RRRIP!
The chefs grinned ferociously as they all ripped off their shirts and tore away their aprons.
In an instant, the dozen or so chefs—men who had spent years in the back kitchen of Fragrant Pavilion, immersed in the smoke and fire of the mortal world—transformed. They became like killing machines, brandishing their weapons. Beads of sweat condensed on their rock-hard muscles, glistening with a faint bronze sheen.
Some wielded stools, some gripped spatulas. One snapped a fire poker in two with a CRACK, ready to strike with dual batons. Another swung a rolling pin straight for the Barbarian's face. What should have been a simple gang beating was instantly turned into a spectacle worthy of a desperate battle for a spot on the Weapon Manual's rankings by this group of brawny chefs.
THUMP THUMP THUMP!
