ANGRY, HEAVILY BEARDED MAN IS SEATED AT THE BAR. BROWS ARE FURLED, EYES RED FOR NO APPARENT REASON. EVERYONE ELSE SEEMS PERFECTLY CALM WHILE THIS ONE MAN IS ABOUT READY TO EXPLODE. BOTTLE OF NONSPECIFIC BRAND ALCOHOL IS BEING HELD VERY TIGHTLY IN HIS RIGHT HAND. AUDIBLE GRUNTS ESCAPE THROUGH HIS TEETH.

ANIMATE SKELETON WEARING ORNATE JEWELRY AND CRIMSON ROBE STRUTS BY HIM AND TURNS TO THE BARTENDER, A BALD DUDE IN A NICE BLUE VEST. "EHHHHHH." SKELETON SAYS IN A RIDICULOUSLY COCKNEY ACCENT, SOMEHOW WITHOUT THE NEED OF VOCAL CHORDS AND OTHER ORGANIC SYSTEMS NECESSARY IN THE ACT OF SPEAKING, "WOULD YEH FACILITATE ME WITH A DEPLORABLE BEVERAGE, KIND SEH?"

"SURE." BALD-TENDER REPLIES, HANDING SKELETON A BEER. SKELETON NODS AND WRAPS HIS FREE HAND AROUND THE ANGRY BEARDED MAN, SAYING ALOUD, "QUALITY LIQUEH BE OCCUPATIN' AH GUZZAHDS TONOIGHT, EH RICHARD?"

NO.

NO MORE OF THIS.

BEARDED MAN'S GRIP TIGHTENS. BOTTLE SHATTERS, GLASS SHARDS PIERCE SKIN OF HIS HAND. HE LETS OUT A BLOOD-CURDLING YELL, PICKS UP HIS STOOL, AND SLAMS IT UPSIDE THE SKELETON'S HEAD, WHO FALLS TO THE FLOOR, RELATIVELY UNHARMED AND INTACT. BEARDED MAN CLIMBS UP ON TOP OF THE BAR, RIPS OFF HIS FLANNEL SHIRT, AND SCREAMS.



MOMENTARY SILENCE.

EVERYONE TURNS TO THE NEAREST LIVING THING AND SCREAMS IN THEIR FACE.

IT BEGINS.

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG FOR MORE PEOPLE TO JOIN THE BRAWL. WHAT COULD ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS A REPTILIAN HUMANOID WEARING CLOTHING THAT LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF THE SCI-FI CHANNEL LAUNCHED FROM THE CROWD. THE REPTILIAN MAN WAS MUCH LARGER THAN THE MAN, AND DESPITE THE JAWS AND CLAWS GIFTED TO THE HUMANOID BY NATURE, DELIVERED A CLOSE FISTED PUNCH TO THE MAN'S FACE WITH SUCH FORCE THAT IT LAUNCHED THE MAN INTO THE WALL OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE ON DISPLAY BEHIND THE BAR.

"YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE PUBES GROWING ON YOUR FACE." THE REPTILIAN MAN SHOUTED.

THE BEARDED MAN FELL TO THE FLOOR, SURROUNDED BY BROKEN GLASS AND WASTED BOOZE. HE WAS OUT FOR THE COUNT, OBVIOUSLY NOT HOLDING UP TO THE STRENGTH AND VIGOR HE HAD DISPLAYED JUST A MOMENT AGO. THE BARTENDER LOOKED DOWN AT THE MESS, AND THEN UP AT THE REPTILIAN MAN. HE POINTED A FINGER AT HIM AND ANNOUNCED, “YOU’RE PAYING FOR THAT, YOU LIZARD SUMBITCH.”

