"I killed Vinny a couple of years ago, just like I'll kill y'all. There are no more Red Waters." The name Red Water Pirates hi-jacked his conscious and took him many years back. Open seas, spilled blood, alcohol scented bars, bonds forged over looting and fighting, back to leash-less times. Basa didn't have time for nostalgia though, at least not in the sense of mental detachment from the situation. Though the journey was short, he did drag a fragment of his former pride and shameless persona with him back from the crypts of his time as a Pirate in general. Back when he'd do whatever he had to do to gain one single yard on a play. The scale of the game was unimportant, back then, it was as if his existence was limited to a five minute span. And in those five minutes he had to redefine himself as who he wanted to be, someone who did what they needed to, to claw to the top.

Timing the plot he devised for his next move as his executioner approached, to the surprise of many a piece of fruit gifted him more valuable grains of sand known as time. Though it struck the fishman, it didn't do damage, but it was a distraction nonetheless, as did the unveiling of the fruit's thrower. Alphie couldn't help but laugh out loud with the condescendence of an entitled prince. Not at the small looking female that wouldn't even function as an appetizer for the fishmen, but at the humor of the situation. Perhaps he was delusional from the pain and feeling he was possibly on his last string if things kept moving how they were. Although the Ensign was cackling, he was still in tune with the situation and especially one of the key factors to the future of the development. The grip. With so many new arrivals, Alphie''s gut told him he'd be getting out alive and live to keep climbing. It was the bloke from before who ended up tossing Alphie the key to freedom unintentionally. At the sound of the other Ensign's pistol going off, Axel, Basa could feel he grip on his wrist loosen subconsciously from worry. Poison lathered his sin covered grin. Stealing that instant of time, Basa moved his left hand downwards quickly and successfully out the hold. The fishman was in the process of looking down at Alphie, but he wasn't swift enough. Jamming the pistol back upwards, but a few inches over to the side, the fishman would realize he was about to have his life snatched. With Basa's captor having been crouched down to reach his arm in a conventional and natural manner, he was closer to the Marine and also in range for the bottom of his jaw to be vulnerable. The placement of the pistol thrust was against the soft underside of his mouth and the expression the fishman made, tickled Basa's heart.

Through the flesh, through the tongue, through the roof of the mouth, through the nasal passage, between the optics, through the brain, the bullet swam unimpeded, blasting the chump's consciousness straight out the top of his head. "Told ya." Brains and matter spurt out the cranium and the body reclined back without the pink matter needed to keep him alive. The body hitting the concrete was a satisfying thump. His toxic grin persisted through murder. Such a thing was potent enough to charm the venom out a serpent.

Nonchalantly gathering himself, Basa first sat up, then he came to his feet. His left hand held his pistol rather loosely, as he clutched his right arm nursing it throughout said movements. With both the fishmen down, a few remained in the area, the squid and his allies, but a few additional demons that were now moving in on their location.

Out the flames, burning homes, and smoke like apparitions from hell, with bloodstained garbs, and some wounds, more of the devils faded onto the scene. "Told you I smelled some fresh blood." When one grimy stream of sound retched out from a pair of red stained lips, the others reciprocated the otherworldly cackle with their own muddy and sticky and dry and chilling noises that were laughs. The demonic symphony could evoke paralysis even in the bodies of the rigor-mortis stricken corpses that littered the plaza. In Basa's perception, it couldn't be recognized as laughter. That was without seeing the ghoulish criminal expressions and frames jitter and animate in synch with the morbid cawing. While it grew louder, the frames that were backlit from the raging inferno of hell's flame moved closer into the opening the small four man militia occupied. From all direction they moved in, but they were halted before they would be able initiate an assault. During this whole ghastly scene the crackling of hungry flames licking at wood, didn't only choke the already stuffed atmosphere with banter, but it also produced a scent that Alphie had never forgotten. Rather than evoking murderous emotions, it made his stomach churn uncomfortably. Burning flesh and bones. This was beyond normal pirating, at least in the Four Blues. It was an act of sheer hate of human life specifically. His eyes were restless, not even sold on letting the lids of his eyes flicker, though the smoke was brushing over the emerald peepers without stillness. Despite the tension in his body and his mind's pleas, Basa was practically held hostage by the smoke that felt abrasive to the throat when inhaled in the lightest volume. Eyelids flickering, eyeballs consuming his surroundings with savagery of a starved beast, the Ensign did his best to work the digits of his single able hand to feed his revolver fresh bullets. The metallic pitter patter of forlorn shells was swallowed by the vile jesting and cursing from the approaching enemies along with the sound of their footsteps. Having loaded Curtail, with caution, Alphie undid the top few buttons of his smoke stained officer's jacket. Groaning to himself in pain, with edged breaths, he worked the temporarily useless limb into the opening, elbow and a bit of the forearm still peeking out. It worked to keep the weight of the arm just drooping from causing him pain in addition to the rhythmic knocking of pain he still did feel from blow he took itself.

"It's like hell's gates open, what the fuck is this." While the horrific imagery didn't frighten Alphie, he did find discomfort accumulating itself to form a knot in his chest. "I don't suppose anyone has a plan?" Just moments ago, the Ensign had cherished the defeat of the mallet wielding s.o.b. and the other fishman. They only thing they had had left was the remaining few fishmen, but now they had roughly thirty additional conjurations to dispatch. But, as said before they could start their assault they would be halted. Heroic timing, the three captains would make their entrance, with the squall of a rifle. Effortlessly a bullet would excavate a hole clean through one of the hell spawn's chest. The sound of life leaving the miscreants body, was a raspy shout that scratched the ears, and would make one think he was dragging phlegm out of his throat. Immediately after was the body of another wretch simply falling apart. Separated at the arm, the limb had yet to fall, by the time the next maneuver bisected the humanoid entirely. Then finally was the most attention demanding action of them all. A single fishman, then another was hurled straight through a half crumbled home, that was mostly flaming rubble now. Battered, face swollen and alien like, the bodies would skip twice off the concrete before stopping out of a roll in the center of the plaza. They still had their life's, but Alphie knew they were suffering more alive in the condition they were in. "These bastards." Alphie muttered trying to hold back a persistent smile, while the Captain's stepped into the plaza outside the ring of the fishmen, that had encircled three of their opposers. The fourth, Leparo, was outside this ring, but close to a Captain, the female to be exact. The one responsible for the three clean slices of fishman in the plaza. "This should be the last of them." She declared, with unwavering constitution.

乐 乑 乒 乓 out of character 乔 乕 乖 乗: