[Round 2] Dave & Kenpachi vs Handsome Jack & Dane

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

With a hideous creak the floor had given way, spilling the combatants downward into gravity’s waiting embrace like so much garbage. The foursome landed a moment later among a shower of splintered flooring, tumbling haphazardly into what they would eventually realize was a now-disused home gym. The discordant din of domestic destruction would eventually give way to a more somber silence as the rubble began to settle. Save for the occasional threatening creak from the building’s frame, only the gentle gurgling of flowing fluid could be heard, murky, rust-flecked water dribbling from fractured pipes overhead onto the well-worn foam mats that lined the floor. Along the far wall, yellowy, stained window panes miraculously remained intact, painting a golden hue through the blizzard of crumbling gypsum board.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Strider groaned aloud, heaving a particularly large drywall panel off of his torso as he peeled himself out of the wreckage. “But can you try not to kill me here?”

“If these cowardly shits are gonna run and hide the whole time,” Kenpachi explained, steamrolling over the boy’s pleas. “‘Least we can do is keep them on their toes.”

The diminutive deejay rolled his eyes as he readied his claymore. “You cracked my cool guy shades,” he muttered, smearing a layer of dust from the lenses with his sleeve.

Zaraki could only offer a snort in retort before his keen eyes caught sight of peculiar movement from within the downpour of dust. A broad, pearly grin split the ragged ronin’s face as his right hand found his zanpakuto, drawing it back before lunging forward to deliver a quick slash through the visual distortion. The shinigami’s simper soon faded to a frown as the image of Handsome Jack appeared for but an instant before fading into a shower of azure pixels.

“Surprise, motherfuckers!”

The Time Knight’s pale paw instantly summoned up an ethereal turntable, a dramatic, rhythmic thrum meeting his comrade’s ears as Jack’s oblong ordinance skittered across the ground, stopping to tap gently against Kenpachi’s tabi-adorn foot. From across the room, the hunky narcissist and his stoic companion watched from behind a rack of dumbells as the towering samurai seemed to fast-forward as the tempo of Strider’s sick beat rapidly accelerated. With supernatural speed, even for Kenpachi, the robed shinigami lifted his knee high into the air before driving his sandal-clad foot down sharply onto the Thot Potato. A muffled boom shook the area a beat later as the munition detonated, discharging a fresh plume of smoky debris.

“Huh,” Dane chuckled, resting his stolen cleaver against his shoulder. “Didn’t think that would wo-” His comment was cut short as a familiar toothy figure lunged out of the chalky miasma, ebon mane flecked with bits of shredded blue yoga mat. “Yeah, that’s about where I thought this was going.”

“That guy is straight-up cut from the same cloth as the psychos,” Handsome Jack gawked, hastily drawing the One-Pump and ducking under a racked barbel to take off across the studio. “Sword vs. Machete; sounds like you’ve got this one covered, sweetie!”

Before Dane could offer a witty retort, he was forced to raise Jason’s blade to block what he could of the berserker’s nodachi. Despite a textbook parry, Regan quickly found himself staggering backward under the sheer might of the Death God’s strike, flashbacks of his only-too-recent clash with the masked murderer fresh in his mind. Steeling his resolve, the spellsword allowed the brute’s strength to drive him backward, turning abruptly on his heel as they neared the room’s back wall. Like a practiced matador, he steered the overeager samurai into the masonry as he would a frothing bull, the stoic battler smirking with smug satisfaction as Kenpachi barreled through an enormous poster of a greased-up meathead hefting an overloaded barbell. “Olé!”

“I thought you were gonna kick that grenade or something!” Dave called to his companion as he made chase behind the fleeing CEO, Caledscratch in hand. Despite his griping he kept his eyes on the prize, holding a Timetable at the ready as he kept at Jack’s heels. “Just my luck to go up against someone else who can duplicate. Luckily mine are the real McCoy.”

Meanwhile, Kenpachi emerged from the newly-created doorway into the adjoining room, raring for more. The same almost mocking grin was still etched into his countenance as he leapt toward Dane like a pouncing wildcat. He laid slice after slice into the wiley warrior, managing a few clean slashes across the swashbuckler's unarmored chest before Regan evanesced before his eyes. The shinigami truly hated fighting something that couldn’t keep still.

“Where the fuck are you hiding?” the shaggy samurai called out, emerging from behind the dumbell rack and shoving a torn punching bag out of the way to prowl for his quarry, grenade-ravaged foot leaving a trail of bloody prints in his wake.

“I wouldn’t call it hiding,” Dane commented as he reappeared, drawing the ebon-haired shinigami’s attention in time to witness the mage frisbeeing a 25-pound steel plate into his head.

849 words, via Google Docs.
Handsome Jack threw down an illusory dupe before tossing out a Thot Potato.
Dave accelerated time around Kenpachi to allow him to get the grenade out of the way, but Ken instead stomped it into the floor because he ain’t no coward.
Dane steered Ken into a wall and Dave is chasing Jack.
Dane threw a plate at Kenpachi’s face.