THE LIZARD SIMPLY YELLED IN RESPONSE, TO WHICH THE BARTENDER RETALIATED AND GRABBED A FINE PUMP-ACTION FROM UNDERNEATH THE BAR, FULLY LOADED. HE PUMPED AND AIMED AT THE REPTILIAN BEHEMOTH, UNLOADED SHELL AFTER SHELL INTO HIS UPPER BODY, ONLY TO BE STOPPED HALFWAY BY A RAGING BALL OF FIRE HURDLING TOWARDS HIS SHINY CRANIUM. HE DUCKED BEHIND THE COUNTER, SCRAMBLING FOR MORE AMMUNITION.

MEANWHILE, OVER IN ONE OF THE BOOTHS, A REDHEADED GIRL IN A GREEN TUNIC WAS SWINGING A BROADSWORD AROUND HAPHAZARDLY, YELLING INCOHERENTLY. A MAN PLAGUED BY AN ELDRITCH MUTATION BUMPED INTO HER SIDE, TO WHICH SHE TOOK GREAT OFFENSE, AND PROCEEDED TO CLEAVE OFF HIS HEAD. SHE HELD IT UP AND SCREAMED AT IT, AND THE SEVERED HEAD SCREAMED BACK IN AN UNHOLY TONGUE. SHE HELD THE HEAD UP HIGH, FOOT PLANTED ON HER VICTIM'S LIFELESS CARCASS.

TO LIVE AND DIE GLORIOUSLY, TO BATHE IN THE BLOOD OF HER ENEMIES, TO GORGE ON THE HEARTS OF BEASTS, THIS WOULD BE HER FINAL BATTLE TO PROVE HER WORTH TO THOSE WHO STAND AT THE GATES OF VALHALLA.

A YOUNG TROLL HAD BEEN SITTING AT ONE END OF THE BAR SINCE LONG BEFORE ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. SHE HAD COME HERE TO RELAX, DAMN IT, BUT NOW SINCE FIGHTING HAD BEGUN, SHE WAS FEELING THE VIOLENT WAYS OF HER PEOPLE COMING TO THE SURFACE AND REPRESSED BLOODLUST BOILING INSIDE HER. ALTHOUGH AT FIRST SHE TRIED TO RESIST, SHE NOW LEAPED ON TOP OF THE BAR WITH A SCREECH, TRUSTY MACE IN HAND, PERFECTLY JOYFUL TO MAIM WHOMEVER SHE FELT DESERVED IT.

DESPITE THE LIZARD MAN ABSORBING SHELL AFTER SHELL OF GUNFIRE RIGHT BESIDE HER, THE TROLL SEEMED MUCH MORE INTERESTED IN THE REDHEAD OVER THERE IN ONE OF THE BOOTHS, AND IN THE SEVERED HEAD THAT SHE CLUTCHED IN WHAT LOOKED TO THE TROLL LIKE A PREMATURE DECLARATION OF VICTORY. HOW DARE SHE?

AND WITH THAT, THE GRAY-SKINNED HUMANOID CHARGED TOWARD THE GREEN-CLAD HUMAN, MACE RAISED, AND BEGAN TO LAY INTO HER OVER AND OVER AGAIN WITH SAID MACE WHILE SHRIEKING HYSTERICALLY UNTIL HER MACE GLISTENED WITH BRIGHT RED BLOOD AND PIECES OF INTERNAL ORGANS.

ANOTHER YOUNG TROLL, THOUGH SIGNIFICANTLY AND VISIBLY OLDER THAN THE LAST, ENTERS THE BAR WITHOUT EXPECTING TO WALK INTO SUCH A CLUSTERFUCK OF A PLACE. THE FIRST WORDS OUT OF HER MOUTH AS SHE SEES HER COMPANION UNLOADING THE NASTIEST CAN OF WHOOP-ASS SHE EVER SAW ON A RED-HEAD ARE, "OH, WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON HERE? STUPID FUCKING LAND DWELLERS."

YET, AS SHE GOES TO INTERVENE, HER ATTENTION IS TURNED TO THE BULLET-FILLED LIZARD MAN AND THE BALD-TENDER DUCKING BEHIND THE COUNTER. THE WALL BEHIND THE BAR HAS CAUGHT FIRE, AND THE TROLL CAN ONLY WONDER WHAT KIND OF LITERAL HELL SHE HAS STEPPED INTO. SHE LOVES IT.

