The fat woman was terrified. The horrifying display of erasing half a building with a flick of his hand made her scream from the bottom of her heart.
Eight-Ball seemed to hear some delightful music. He swayed his head and raised a hand.
His shoulders relaxed, and his emotions settled considerably. Using Cosmic Energy, he lifted the woman from the floor, ready to continue his grand endeavor of lifting her skirt.
But just then, the woman's feet suddenly left the ground. She fell stiffly facedown in midair and drifted toward the balcony, as though some invisible person had grabbed her legs and dragged her across an unseen plane in the air.
Even though she desperately clutched the broken edge of the railing, tearing off all her fingernails did nothing to stop her momentum.
Eight-Ball looked at his hand and hurriedly beckoned backward. He thought he had used too much force again.
But that was not it. No matter how he used Cosmic Energy to pull the woman back, it had no effect.
The fat woman let out a miserable scream. She felt as if she were about to be torn in half. Her nightgown burst apart first, turning into scraps of cloth that fluttered down toward the ground. Only a few strips still hung from her fat arms.
Seeing this, Eight-Ball suddenly let go.
Without a skirt, he lost all interest. That pale, flabby flesh looked both disgusting and greasy. Forget it—he would just let her die.
Then he touched the underwear he was wearing and felt he had gotten a good deal. He could go home and savor it slowly.
A huge black hole appeared in the floor behind him, like a pocket on a pool table. He turned, ready to jump into it.
A streak of silver suddenly