Patrick Tomlinson walked into Hooligan's. The cultivator behind the bar gave a derisive snort, but Patrick did not really care, because he had repressed his aura down to the Not By Any Medical Standard Realm, and a fool would not be able to tell his true level of fat.
"Give me... a beer!"
The cultivator's face flickered before he finally regained his composure and laughed. "You couldn't afford a beer. Get lost! Don't you see that there are Ascended Moderately Overweight drinkers waiting behind you?" Patrick slapped his bag of holding and threw 80 billion spirit sausages onto the counter, causing an earthquake which demolished half of the bar. Everyone dropped their jaws. None could see how this was possible!
"I'll take that beer with a side order of peanuts, " Patrick said. He was as calm as the ocean in a painting of an insanely calm ocean. "And let me see your manager!"
The cashier cultivator coughed up a mouthful of whiskey. He simply could not handle Patrick's killing intent, because he was only at the Slightly Overweight realm himself. Even though Patrick had suppressed his aura, because he had cultivated the Heavenly Xitter Qi, this was enough to kill people a few levels higher if he truly wanted.
It was then that another man which a much more fierce aura stepped forward. "You dare make trouble here?"
"P... Patriarch Prongay!"
Patriarch Prongay was 400 pounds of the way into the Pork Realm! Patrick was pushed back two feet, knocking over a pitcher of beer. Bud Light geysered outward, killing several onlookers. Of course, Dan Mullen saw all this happen through the window.
Patrick coughed up a mouthful of blood, snorted, constricted his pupils, and then his expression went calm. He unleashed the aura of 64 beers, condensed down to a 2 drink limit that could fit into his hands! Dan Mullen coughed up a mouthful of beer. His pupils constricted.
"Is this... the Second, Better stage??"
Patrick had the gentle air of a scholar, but it wouldn't stop him from killing several people in a bar. "Sausage Devouring Scripture! Your life is already over!"
With the first keyword of the Sausage Devouring Scripture, everyone below the early Slightly Overweight stage exploded into purple mist. The light of the immense heavenly sausage shone down with the contours of a farting black man as 9 illusory sausages floating around Patrick's body, which is probably an important xianxia number that matches the number of lakes in some sacred Wisconsin county I've never heard of. But that was only a fraction of Patrick's power. He waved his arm, bringing forth thirty more cultivation techniques that hadn't appeared in over 400 chapters!
"Heavenly Tribulation Wellington! Eastern Everburning Peppers! Mustang Guillotine! Firstname Lastname Incarnation!"
Patrick's expression was the same as ever as he slapped his bag of holding, and brought out his karmic laptop, Sci-Fi Lord medallion, seventeen different pens, a five-coloured resurrection coupon, the silk Brewers hat, various souls of lightning niglets that he may or may not still have, and his mask of the legacy of Robert Heinlein. Oh, and the image of a flying Transgender Space Crab dragon appeared. Remember that? It was basically his Main Thing at the start of the novel, but quietly faded into irrelevance. Until now! All of this takes some time to describe, but actually happened in the space of only a few breaths. "What! Impossible!"
Patrick wanted to summon his wife as well, but she was too overcome with eroticism by the black skin depicted on a nearby poster of a football player and was busy humping a groove straight through the poster, and the wall it was pinned to, with her strong thighs.
But it was more than enough. Prongay's soul flew out and was absorbed into his mask! He screamed as his body was destroyed completely.
Patrick brushed off his robe and swept up his spirit sausages and everyone's bags of holding which probably didn't have any cool sh*t inside unless I write him into a corner later, and anyways, don't worry about it for now. He surveyed the rubble that was all that remained of the Hooligan's.
"Guess you'll be enjoying prison, stalker."