the cuffs, causing them to emit a slight blue glow before it dims down.

The crazy fuck, observing the elf's actions with a mix of curiosity and amusement, smirks inwardly. 'This little thing is a chanter. Chanting is incredibly difficult with spirit magic, who is this fella?' he wonders, impressed despite himself.

"Drag him in," the team leader orders next, his voice brooking no argument. The guards comply, leading the crazy fuck inside and pushing him onto a chair in a sparsely furnished room. With a final cold glance at the little elf, the team leader dismisses him, "You can wait outside."

The little elf nods, a mixture of relief and apprehension in his voice as he says, "O-okay," before exiting the room.

After a couple of tense minutes, the door opens again, and in walks the fat, obese human with an ugly mustache and an equally repulsive face. His personal guards, clad in menacing black armor, flank him as he smiles gleefully upon seeing the crazy fuck restrained. Taking a seat across from him, he can't help but exclaim, "I can't believe it, they actually caught this annoying bastard."

His glare intensifies as he addresses the crazy fuck directly, his voice laced with frustration and anger. "Why are you after me!? Do you know how much I've lost in the last couple of months!?" He slams his fist down on the table, the sound echoing through the room. "Thousands of coins!"

The tension in the room escalates as the detainee addresses the portly man with a series of grave accusations. "Oh~ You must be talking about the illegal child trafficking, money laundering, child rape, and sex trafficking, right? Since your business itself wouldn't make you thousands of coins." The words cut through the air, leaving a palpable tension.

The fat man, his face contorted with rage, denies the allegations vehemently. "Lies! Lies! Nothing but rumors!" His fist crashes against the wall in a display of fury. "Who hired you!?" he demands, the vein in his neck bulging with anger.

The accused, unflustered by the outburst, shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno what you're talking about." His casual dismissal further enrages the obese man, who turns a darker shade of red.

"Kill him! Kill him right now!" the fat man orders, desperation lacing his voice as he looks toward his guard. The menacing guard in black armor, steps forward, sword raised, ready to execute the command.

But the captive feigns terror mockingly, "Oh no~ I'm so dead~," before his expression shifts to one of cold indifference. In a blink, he shoots a needle from his mouth, its trajectory precise, piercing the black-armored guard's skull with deadly accuracy.

From the sidelines, the elven team leader commands, "Shoot him!" Instantly, arrows fly from all directions, aimed at the smirking prisoner. Yet, with astonishing speed, the needle whizzes through the air, deflecting each incoming arrow. "Ouch~ you nearly killed me," he says, standing up as the handcuffs fall away, now toying with another needle in his hand.

The fat man, now visibly shaking with fear, stumbles and falls, attempting to crawl away. "P-protect me!" he cries out, utterly terrified. The elven guards, loyal and unwavering, charge towards the prisoner from all sides, their movements synchronized and determined.

Yet, the man merely sighs, shaking his head in disapproval. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now now, why don't you all take a nap?" In an instant, as if moved by an unseen force, all the elves are rendered unconscious, their bodies hanging from the ceiling in a grotesque mimicry of slumber.

"So what's your plan?~" the crazy fuck queries nonchalantly, dispatching the remaining guard with an effortless flick of his needle. He steps over the fallen body, a smirk playing on his lips as he locks eyes with the elven team leader. The tension in the room is palpable, a stark contrast to the casual demeanor of the man causing all the chaos.

The team leader, visibly shaken, takes a couple of steps back, gripping his sword with trembling hands. "Who the hell are you?" he demands, trying to mask his fear with a tone of authority.

The crazy fuck's smirk widens, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Ah~ Who knows~" he taunts, and in the blink of an eye, he's behind the team leader, rendering him unconscious with a swift, calculated blow. The ease with which he handles the situation is unnerving.

Turning his attention to the fat man, he advances with a predatory grace. "Time to deal with you~" His voice is smooth, almost soothing, but it sends shivers down the spine of the terrified man before him.

The fat man crawls backward, desperation seeping through his pores. "S-stop, you can't kill me! Do you know who I work with!?" he stammers, sweat beading on his forehead.

A low chuckle escapes the lips of the crazy fuck, filled with dark amusement. "Hmhmhmhm, I know exactly who you work with. But... You know, I used to work with him, he's scared of me~" he reveals, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The fat man's eyes widen in fear, a last-ditch effort bubbling to the surface. "I-I'll pay three times—No, ten times the amount they paid you! J-just don't kill me!" he pleads, his voice cracking under the strain.

But the crazy fuck's response is cold, his black eyes devoid of any warmth. "I don't take money from child traffickers~" With that, he delivers a powerful blow, knocking the fat man unconscious. His actions are decisive, leaving no room for negotiation or mercy.

Humming his now-signature tune, he hefts the unconscious body over his shoulder. "Hmmm, hmmm-hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm-hmmm..." The melody fills the otherwise silent corridor as he steps out the door, the atmosphere charged with the aftermath of his actions.

Suddenly, he pauses, tilting his head slightly as if listening to something unseen. "Are you going to hurt me, little one?" he calls out, addressing the empty air above him. His senses, sharpened beyond normal comprehension, have detected the invisible presence of the elf, poised and ready to fight.

The elf, taken aback, stumbles back, revealed in his astonishment. "H-how?" he stutters, his invisibility failing him at the crucial moment.

