Chime

[Roger Smith]

"Wh-What in the hell...?" Bertrand just stared, his eyes wide. That...that damn priest had been dead! All the damage he'd taken, and then he went down, and... And now he was just back up, like nothing had even happened! The damn bastard was spurting more blood than a fountain, riddled with so many wounds he looked like a corpse, and he was still standing! This had gone way beyond an attempted highway robbery, this was now moving into a struggle to get out of this alive. Or sane.

"B-Boss, what...what's goin' on?"
"What do we do now?"
"How are we s'posed to fight that guy?"
"Should...shouldn't we just run?"

"Shut yer traps!" the bandit leader roared, and one of his meaty fists impacted the ground with a resounding crak-crash. Spidering cracks spread around the point of impact. His teeth ground against each other. He needed to come up with something here. Anything. Some bright idea to take this freak of a holy man down, and then get out of here with his hide intact. These poor fools around him, this gang of idiots, they were replaceable. They were expendable. Peons to do the work for him. Meatshields and disposable walking corpses, meant just for situations like this. There just to slow down things he couldn't handle easily, distract the big obstacles so he could get away and come up with a plan. Bertrand was a fighter, sure. But he was a thinker, first. And right now, he was thinking that it was time to fucking bail on this shitshow.

"Look, I got a plan," he said, forcing his voice into a composed, calm tone. He rose up to stand, dusting off his pants. He fetched his axe, dropped in the scramble to hit the deck and avoid the explosion. "All of you. Rush him at once." That was met with a resounding chorus of surprised and terrified responses. "Shaddup! Listen, you've all been goin' after him one at a time, or with just two or three of ya. Go at him all at once, mob him from every direction, don't give him a chance to hit you back. That's how ya take him down!"

There was a tense moment of quiet, the band of thieves murmuring among themselves and discussing the plan. Betrand was silently praying they were all as dumb as they looked. It was a sound idea, normally. Surround the old man and hit him from all directions at once, take him down before he could fight back. But this guy...this old priest was something else. It probably wouldn't work. At least not as well as he was hoping. But it would keep them all distracted, and let Bertrand escape. Back to his headquarters, with the rest of his boys and girls. Gather them all up, all the hundreds of them. Then they could come back and really take this guy down. He just needed time.

...and time was something he was going to get, as the band of idiots reached a conclusion. "Yeah, that should work!" one said, the rest falling in line and voicing similar agreement once one had spoken up. With renewed confidence, they stepped forward. Sixteen of the original twenty-five they'd started this with. Even with such reduced numbers, they still had a more than sizable advantage. This was going to be easy!

None of them noticed as their glorious leader turned tail and slunk away down the road, off the bank and into the bushes. His massive bulk disappeared among the greenery, slipping off toward a treeline some hundred or more meters distant, without so much as a single glance back. He was all but certain that his underlings were dead. If any of them returned alive from this, it would be nothing short of a miracle. They'd be remembered, for being brave (if incredibly stupid) and a good distraction. That was all he ever wanted out of peons that followed him. Maybe a little common sense and backbone that didn't need to be constantly set back up, but you couldn't have it all. Besides, a little cowardice now and then was good. Made them easy to keep intimidated and under control.