Post by Terminally Chill on Apr 2, 2015 20:28:31 GMT -5
“Let me through, ya masked bastards...” Garands' breathing was becoming heavier, smoke streaming from his arms as he stood over the battered bodies of the three latest luchadors to be overwhelmed by the blue-haired berserker's formidable Gunshow Kenpo. While the fighting style was powerful, Garands began to feel the fatigue of overusing his Devil Fruit powers as he fought futilely against the Bodyslam Brigade's human barricade. Where one black suit fell, another stepped into replace any hole in the formally-dressed phalanx.
Crimson eyes flashed angrily behind the pair of blade-shaped shades, fixated on Liger Delgado standing in smug safety behind the Bodyslam Brigade in the company of his three younger siblings. The suited bodyguards refused to yield and allow Garands to lay a single finger on the Flying Delgado Company's chief executive, complete in their devotion to the point of brainwashing. The bare-chested barbarian's earlier claims of defeating the Bodyslam Brigade and the two younger Delgado executives in order to reach Liger were gutsy, but becoming more and more impossible as he struggled to penetrate even the first line of defense.
Little did Garands know two unlikely saviors were working in tandem beneath his feet to inadvertently rescue him from the overwhelming odds. A great tremor reverberated through the massive Main Stage, increasing in strength until the entire cylinder was shuddering. Creaks, groans, bursts and an incalculable number of unpleasant noises growled from the Main Stage depths. The calamitous chorus finally shared its song with the rest of the festival, the first voice coming in the form of a shrill whistle as a great plume of steam erupted from the top of the stage to Garands from the Delgado siblings and their loyal guards. Whatever destruction occurring inside of the stage rapidly increased as more plumes of steam burst from the cylindrical casing. All sorts of random mechanical parts began to spew from the stage as copious amounts of steam continued to burst from the stage's belly. Delgado bounty hunters on the deck began to scramble for safety as the trembling began to spread to the deck. Any patron-turned-prisoner brave enough to fight against the security forces were now joining their enemies in fleeing for some sort of cover from the impending disaster. Those lucky enough to escape over the walls erected around the ring watched from safety behind the makeshift barriers, once made to trap them but now serving as protection.
The Main Stage sputtered with a racket of whistling steam and explosive shrapnel, unwinding erratically in the opposite direction as when it emerged from the massive ship's central core. Garands struggled to keep his balance atop the spinning, unstable stage, wildly searching for his opponents through the steaming shrouding their location. A particularly thunderous burst of steam exploded from the base of the cylinder, causing the Main Stage to lose what little structural integrity it once possessed and slowly topple. With little other option, the self-proclaimed Pirate King followed gravity and plummeted from the edge of the collapsing stage.
On the other side of the vaporous wall, the four Delgado siblings were surprisingly calm. The stage continued its slow crumble, but they moved without a sense of urgency. The Bodyslam Brigade members at the top of the Main Stage continued to show their cult-like devotion to the company's C.E.O., running to the stage's edge and leaping overboard in a line. They latched together by hands and feet with other suited luchadors below to make what looked to be a human ramp from the stage to the deck. Liger calmly descended down the makeshift bridge while the musician and acrobatic twins made graceful leaps from the falling stage. The four Delgado executives made their way stylishly to the deck and unharmed, walking a short distance from the swelling calamity. Their actions were timed nearly to the second, as the Main Stage suddenly began to swell uncontrollably, until, finally...BOOM!!!
A gargantuan geyser of steam and shrapnel ruptured through the Main Stage, tearing the cylindrical mechanism apart and throwing a curtain of vapor around the detonation. Water, metal, and wood rained down onto the deck-turned-battlefield and billowing steam swallowed much of the ship while the festival patrons remained in any cover they could find.
“Young Aman has failed in his instruction to guard the Main Stage's engine,” Liger said in his matter-of-a-fact rumble amid the vaporous cloak, strangely unmoved by seeing the main component in his diabolic plan go up in... steam. A suited luchador stood at his side, black umbrella shielding the chief executive's perfect coif from the stage's raining remnants.
“Gah! That runt has never–”
“–Been good for anything!”
The peacock twins chirped, too busy shielding themselves from the hail of waste with their great fan-like plumes to attack each other over their usual interruptions.
“Ah! But we must suffer to truly feel alive, mis hermanos,” the charming guitarist remarked with his dramatically romantic flair, brim of his hat turned down against the debris. “To suffer in this moment, brings us ever-closer to—BLARGH!”
The Flamenco Force's handsome leader was granted his wish to suffer. A blurred body slammed into him like a meteor, driving him through the deck yet again and into a splintered hole. The other Delgado siblings looked casually to smoldering crater. A head of blazing blue hair emerged from the crater where the sharply-dressed musician once stood.
“Oi oi...” came the disgruntled voice of none other than “Magnum” Garands himself, holding his head after brutalizing the smooth-talking landing pad for the second time in the eventful day. “Who the HELL messed up MY TITLE FIGHT?!”