The crazy fuck raises a finger to his lips, his expression one of mock secrecy. "Shhh. I didn't see you, okay~" he whispers conspiratorially, a wink sealing his words as he walks out, leaving a trail of chaos and confusion in his wake.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"Wake up, you fat bastard~" the man known as the crazy fuck singsongs, nudging the hefty figure lying prone before him. The fat man gasps for air as consciousness floods back, panic etched on his face. "S-stop, let me go!" he pleads, crawling backward, only to halt abruptly as he notices his current attire—a dress. His eyes widen in horror as he takes in the absurdity of his situation, his form resembling more of a clown than a man of stature.

"W-what is going on!?" he yells, his voice pitching with confusion and fear, completely oblivious to how he ended up in such a compromising position.

The crazy fuck's smirk widens, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Looks like the cursed princess woke up~" he teases, lifting a mirror to show the fat man his reflection, now adorned with makeup, enhancing his clownish appearance.

Before the fat man can react, the crazy fuck adds a chilling caveat, "If you don't listen to me, the collar you're wearing will blow you to pieces." The threat hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.

The fat man's gaze shifts to the collar around his neck, his eyes reflecting a mix of fear and disbelief. 'W-what is wrong with this man!?' he wonders internally, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger and frustration.

"Now now, don't you want to live?" the crazy fuck coos, the false sweetness in his tone belied by the coldness in his eyes.

The fat man's eyes widen further, desperation creeping into his voice. "Y-yes, how much money do you want?" he stammers, hoping to bargain his way out of this nightmare.

The crazy fuck leans in, his smirk mischievous, reveling in the power he holds over the other man. "Money? Who needs that~" he dismisses with a wave of his hand. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he draws back some curtains, revealing their location: a plaza bustling with humans visiting the elves, the center of public attention.

"You are going to go down there and sing and dance for 10 minutes. You better put your heart into it, or you'll go 'KABOOM!'" he says, mimicking an explosion with his hands, his tone playful yet menacing.

He strides over to the window, throwing it open with a grand gesture. "It's up to you. You can go down there and live, or you can try running away, but then you will blow up," he states matter-of-factly before leaping out the window

Perched on a rooftop, the man known universally as the crazy fuck lounges with a sense of satisfaction, a bag of snacks in hand. "Ah~ I love my work" he declares to the empty air, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Below him, the fat man emerges from the building, his appearance grotesquely comical in a pink and purple dress, his face slathered in red and pink makeup, a parody of elegance.

The fat man hesitates at the threshold, his mind racing. 'I-I need to survive, no matter how embarrassing this is,' he resolves, bolstering his faltering courage. With a deep, resigned breath, he begins to jump around, his movements awkward and uncoordinated, as he launches into song.

He croons a ludicrous, original ballad, his voice grating and off-key:

"Oh, I am a princess, so lovely and fine, In a castle of candy, where the sun always shines. My heart longs for love, oh, so true and so bold, For a prince who will cherish me, more than gold.

But alas, I'm trapped, in this tower so high, With nothing but cupcakes and tears when I cry. I dream of a hero, who will climb up the walls, And rescue me gently, from these confining halls.

My dress, oh so sparkly, with ribbons and lace, I dance and I twirl, with a clownish grace. My love is like a river, so deep and so wide, I yearn for my prince, to be by my side.

But here I prance, a spectacle so wild, A princess in tatters, fate's unwanted child. Yet, my heart still sings, through the pain and the strife, For that one true love, to enter my life."

As he sings, the fat man's performance is nothing short of disastrous. His voice cracks on the high notes, his dancing more akin to stumbling than any form of grace. The juxtaposition of his serious, heartfelt lyrics against his ludicrous appearance and terrible voice.

The plaza, usually a hub of cheerful interactions and commerce, morphs into an arena of shock and repulsion as the fat man continues his mortifying performance. Bystanders, some of whom recognize him from his previous status and dealings, can't hide their disgust. Their faces contort in a mixture of horror and disbelief as they whisper among themselves.

"Isn't that the guy from the news?" one bystander murmurs to another, unable to look away from the car crash of a performance unfolding before them.

"Yeah, the one involved in all those shady deals," the other replies, shaking their head in disdain. "Never expected to see him like this."

Nearby, a group of parents hastily cover their children's eyes, one of them saying in a hushed, urgent tone, "Don't look at that, kids. That's what drugs do to you," instilling a lesson amidst the chaos.

Above the scene, on the rooftop, the crazy fuck can barely contain his amusement. "PfffHahahahahahaha!" he laughs uncontrollably, holding his stomach and rolling around, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle he orchestrated. His laughter is a piercing echo to the fat man's shame.

Down below, amidst the cacophony of laughter and mockery, the fat man clenches his teeth, humiliation burning through his veins. 'I-I will kill that man!' he seethes internally, his resolve hardening with each passing moment. Yet, he continues his degrading dance, trapped in his own nightmare.

The crowd's reactions vary from outright mockery to sheer avoidance, as if the fat man's disgrace were contagious. People point, laugh, and make crude jokes at his expense, while others simply turn away, unable or unwilling to witness the spectacle any longer. The plaza, once filled with the mundane sounds of daily life, now reverberates with the soundtrack of ridicule and disgust.

Finally, having had his fill of entertainment, the crazy fuck wipes away the tears of laughter and prepares to leave his vantage point. "That's what you get for being a pathetic bastard," he murmurs, a note of satisfaction in his voice. With a casual grace, he jumps down from the building and begins to walk away, blending into the crowd with ease.

"Oh right, I almost forgot," he mutters almost to himself, pressing a button. An explosion rings out, followed by screams of panic from the crowd. The fat man's performance comes to an abrupt and chaotic end as the plaza descends into mayhem.

"What should I do now?" the crazy fuck muses aloud, his tone casual as if he were deciding on his next meal rather than contemplating his next move in a game of chaos he so expertly plays. With that, he heads back to the bar.