APPROACHING THE BAR QUICKLY, SHE JUMPS OVER THE TOP AND GRABS THE BALD-TENDER BY THE SHOULDERS, SHAKING HIM, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

THE LIZARD WAS SURPRISINGLY UNAFFECTED BY THE BULLETS, BUT AS THE FIREBALL PASSED THROUGH, IT BURNT FLESH FROM THE LIZARDS BODY, EXPOSING A MENTALIC ENDOSKELETON.

THE LIZARD TOOK SUNGLASSES OUT OF HIS POCKET AND PLACED THEM OVER HIS FACE, HALF OF HIS FACE BEING BURNT OFF ALLOWED HIS METAL EYE TO GLOW RED THROUGH THE TINTED GLASS.

TERMINATOR STYLE, BITCH.

THE LIZARD STALKED UP TO THE NEW TROLL AND DELIVERED A PUNCH TO THE TROLLS FOREHEAD WITH CYBERNETIC ACCURACY, RESULTING IN A CRACKED CRANIUM.

THE TROLL STARES AT THE REPTILIAN MAN WITH BRIGHT PURPLE BLOOD DRIPPING FROM HER FOREHEAD. HER MOUTH FALLS OPEN, JAW UNHINGED, AND SHE LETS OUT AN UNEARTHLY SCREECH BEFORE APPEARIFYING HER HARPOON AND SHOOTING HIM STRAIGHT IN THE FACE.

"EAT SPEAR, DICK FACE."

THE FIRST TROLL, THE ONE FROM BEFORE, WAS DISTRACTED FROM HER BRUTAL BEATING OF THE RED-BLOODED, RED-HEADED HUMAN BY WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN ATTACK ON HER DEAR, LOVELY MOIRAIL, AND IF SHE WAS ENRAGED BEFORE THEN NOW SHE WAS GORDON RAMSEY: SPOUTING BLOOD IN AN ANGER-INDUCED NOSEBLEED AND SHOUTING INCOHERENTLY ABOUT HOW NOBODY FUCKS WITH ANYONE IN HER QUADRANTS. SHE TURNED AWAY FROM THE MOSTLY-GUTTED REDHEAD AND THREW HER MACE SKILLFULLY STRAIGHT INTO THE REPTILIAN MAN'S RIBCAGE, BUSINESS-END FIRST. IT DID NOT MATTER THAT HE ALREADY HAD A HARPOON LODGED FIRMLY IN HIS FACE. THIS WAS FOLLOWED QUICKLY BY A DROPKICK THAT LEFT HER ON THE FLOOR FLOPPING LIKE A FISH UNTIL SHE MANAGED TO STAND UP.

AT WHICH POINT SHE PROCEEDED TO STOMP LIZARD-MAN'S THROAT IN.

THE TOILET FLUSHES.

THE BATHROOM DOOR OPENS.

IT'S A FUCKING COWBOY.

HE GIVES A QUICK TIP OF HIS HAT TO THE CLAYMORE-WIELDING REDHEAD AND DRAWS ONE OF HIS REVOLVERS, FIRING SIX SHOTS IN SUCCESSION INTO THE BACK OF THE UNRULY TEENAGE CLOWN STOMPING WHATEVER HORRIBLE SCALEY THING LAID BEFORE HIM. WHATEVER IN TARNATION THE MANLIKE-LIZARD MAY BE, ITS NAME AND SPECIES ARE LOST ON THE COWBOY, WHO ONLY KNOWS OF ONE KIND OF ANIMAL: THE COW. THE COWBOY SPINS HIS REVOLVER AND BLOWS ON THE SMOKE LIKE A FUCKING G.

