The Mercenaries of Mayhem were still lying low, avoiding town after their incident with the Flaming Rat King. Supplies were running low, but none of them dared to show their faces in Border Town—not unless they wanted an angry mob chasing them with pitchforks.
Which is how Bob, their fearless (and somewhat thoughtless) leader, came up with a brilliant idea.
"We can't go to town, right?" Bob said, pacing in front of the group. "So, we need another way to get food."
Jim, leaning back on a crate, took a sip of ale. "Uh-huh."
Bob grinned. "Which is why I'm going hunting!"
Silence.
Derek sighed. "Bob. No."
Bob flexed. "Bob. Yes."
Marcus muttered, "Oh gods."
Bam nodded. "This will end in disaster."
Bob grabbed his hammer and shield. "I'll be back with a feast!"
And with that, he stomped off into the wild.
Derek, watching him leave, groaned. "I know things are going to escalate." He grabbed his sword and followed.
Marcus watched them go and sighed. "Derek was supposed to stop Bob. But knowing Bob…"
Jim nodded. "This is just gonna make things worse."
They weren't wrong.
Bob marched through the fields, eyes scanning for worthy prey. Rabbits? Too small. Birds? Too fast. Then, in the distance, he spotted them.
A herd of massive, muscular bulls grazing peacefully.
Bob grinned. "Perfect."
Derek, catching up, saw Bob raising his hammer and immediately panicked. "Bob, no!"
Bob, yes.
With all the grace of a man who made decisions before thinking, Bob charged at the biggest bull he could find and swung his hammer.
The bull barely flinched.
Then it slowly turned to face Bob.
Then the entire herd turned.
A deep, rumbling growl spread through the air.
Derek's eyes widened. "Bob. What have you done?"
Bob slowly lowered his hammer. "…Hunting?"
The lead bull snorted.
The herd charged.
Bob blinked. "Oh."
Derek grabbed his collar. "RUN."
And just like that, the two of them sprinted back toward the house, a raging stampede of bulls thundering behind them.
Jim was still lounging. Marcus was sketching a new probably unsafe invention. Bam was, as usual, playing with fire.
Then they heard it.
The deep, thunderous rumble of hooves.
Marcus looked up. "Huh?"
Then Bob and Derek came sprinting over the hill, terror in their eyes.
Behind them, a rampaging herd of bulls barreled forward like an unstoppable force of nature.
Jim dropped his drink. "What the hell did you two do?!"
Bob wheezed, "Hunting went wrong!"
Derek yelled, "WHY DID YOU THINK ATTACKING A BULL WAS A GOOD IDEA?!"
Marcus groaned. "Derek, you were supposed to stop Bob."
Derek, running for his life, shouted back, "DOES IT LOOK LIKE I MADE IT BETTER?!"
Bam simply nodded, watching the chaos unfold. "Majestic."
Jim grabbed his flask. "We're so fucking dead."
The mercenaries scattered just in time as the entire herd of bulls stampeded straight through their ruined house.
CRASH.
BOOM.
WOOD. EVERYWHERE.
By the time the bulls had passed, all that remained was a pile of rubble, dust, and regret.
The mercenaries sat in the dirt, staring at what used to be their already ruined home—now officially a disaster zone.
Bob wiped some dust off his shoulder. "So… no feast?"
Derek stared at him. "Bob. Shut up."
Marcus took a deep breath. "Well. At least we still have—"
CRACK.
The final standing wall of the house wobbled—then collapsed completely.
Marcus sighed. "Never mind."
Jim took a deep swig of ale. "You know, I was starting to get too comfortable here anyway."
Bam, watching the last bits of dust settle, nodded. "There are always exceptions."
And with that, they sat in the wreckage of their once-home, contemplating their terrible life choices.