"I want you all to understand something very important," I said, pacing like a man ready to scold the gods themselves. "You are not special."
Leo groaned. "Here we go again…"
"No, shut up, Whiner #1," I snapped, pointing at him with the stick I was using as a pointer—and occasionally as a sword. "You're not just not special, you're below average. You'd lose a fight to a sleepy chicken."
Wallace raised a hand. "Technically, chickens are quite fast and aggressive if provoked—"
I threw the stick at him.
He ducked. It hit Felix instead.
He squealed and fell over.
"Case in point!" I barked, gesturing at Felix's twitching body. "This is the result of poor positioning and terrible awareness. Do any of you want to die because you got clocked by a farm animal? Huh?"
"No…" came a chorus of defeated voices.
"Then let's do it again."
They groaned as they got back up.
"Alright. Let's start with something simple. Wallace, what do you do when someone tries to flank you?"