NOT WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM THE CLOWN'S CLOWN-FRIENDS, THE COWBOY GIVES AN ADDITIONAL TIP OF HIS HAT AND CLOSES THE DOOR, AUDIBLY LOCKING IT. HE STEPS TO THE SIDE AND DRAWS HIS SECOND REVOLVER, WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO AVENGE THE CLOWN OR NEED TO PISS TO ENACT FURTHER BLOODSHED.

HE WHISTLES A SAD COWBOY WHISTLE AND ADJUSTS HIS ASSLESS CHAPS.

WITHOUT WARNING, THE SECOND TROLL CHARGES AWAY FROM THE REPTILIAN MALE AND INTO THE BATHROOM WHERE THE FUCKING COWBOY HAS RETREATED. SHE KICKS OPEN THE STALL DOOR, AND WITH A MIGHTY ROAR, SINKS HER TEETH DIRECTLY INTO HIS PUNY, HUMAN THROAT BEFORE HE CAN REACT, EFFICIENTLY RIPPING HIS WINDPIPE OUT FROM UNDERNEATH HIS DISGUSTING FLESH.

SHE SWALLOWS IT WHOLE.

A GRAY, EYELESS THING WITH BITS OF METAL POKING OUT OF HIS HEAD ATTEMPTS TO SIT COMFORTABLY AT A TABLE WHILE THE REST OF THE PATRONS SMACK SHIT AROUND HIM.

ANOTHER BALD MAN, NOT THE BARTENDER OF THIS ABSOLUTE FAILURE OF AN ESTABLISHMENT, SLAMS HIS HEAD AGAINST THE TABLE’S SURFACE AND YELLS, “THE BLOOD OF THE WARRIORS FILLS ME WITH DESTRUCITY!”

UNBRIDLED RAGE BOILS WITHIN THE EYELESS BEING, WHO BEGINS TO TWITCH FEVERISHLY.

“NOW YOU WILL EXPERIENCE ALL UNPLEASANTRIES! I WILL BREAK YOUR SPINE, UNTIL YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN PAIN!”

EYELESS SCREECHES, SIMILARLY TO A BARN OWL, AND YANKS OUT ONE OF THE METAL SHARDS IN HIS HEAD, STABBING BALDY IN HIS HEAD BEFORE STANDING UPRIGHT AND JAMMING THE THING INTO HIS NECK. BALDY FALLS BACKWARD, A CRAZED SMILE ON HIS FACE, AND THE EYELESS BEING YANKS OUT TWO MORE SHARDS FROM HIS SCALP BEFORE CONTINUING HIS RAMPAGE.

MEANWHILE, THE BALD-TENDER HAS RECOVERED. HE STANDS UP, SHOTGUN IN HAND, AND VAULTS OVER THE BAR, WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD. HE RUNS OUT OF AMMUNITION MIDWAY THROUGH HIS CRUSADE, AND RESORTS TO RAW PUGILISM, BUILDING UP HIS ULTIMATE METER WITH SICK COMBOS AND THE OCCASIONAL TAUNT.

THE FIRST TROLL IS KNOCKED TO THE FLOOR BESIDE LIZARD-MAN, AND LIES FACE DOWN AS HER MULTIPLE GUNSHOT WOUNDS BEGIN TO STAIN HER SHIRT THE SICKLY TEAL COLOR OF HER BLOOD. SHE SPITS UP BLOOD, STANDS UP, AND WINCES A LITTLE BECAUSE WOW. BULLETS KIND OF HURT. SHE LOOKS AROUND, DOES A SICK YOUTHROLL OVER THE BAR, AND GRABS A BOTTLE OF THE MOST DISGUSTING, SICKENING BEVERAGE AVAILABLE, WHICH IS OF COURSE, FAYGO.

SHE TAKES A FEW DESPERATE SWIGS OF THE SYRUPY FILTH.

SHE IS DOWN WITH THE CLOWN.

WITH A REFRESHED SIGH, THE YOUNG TROLL DOES A DOUBLE FRONT-FLIP OVER THE BAR, PICKS UP HER MACE, AND TWIRLS AROUND WITH IT UNTIL IT HITS THE BALD-TENDER SQUARE IN THE FACE WITH ITS SPIKY BUSINESS END.

WELL-GROOMED MAN IN SUIT STRUTS THROUGH THE COMMOTION. ORC BARBARIAN ATTEMPTS TO PILE DRIVE HIM, SUIT DELIVERS A SWIFT KICK TO THE ORC’S GUT, GRABS HIS FOOT, AND FLIPS HIM OVER. HE WORKS HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD UNTIL HE FINDS THE BLOODIED BARTENDER BEATING THE SNOT OUT OF A TROLL WITH HER OWN SEVERED HORN.

“SIMON, WHAT THE FUCK?” THE SUIT CALLS OUT. THE BARTENDER, NAME REVEALED TO BE SIMON (TRULY A BITCH MONIKER) TURNS HIS BARE HEAD AND DROPS THE TROLL ON THE FLOOR, AND THEN KICKS HER INTO THE NEAREST WALL.

“WHAT?” SIMON REPLIES, ARMS STRETCHED OUT IN A MOCKING FASHION.

“I’M PAYING YOU TO RUN A BAR, NOT A FIGHT CLUB, YOU FUCKING CHROME DOME.” THE SUIT SAYS ANGRILY.

“WELL FUCK YOU, GUY.” SIMON SHOUTS BACK, POINTING.

THAT DID IT. SUIT CLENCHED HIS FISTS AND BEGAN MAKING HIS WAY TOWARDS SIMON, WHO RAISED HIS FISTS IN PREPARATION FOR A RIGHT TUSSLE. UN/FORTUNATELY, SUIT WAS PROMPTLY GRABBED BY THE TALONS OF A CRAZED HARPY, AND WHISKED UP INTO THE OPEN SPACE ABOVE THE BRAWLING PATRONS. THERE WAS A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF HEIGHT TO THE ESTABLISHMENT’S INTERIOR TO ALLOW FOR SUCH A FEAT.

“THIS ISN’T OVER, SIMON!” THE SUIT CALLS OUT, SHAKING HIS FIST MADLY. SIMON TURNS HIS HEAD TOWARDS A TROOP OF WELL-ARMORED SPACE-FARING TROOPERS, NO DOUBT OFF DUTY, POSSIBLY IN SEARCH OF A GOOD RUCKUS. WELL, THEY CERTAINLY GOT ONE, REGARDLESS.

THEY ALL TURNED TOWARDS SIMON, AND THE TROOP COMMANDER RAISED HIS METAL FINGER. “YOU.” HE CALLED OUT IN THE MOST SERIOUS OF TONES, “THIRTY-NINE BULLETS.”

SIMON DID NOT RESPOND. HE SIMPLY CHARGED FORTH, AND UNLEASHED THE FULL FURY OF A BARTENDER SCORNED.

SOMEONE WEARING A ROOSTER MASK BURSTS INTO THE BAR WIELDING A PIPE. SCREAMING RABIDLY HE JUMPS HIGH INTO THE AIR AND DROPKICKS A GRAY, EYELESS THING @SepticGentleman. THE ROOSTER-MAN LANDS ON HIS BACK, AND THEN KICKS THE AIR, LAUNCHING HIMSELF BACK ONTO HIS FEET. HE SWINGS HIS PIPE AT SOMETHING ELSE, BUT APPARENTLY MISSES.

THE EYELESS BEING LIES ON THE FLOOR, DAZED AND BRUISED. HE IS PROMPTLY PICKED UP BY A LUMBERING FIGURE, CLAD IN A HEAP OF METAL PLATING, LOOKING RIGHT OUT OF SOME KIND OF RAIDER-FILLED WASTELAND.

THE METAL BEHEMOTH TAKES THE EYELESS BEING BY HIS LEGS, INTENDING TO USE HIM AND HIS SPIKE-FILLED HEAD AS SOME KIND OF LIVING FLAIL. HE CHARGES TOWARDS A YOUNG, BLACK-HAIRED WOMAN WEARING AN ORNATE RED AND BLACK COAT, FLINGING FIRE FROM HER HANDS AT ANYTHING IN SIGHT. SHE TURNS HER HEAD AND ENGULFS THE ONCOMING JUGGERNAUT IN FLAMES, BUT THE HEAT DOES NOT DETER HIM. HE SLAMS THE EYELESS BEING’S HEAD AGAINST HERS, SENDING HER SOARING OVER THE CROWD.

THE METAL BEHEMOTH SCREAMS, WAVING THE UNCONSCIOUS MAN-FLAIL IN THE AIR, BEFORE TURNING TOWARDS THE TERMINATOR-LIZARD-ABOMINATION @JunkMail AND POINTING AT IT, WITH SERIOUS INTENT TO HARM.

BEHOLD, THE CLASH OF THE TITANS.

THE CYBER LIZARD WAS NOT ONE TO BACK DOWN FROM A CHALLENGE. IT TURNED TO A WALL AND SCANNED THE SURFACE, AND UPON FINDING IT'S QUARRY, PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE WALL. WHAT IT RETRIEVED WAS A CINDER BLOCK, WITH A THICK CHAIN ATTATCHED TO IT. UPON IT'S SIDE THE WORDS "THE TRUTH" WERE CARVED.

"YOU CANT HANDLE IT!" THE TERMINATOR LIZARD SHOUTED, HURLING THE MASSIVE BLOCK WITH MECHANICAL PRECISION. THE BLOCK FLEW THROUGH THE AIR AND NAILED THE METAL MAN WITH THE FORCE OF THOR'S HAMMER.

"GET FUCKED ON."

@Stekkmen @JunkMail A FAIRLY NOTICEABLE MAN IN A - FAMILIAR TO SOME - RED SUIT HAD BEEN SAT IN THE CORNER THE WHILE TIME. A GRIN WAS PLASTERED ON HIS FACE, ONLY VISIBLE DUE TO THE CREASE IN THE RED FABRIC THAT HIS MASK WAS CREATED FROM, AND THE RAISING OF THE CARTOON-LIKE BLACK AND WHITE CIRCLES THAT WERE HIS EYES. STRAPPED TO HIS BACK WERE 2 KATANAS, AND AN SMG WAS BEING TAPPED AGAINST HIS CROSSED LEGS RATHER PRECARIOUSLY. YES, THIS MAN WAS NONE OTHER THAN THE LEGENDARY MERC WITH A MOUTH - DEADPOOL.

HE HOPPED OFF HIS SEAT, SURVEYING THE SITUATION WITH A LESS-THAN-SERIOUS MINDSET. "OH, HELL NO, I'M NOT GETTING LEFT OUT OF THIS," WERE THE ONLY WORDS SPOKEN, AND HE RAN HEADLONG INTO BATTLE. WADE IMMEDIATELY UNSHEATHED HIS KATANAS, UNLOADING HIS ENTIRE SMG MAGAZINE INTO A WEIRD-ASS GUY WITH A CHICKEN HEAD. THEN, HE TURNED TO THE NEXT THING - A WEIRD TERMINATOR LIZARD THINGYMABOB - AND SKEWERED IT LIKE A KEBAB WITH HIS KATANAS.

NOW THAT'S HOW YOU FIGHT.

LOOKING FOR A DRINK, AND A BEER, A RANDOM WALKING SKELETON CAME THROUGH THE DOOR. THE SKELETON SAW THE FIGHT, STUCK A BLUNT IN BETWEEN HIS JAWS, AS IF HE COULD BREATHE HEHEHE, AND FIRED A BOLT OF LIGHTNING CRACKLING TOWARDS THE OLD TROLL.

