Rumble!
A deafening boom.
Then came the sound of a heavy hammer slamming into sheet metal…
Someone screamed in panic, "Help!"
"Blast her to hell!"
"Hurry up and stop her from wrecking it!"
The people in the tank went to fire, only to see the gun barrel ripped off by bare hands.
By those soft white, tender hands.
By those hands that looked delicate, boneless, exquisite, like a beauty's hands.
But they were doing something so horrifying it made your scalp crawl!
The gun barrel was torn off, then crumpled up like a sheet of paper, kneaded into an iron ball.
The wind lifted a strand of the stunning woman's hair as she showed a sweet smile, Little Dimple sinking faintly into her cheek—a smile that could intoxicate you. She was that beautiful, yet her hands were raised high, assuming the posture of a shot put throw.
The movement was textbook perfect; the iron ball traced a perfect parabola, then slammed down hard!
"Clang!" A sky‑shaking crash.
