Chapter 967: Scuffle With The Pale One

Chapter 967: Scuffle With The Pale One



Major Schrute couldn't stand the cocky grin on David's face, and instantly lost her cool. With a swift pivot of her hips, her hand flew at David's face, balled up into a fist, and whacked

directly into his jaw.

But instead of the usual impact and grunt of pain or straight-up lights out, David's face barely turned from the impact.

And to Carol, it felt like she had just punched a slab of concrete. Her knuckles instantly started bleeding, as the skin on them split from the hardness of the impacted surface, and she had to bite into her cheek not to growl in pain.

This only made David grin even wider.

"That all you got?" he asked, cockily.

"What kind of freakish jaw do you have, twig?" she growled in response.

David didn't answer; instead, he walked up to her face, his grin turning almost devilish.

"It'll take a lot more than that to phase me, lady. I've stared death in the face more times than you could fathom. Either give it your best shot, or go sit in your cockpit and cry yourself to fucking sleep for all I care."

Carol felt a shiver run down her spine as her eyes locked into his. She wasn't sure if he meant figuratively or literally, but his gaze was unwavering.

She had seen men with this look before, in the military.

Men who stared death in the face and laughed. Men that welcomed its icy embrace like a long- lost friend.

Madmen.

But she was no coward.

Her eyes becoming icy, Major Schrute shoved David backward, catching him off guard, before pinning him to a crate and unleashing a flurry of blows worthy of a world-class boxer.

Stomach, ribs, chin, ribs, cheek, nose. She didn't stop for thirty seconds straight, David's body rolling with the punches.

When she went out of breath, she jumped back. She inhaled raggedly, looking at the human punching bag before her, and her eyes wavered.

"David could kill you in the blink of an eye, and regardless of how fast I am, I couldn't do a thing about it. Is that what you want to have happened?"

He was trying to warn her of the danger, but as the words reached her eyes, her brain simply registered them as a threat. One that she couldn't acknowledge.

"As if that pipsqueak could kill me. He looks so sickly that my dead grandma could beat him to a pulp," she tauntingly said.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, her brain was already rebuking her.

'After all those punches, he was barely bruised. One fat lip. That's all I did to him in about twenty punches. Could he really kill me?'

Alex sighed loudly, realizing she wasn't quite apprized of the current state of the world. Her mind was still viewing things through a human lens, when all the ones she carried here could barely be called that anymore.

'I think show will trump tell, here,' he thought to himself.

He scanned the cargo hold, looking for something sturdy, but that wouldn't matter if it were damaged, and his eyes stopped on the pile of crates next to him.

He took a moment, opening the top one, and emptied the contents from it before shutting it again, during which Major Schrute looked at him strangely.

"Come here and strike that crate. Hard as you can," he ordered.

She looked at him, confused.

"I'm not asking. Do it."

She shrugged.

'Not my property,' she told herself.

And with a grunt, she slammed her fist into the top of the crate, denting it a good three inches in. Her knuckles hurt, as they were still bruised and bleeding from pummeling David, but she

only winced at the pain.

Alex scoffed.

"Alright, now lift it."