Meh and the Final Boss Donaldan

The air in Meadowview High’s courtyard was thick with the stench of pond scum and defiance. Meh, with her neon-streaked hair and a smirk sharp enough to cut glass, stood on a wobbly picnic table, her crew fanned out behind her like a pack of feral cats. Alan clutched his skateboard, Gerald scribbled cryptic notes in his prophecy journal, Alexis twirled a rubber band like a gunslinger, and Mada spray-painted a glowing duck on the pavement, muttering, “Art’s my weapon, yo.” They were the Mehs, chaos incarnate, and they’d faced weird before—glitchy cafeteria toasters, rogue scooter gangs, marshmallow wars down Main Street. But this? This was next-level.

It started with the ducks. Not your average pond waddlers, but a legion of beady-eyed mallards, quacking in eerie unison, led by a beast they’d dubbed Final Boss Donald—a duck so massive it could’ve body-slammed a minivan. Its feathers shimmered like oil slicks, and its beak, jagged as a serrated knife, glinted under the noon sun. Gerald had warned them, of course. “The pond’s cursed,” he’d muttered, showing them a grainy X post from @DuckWatcher99: They’re not ducks. They’re soldiers. Final Boss Donaldan commands. Alan had scoffed, tossing a stale fry at Gerald. “Donaldan? Sounds like a knockoff supervillain, bruh.”

But now, here they were, facing a feathered apocalypse. The ducks surged from the pond, hundreds strong, their quacks a war chant that rattled the school’s windows. Donaldan loomed at the rear, eyes like burning coals, wings flexing with a gust that smelled of rot and rage. Meh cracked her knuckles, unfazed. “Alright, crew. Time to make this duck dinner.”

Alexis took point, barking orders like a general. “Mada, barricade the left with art supplies! Alan, toaster’s hot—plug it in!” Mada, grinning like a pyromaniac, stacked paint cans and easels into a fortress, spray-painting “QUACK THIS” in neon orange. Alan sprinted to the cafeteria outlet, dragging the ancient, cord-tangled toaster they’d “borrowed” last week. DT, the crew’s tech nerd, was already hacking the school’s sprinkler system, muttering about “hydro-dynamic duck disruption.” Gerald, meanwhile, stood frozen, staring at Donaldan. “It’s not just a duck,” he whispered. “It’s… the void’s avatar.”

“Less void, more action!” Meh shouted, launching an energy bar at a diving mallard. It hit with a splat, and the duck veered off, disoriented. The crew moved like a machine: Mada’s paint cans rolled like grenades, scattering the flock; Alexis’s rubber bands snapped with sniper precision, stinging beaks; DT’s sprinklers roared to life, turning the courtyard into a slippery battlefield. Alan plugged in the toaster, its coils glowing red, and plunged it into a puddle. Sparks erupted, ducks screeched, and a dozen flopped over, feathers smoking. “Crispy!” Alan whooped, fist-bumping DT.

But Donaldan didn’t flinch. It waddled forward, each step cracking the pavement, its quack a sonic boom that knocked Mada off her barricade. Meh locked eyes with it, her grin feral. “Oh, you wanna dance, big boy?” She grabbed a lacrosse stick from the gym bag at her feet and vaulted off the table, swinging like a caffeinated samurai. The stick cracked against Donaldan’s beak, sending a chip flying, but the beast barely blinked. It reared back, wings unfurling, and the sky darkened—not clouds, but a swarm of ducks spiraling like a feathered tornado.

“Gerald, prophecy me!” Meh yelled, dodging a snapping beak. Gerald flipped open his journal, voice trembling: “The red glow blinds the beast. Follow it, or fall.” Alan groaned. “Red glow? What is this, a video game?” But DT pointed, wide-eyed, at the school’s emergency exit sign, its crimson light pulsing like a heartbeat. “There!” he shouted.

The crew bolted, weaving through the duckstorm. Donaldan charged, shaking the ground, its eyes locked on Meh. She didn’t run—she skidded, spun, and hurled her backpack, stuffed with leftover snacks and a half-charged vape, straight into its gaping maw. The bag lodged in its throat; Donaldan gagged, stumbling. “Snack attack!” Meh cackled.

They reached the exit door, the red glow bathing them in eerie light. Alan kicked it open, expecting escape, but instead, the hallway stretched into infinity—lockers twisting, tiles melting, a void where echoes screamed. Donaldan’s quack followed, now layered with voices, human and not, chanting: Join or be eaten. Gerald grabbed Alan’s arm. “It’s not a duck. It’s Donaldan, the hunger of the void. It wants our chaos.”

Meh didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s choke it with chaos.” She ripped the exit sign off the wall, its wires sparking red, and hurled it at Donaldan. The beast roared as the glow hit its eyes, blinding it. The crew charged, a blur of skateboards, paint cans, and sheer audacity. Alan landed a kickflip into Donaldan’s side, Mada tagged its feathers with neon green, and Alexis snapped a rubber band into its eye. DT rigged the sprinklers to blast paint, drenching the beast in a rainbow haze.

Donaldan staggered, its form glitching—feathers to static, beak to shadow. With a final, earth-shaking quack, it collapsed into the void, taking its flock with it. The hallway snapped back to normal, the pond outside quiet, the red glow gone.

Meh dusted off her hands, grinning. “Told ya. Ducks are no match for Meh.” Alan laughed, shaky but alive, while Gerald scribbled: Chaos defeats the void. For now. Mada painted a victory duck on the wall, and DT hacked the school’s PA to blare “Quack Attack.”

But as they skateboarded off, Alan caught Gerald’s eye. The prophecy journal was open, a new line scrawled: Donaldan sleeps. The void waits. Alan shivered. The Mehs were legends, sure—but legends don’t rest. Not when chaos calls.

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