Of course that did the trick.
Mommas' titties were, in any situation, a strictly off limits topic. You only use them to taunt enemies.
And I had used their mommas' titties not once, but twice.
Very naturally, the bunch of ten year olds flared up in anger.
Almost as one, they surged towards me to defend the honor of… their mommas' titties.
"Stop mentioning my momma's titties!!" One very angry boy shouted loudly. "Although my daddy said they are very saggy, he said he still liked them very much!! He said it's the best saggy titties in the world!!"
I could already imagine his momma vomiting blood right then and his daddy laughing awkwardly at his friends.
"Saggy tits? Hahaha! He heard wrongly! I didn't say saggy! I said baggy! No! I meant, uh, waggy! No! Naggy! Yes! Her tits nag at me all the time! Hahaha! They kept calling out to me to… uh… to… you know! Hahaha! Ah hahaha! Ah! I have to go! I have an important meeting! Wife let's go!" He probably cried out and princess carried his wife away.
"Damn you! Although my momma's titties are still very bouncy, I stopped drinking milk from them for a long time already! The last time I drank from them was three years ago!!" Another boy could be heard screaming with all his might as his heavy mecha charged at me.
His mom probably didn't vomit blood like the first one, but she definitely drew frowns from her friends. Still feeding her son breast milk at seven years old? Insane! Of course the males around her stole glances at her assets. Bouncy? Hohoho. Nice.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stop with the momma's titties!! My momma doesn't have titties!!!"
HIS momma definitely vomited blood. Heck, she probably conveniently fainted as well. His father was probably staring at his son in horror. "What do you mean, son? Your momma has titties! I can testify to that! I see them and suck on them everyday!!" He was probably thinking. Maybe even aloud.
"Why are you so fixated on my momma's tittieeeeessss!!! Stop talking about my momma's tittiiiiieeeeeeeessssss!! Don't you dare say another word about my momma's tittieeesssss!!! I will not forgive you if you mention my momma's tittieeesssssssss agaain!!!" A hyper spoilt boy who had never said the word titties aloud screamed out half angrily half excitedly.
All in all, my taunt worked to absolute perfection.
Almost all two thousand remaining mechas charged at me!
There was no formation, no cooperation, just a stampede of mechas booming down towards me in a furious attempt to reach and have a go at me.
Heavy mechas, medium mechas, light mechas. On foot and upon flight modules, they swarmed towards me from all directions.
Pew! Pew! Pew!
Those with rifles opened fire immediately, causing a waterfall of rifle beams to fall upon me.
Without coordinated volleys, they had no chance of hitting me. The kids fired at will and made a spectacular show of their utter lack of skill.
"Crazy bunch of chicken" I said as I grinned wolfishly as I easily dodged their long distance attacks.
I was confident of winning.
Oh yes, very confident.
The Rushbloods were gone.
The Longs were gone.
The Lins have lost Sherry, and were in damage control mode.
Most of the strong clans were out of the picture.
Only the Wangs were left out of the illustrious families and clans that had participated in that year's Grand Melee.
And although they were not allies with the Whitefrost Clan, they were not particularly hostile as well. So they stayed out of my way.
In fact, I didn't even catch a glimpse of them until the very end, so intent were they in carving out a name for themselves as far apart from wherever I was at that time.
With the major powers accounted for, the Grand Melee rapidly approached its end.
The remaining two thousand angry kids were my last act in the event.
Twenty five minutes.
That's how long I took to clean them up with my bare hands.
All of them knew that they had no chance against me, but they couldn't care less.
Bravely, the two thousand charged like insane moths drawn towards a radiant flame.
At that moment, the words of my favorite poem when I was younger appeared in my mind. It was about the death charge of a brigade towards a literal wall of cannons during an ancient war.
The Charge of the Light Brigade, it was called.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
It was a soul stirring poem that reflected on the bravery and futility of the charge that men made towards certain death, all under the orders of other men safe and sound in their headquarters.
It was saddening, tragic and glorious.
Their actions screamed with nobility and were completely deserving of remembrance.
However, there was no glory that day for the kids, no nobility. There was nothing worth remembering. In fact, if at all possible, they would definitely want to surgically remove the painful memory of that day from their minds.
It was a sad, sad day for the kids of my batch in the National Mecha Pilot Academy.
They were just two thousand kids angered by the constant mention of their mommas' titties charging to their "deaths" at the hands of a very, very overpowered future Mecha Emperor of the world.
Me.
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