Рџсђрёрјрѕ С‚р°рѕс†сѓрµс‚ Рїрѕрґ Austronomia... - Рўрєр°с‡р°с‚сњ Р¤сѓс‚р°р¶ Рр»сњ
He didn't attack. He started to shuffle. With a grace that defied his massive frame, he began the iconic dance. He crossed his arms, stepping side-to-side in perfect synchronization with the beat. He was no longer a threat; he was a performer.
As the smoke finally touched them, El Primo triggered his Super one last time—not to crush Colt, but to launch himself into the air, silhouetted against the sun in a mid-air dance pose. The screen faded to black. He didn't attack
El Primo spun, his mask gleaming. He tapped his heels, his movements mimicking the famous pallbearers. He wasn't just BM-ing (bad-mannering); he was inviting Colt to the final party. He crossed his arms, stepping side-to-side in perfect
Colt took cover behind a cactus, his fingers twitching over his revolvers. Across the clearing, he saw him: . The massive wrestler was at full health, his purple cape fluttering in the wind, his fists glowing with the energy of a ready Super. The screen faded to black
From somewhere across the dunes, a faint, synthesized beat began to thrum. Dun-dun-dun-dun, dun, dun-dun-dun-dun... The infectious rhythm of filled the arena. El Primo’s shoulders began to bounce.
Colt lowered his guns, mesmerized. He looked at the poisonous green gas creeping toward them. Usually, this was the moment of panic, the "Game Over" screen. But with El Primo leading the funeral march for their own match, it felt... right.
Colt checked his ammo. One shot left. He stepped out, ready to go down in a blaze of glory.