Five skeletons stood ready. A united front of utter absurdity.
Linkin stepped forward. Guitar already in hand. Struck a power chord. Not a sad one this time. This was pure, hero-movie, fight-scene music. EPIC. Over-the-top. Completely out of place for a roadside bandit ambush.
Okay. So they have THEME MUSIC now?! Are they going to do a full team roll call with POSES?! This is getting ridiculous...
The bandits, who had been momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance of more skeletons, looked thoroughly confused by the musical accompaniment.
"What in the blazes is this NOW???" the leader muttered, sword still raised but his conviction visibly wavering.
Chad cracked his 'neck'. Then his knuckles. Each pop echoed like a small gunshot.
A bottle of smelling salts materialized in his hand. He took a deep, theatrical whiff.
Eyes snapped open. Veins Keldric didn't even know skeletons could have seemed to bulge on his skull.
"ALRIGHT!!!" Chad ROARED. Voice suddenly three octaves deeper, almost comically so coming from his small frame. "WHO'S READY FOR SOME MAX EFFORT GAINS?!?!"
He tossed the smelling salts. Vanishing mid-air.
"THIS ISN'T ROID RAGE!" he bellowed, preempting an accusation no one had actually made yet. "THIS IS OPTIMAL TRAINING INTENSITY! POWERED BY AMMONIA CARBONATE FOR PEAK ATHLETIC PERFORMANCE ENHANCEMENT!!!"
Oh, gods. He's gone FULL berserker. A fitness berserker. Keldric watched, still slightly dazed from being Chad's impromptu bench press weight. Is that even a class? 'Path of the Swole Barbarian'?! DEFINITELY an S-Rank threat if you're a dumbbell. Or a human, apparently...
One of the bandits, clearly not understanding the shift, charged at Chad with a yell. "I'll take this roided-out FREAK!" He loomed over the small skeleton.
Chad didn't even flinch.
He EXPLODED into motion.
A blur of surprisingly dense skeletal muscle, a tiny cannonball of fury leaving little cartoon speed lines in the air.
He sidestepped the wild swing with impossible speed, diminutive body ducking under the bandit's reach so fast Keldric felt a slight breeze. Grabbed the charging bandit by the ankle with a grip like iron, and with a GRUNT that seemed to vibrate the very air and make the leaves on nearby trees tremble, hoisted him overhead.
"ONE!!!" Chad roared, performing a perfect overhead press with the flailing, much larger bandit, muscles Keldric didn't know bone could have, straining and possibly creaking. "HOW'S THAT FOR AN ANKLE WEIGHT, BRO?!"
The bandit SCREAMED, a high-pitched yelp of pure shock and pain, his boots comically kicking at the air. "PUT ME DOWN YOU PINT-SIZED LUNATIC!!!"
"TWO!!!" Another rep, smooth and powerful. "FEEL THE BURN!!!"
"Boss! He's... he's using Jerry as a WEIGHT!!!" another bandit stammered, eyes wide with disbelief, his own club slipping from numb fingers. "The little bone-bag is LIFTING him!!!"
"THREE!!!" Chad continued, veins pulsing on his skull. "THIS IS WHAT PEAK PERFORMANCE LOOKS LIKE, YOU FILTHY CASUALS!!!"
He then began a set of squats. Jerry starting to look a bit green, or as green as a terrified human could look while being rapidly squatted by a three-foot skeleton. "FOUR! FIVE! NEVER SKIP LEG DAY!!! OR ANY DAY! EVERY DAY IS GAINS DAY!!!"
Chad spotted a discarded shield.
With a final, mighty heave, he THREW Jerry like a kid who just got bored with their toy (Landed with a sickening, pained groan and didn't move, possibly contemplating a career change to something less… acrobatic).
Snatched up the shield in one hand, drastically bigger then his own size.
Another bandit's dropped club in the other, the weapon nearly as long as his entire body, gripped with bone-crushing intensity. He did a quick bicep curl with it. "NICE WEIGHT!"
"IT'S TIME TO SMASH SOME SCRUBS!!! AND THEN MAYBE A PROTEIN SHAKE!!!" He launched himself forward, a miniature battering ram powered by pure gym-rage.
Shield BASHING anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path, sending them sprawling with concussive force, followed by an immediate critique of their falling technique. "TERRIBLE FORM! YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO ABSORB IMPACT!"
Clubbing bandits out of the way like they were malfunctioning gym equipment that dared to impede his reps, each swing a brutal thud. "SIX! SEVEN! MOMMA NEVER RAISED NO B@#$H!!! SHE RAISED A DEDICATED FITNESS ENTHUSIAST WITH A RIGOROUS TRAINING REGIMEN!!!"
Each bandit he struck went down with a surprised yelp, or a choked gasp, or in one case, a sudden urge to confess all their childhood insecurities. Not so much injured as utterly bewildered and battered by the pint-sized powerhouse who seemed to be narrating his own workout montage.
He's... he's actually EFFECTIVE. Keldric's jaw (if it could) was somewhere near the forest floor, possibly trying to burrow into it to escape the sheer madness. Completely unhinged. BUT EFFECTIVE. This isn't a fight, it's a high-intensity interval training session from HELL, run by a three-foot psycho who probably thinks 'rest day' is a swear word...
One bandit tried to sneak up behind Chad, sword raised for a backstab, looking more terrified than determined.
"DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT MY SUPERSET!!! I'M IN THE ZONE!!!" Chad bellowed, spinning with the speed of a caffeinated tornado, the oversized club a whistling blur, clotheslining the bandit with a manifested resistance band that appeared from nowhere with a loud, twangy SNAP!.
"EIGHT! CARDIO AND RESISTANCE! FULL BODY WORKOUT!!! FEEL THAT PUMP!!"
Chad's final, triumphant "FEEL THAT PUMP!!" seemed to suck the remaining fight out of the air, replaced by the faint scent of sweat and... was that whey protein? He immediately transitioned into a series of high-speed lunges, narrowly avoiding tripping over his own vanquished foes.
Okay. So that happened. Keldric tried to process the sheer chaos. The human wrecking ball routine seems to be effective. If utterly terrifying. I wonder if he gives post-combat cool-down advice too?
His attention was drawn by a hopeful yell. One of the remaining bandits, apparently having missed the memo that these skeletons operated on cartoon physics, had spotted Specs. The diminutive academic was still engrossed in his (invisible) notes, occasionally adjusting his glasses as if pondering the meaning of life, or perhaps the correct formula for calculating optimal villain escape velocity.
"This one! This little twerp's mine!" the bandit declared, hefting his axe with a confidence that was frankly adorable in its naivety.