“Astonishing as it may be, I find it very disrespectful for him to speak without permission. Let alone keep it from me for so long.” SpitFire held his pet, NoHoof, squeezing him angrily. “Karen, my servant! What do you make of this?!”

“That’s Amanda, I mean Arnold, sir,” Karen answered. “Master, this requires us to use all our cunning. A discovery like this could turn the tides of this war.”

“What do you suggest then?” SpitFire asked excitedly.

“You have to scream at it much louder.” Karen nodded with his eyes closed.

“When did you learn to speak?! How?! Tell me now, you filthy fucking animal!” SpitFire shook the sloth, which only flopped over and took the abuse.

“Sir, it was me speaking! Can you please just look over here?” Brown BrownFur was still stuck in the corner of the room. He could simply walk out, but was afraid at how awkward the situation would become if he did. He also desperately needed to use the bathroom.

“See? He did it again! Damnit, animal, I am holding you right now! Are you so dumb that you don’t know where you are?!” SpitFire swung the creature side to side. NoHoof couldn’t put up a fight given the rocks weighing down his stomach.

“If you’d just turn a little to the left.” Brown BrownFur grew quieter each time he was ignored. He was about to make another plea when the doors to the throne-room burst open.

A rather short llama, who had a face like a llama with a really fucked up face, sprinted to SpitFire and bowed.

“Master, I have terrible news! One of our crack teams have located Tommy Tony and are fighting him as we speak.”

“So, what is terrible about that?” SpitFire handed NoHoof to Karen.

“Firstly, he’s managed to recruit Mwah StrongNeck,” the messenger explained. “Secondly, despite their small numbers, they managed to kill Incisorator.”

SpitFire raged like a man trying to open clamshell packaging while stuck in traffic.

“They what?! Mwah?! The mercenary who sent me a fucking suitcase full of severed kneecaps? He wasn’t even doing it as a threat!" Spittle shot out of SpitFire’s mouth and splattered on the messenger’s furry face. "He included a fucking thank you letter for hiring him. The bastard thought he was giving me a present!” 

The messenger began visibly shaking. Stories of his master’s wrath were known far and wide.

“And why exactly are you here telling me this instead of helping them kill Tommy Tony?!”

“Fuck that! That guy has managed to kill every single soldier, squad, and platoon you’ve sent his way. What the hell am I going to do? Die, that’s what. Die and, maybe if I’m lucky, fertilize a flower or something.”

The messenger had answered without thinking and SpitFire’s face contorted so much it looked like it was trying to eat itself.

The messenger immediately realized his mistake. He looked over his shoulder hoping that something or someone in the room might come to his rescue. It’s easier for a llama to look over its shoulder since their head is atop such a long neck. Aside from Karen, who solemnly shook his head, the messenger didn’t see anyone else in the room. Much to the displeasure of Brown BrownFur, who was frantically waving his arms.

“Oh shit!” the messenger cried out.

SpitFire grabbed his mighty Yield sign and bashed the messenger in the spine. The blow separated the llama’s vertebra and he lost the use of his legs. Spitfire then lifted a bucket half-full of rocks and poured it out over the messenger’s face. The rocks caused the llama’s tongue and two front teeth to dislodge from his mouth.

Minutes later, SpitFire was still kicking and screaming at the corpse. What was once a living creature was now mush, like a serving of canned chicken put in a blender with tomato soup.

“I think he’s quite dead, sir.” Brown BrownFur had taken a good portion of the exploding gore to his face. At first, he was too embarrassed to leave the corner. Now he was too afraid.

“Quiet, NoHoof! You can’t even finish all your rocks, so I hardly trust your opinion!” SpitFire finally pulled himself away and sat with an audible thunk.

“Shall I bring you another general, sir?” Karen said as he straddled the arm of the throne and began dry humping it. SpitFire was noticeably uncomfortable.

“Karen, stop that, damnit!” The llama slapped (Or punched. It was hard to tell) Karen in the shoulder. “Yes, bring me another general! This time make sure they are not completely stupid like the last few. I tire of having my floor dirtied by blood and random genitalia!”

Karen thrust his hips one last time. He lifted his leg higher than needed, while also maintaining eye contact with his master, and got off the throne.

“Anything you desire, master. I shall bring you a general with the highest of acumen right away!”

“Why would I be concerned with their virility?!” SpitFire did not know the meaning of that word, either. He was unaware of how embarrassingly wrong his guess had been.

Karen slowly backed out of the throne room, then slammed the doors shut.

“Actually, sir, I believe that word means intelligent.” Brown BrownFur was hoping around as he spoke, performing several different dances to avoid wetting himself.

“I don’t care!” SpitFire screamed and rolled his pet sloth back into the corner of the room.

After which this scene ended.