THE MEN’S BATHROOM DOOR, SOURCE OF ALL THINGS TRULY BEAUTIFUL IN THIS WORLD, SWUNG OPEN NOT ONCE, NOT TWICE, BUT FOUR TIMES AGAIN, WITH EACH SWING RELEASING A MAN DRESSED FOR A BARBERSHOP QUARTET - RED STRIPED SUITS AND SHORT-BRIM HATS ALL. AND THEY WERE ALREADY HARD AT WORK ON THEIR ACT.

“OOOOOOOOHHHH, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIRE’S IN YOUR EYE-HE-EYYYYYYES,
AND THIS CHAOS, IT DEFIES IMAGINATIOOOOON,
OOOOHH, FIVE-SIX-SEVEN-EIGHT-MINUS NINE LIIIIII-HE-IIIIIVES,
YOU’VE ARRIVED AT PANIC STATIOOOOOOOOOON…”

UNBEFITTING TUNE IN REGARDS TO THEIR GETUP, BUT THEY NAILED THE SOUND REGARDLESS. HOWEVER, THEY WERE SINGING INSTEAD OF FIGHTING, AND THAT WAS JUST PLAIN UNACCEPTABLE.

A SHOGUN WARRIOR FINISHED CUTTING DOWN A SENTIENT LAWNMOWER, AND TURNED TOWARDS THE QUARTET. HE CHARGED FORTH, BLADE RAISED, ONLY TO TRIP OVER A STRAY TAIL. HE TUMBLED FORWARD, AND HIS THROAT WAS SNATCHED BY ONE OF THE QUARTET, WHO PROMPTLY RIPPED OFF HIS HELMETED HEAD IN ONE SWIFT MANEUVER. THE SHOGUN’S BODY FELL TO THE FLOOR, AND HIS HEAD WAS HELD UP HIGH.

THE QUARTET JOINED TOGETHER AND SIMULTANEOUSLY LET OUT A CATCHY, “MMMMMM-HMMMMM.” THE SHOGUN’S HEAD WAS TOSSED ASIDE, AND THE QUARTET FORMED A SIDE-TO-SIDE SQUARE FORMATION, READY FOR MORE BLOODSHED, HUMMING A TUNE ALL THE WHILE.

@Wade Wilson

JUST LIKE THE DISH SOAP AJAX, YOUR UNORIGINAL CHARACTER WAS UNPREPARED. MUCH LIKE WOLVERINE, THE TERMINATOR LIZARD SNAPPED THE KATANA WHERE HE WAS IMPALED IN HALF WITH HIS METAL SKELETON AND BECAUSE HE WAS SEVERAL TIMES DEADPOOL'S SIZE, PROMPTLY TORE WADE'S HEAD FROM HIS BODY AND PLACED WADE'S HEAD A BARREL OF MEAD.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR THINKING FIGHTING A ROBOT MEANS STABBING IT, YOU PEPPERONI PIZZA LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER."

SUDDENLY ANOTHER MAN BURST IN, ALREADY COVERED IN BLOOD. THIS MAN HOWEVER LOOKED LIKE HE HAD REVOLVER GROWING OUT OF HIS FOREHEAD. THE HAMMER ON THE BACK OF HIS SKULL WENT DOWN. THE CRANIUM FIRED A BULLET ROUGHLY THE SIZE AND SHAPE OF A SOFTBALL AT THE SPEED OF SOUND AT THE FIRST TROLL IN THE AREA, PIERCING IT'S BODY AND LEAVING A HOLE THE SIZE OF A BOWLING BALL IN IT'S CHEST. THE BULLET CONTINUED ON PAST THE OTHER TROLL, MOVING SO QUICKLY AND WITH SUCH FORCE THAT BEING WITHIN A FEW FEET OF THE OTHER TROLL RESULTED IN IT'S ARM BEING TORN OFF BY THE VACUUM CREATED BY AIR MOVING OUT OF THE WAY SO QUICKLY.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY." GUN-FACE SHOUTED, PREPARING TO TAKE ANOTHER SHOT.