[center][h1][color=red]RED HOOD PIRATES[/color][/h1][hr]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/lislJP5.jpg?1[/img]

[b]Bogard Sunny x Drum Island x Bogard D. Sunny VS Drum Island[/b]

[@Ira] [@JmerlRobot] [@LokiLeo789] [@RyoRyoRyoKen] [@Tmitche23] [@Hillan][/center]

[indent] His breath flung from his chest before being snatched back in. He trudged through the snow narrow-minded. He was determined to get off Drum Island with his entire crew in tact, even if all he had to offer was hopeful wishes to the sea. He wondered, if only minutely, if the sea would respond with kindness. 

He paused, feeling the  burning in his flesh leg erupt. It brought him to a knee and in turn, the carpet carrying Xerxes-- who was wrecked and bloodied--wavered a foot below the snow.

[color=red][i]Not fucking happening,[/i][/color] he growled as he pushed himself upwards, a renewal in tenacity flushing him. He ignored the pain the  best he could and raised.  

In the time  he took trying to return his composure, Bogard heard Xerxes’ compliment. It was refreshing to hear, empowering to know even more. Hidden by the astrewn bangs of his hair, he grinned in the shadows of his face. [color=red][i]Luffy’s crew huh? That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted to hear. Luffy’s been my idol since forever. It feels good to actually be compared to him. But...[/i][/color] 

Bogard shook his head silently. [color=red][b] “Thanks, Xerxes… You don’t how much that means.”[/b][/color] 

He let out a mass of emotions through a cool exhale. When a low vibration hummed beneath him, he looked back to investigate. The gargantuan wood doll that now ruled the battlefield shook up massive amounts of snow. It didn’t seem to  bothered it.  The stampeding ice had taken to swallowing the village  and now it  continued down the mountain towards the ships. Bogard darted his head between the target and its bullet. 

[color=red][b] “O'shit. No, no, no, no!”[/b][/color] he shouted aloud. A stuttered breath left him as he mulled over the possible outcomes. None of them were good. Eventually the Marines would come with reinforcements and they would be stranded on Drum Island. Fighting a battle that never ceased. 

The sun was setting somewhat behind the harbor, it was paramount in his eyes. The plethora of colors that emanated from it was beautiful… especially the red.  

He had a thought then, a usage for the red that painted the clouds along side its brethren.  He plopped the injured Xerxes to the snow, his cloak lying dead beneath the ex-con. He stretched both his hands out towards the sky over the docks. The metal  of his mechanical arm was broken, bent, and shattered. The flesh of his real hand had been pink, mildly swollen, and purpled on his index finger. Still he stretched his will towards the thin line resting over the fading beacon of fire.  

He felt an overwhelming amount of strain coming from the leagues between them. Still he subjugated a small portion of the celestial phenomena. Both his hand clenched around some impossibly  thick object in midair. Red Hood strained and struggled, every fiber of him becoming taunt. He twisted and wrenched his will towards the supreme force  on Drum Island; the avalanche of snow and ice that rumbled towards him, Xerxes, and his vessel. 

The river of red that flew from out the sky curved over Bogard, basking half the island in its infinite hue. It zoomed towards the avalanche, beating it in strength, mass, and speed. It annihilated the snow, turning the fringes into small ice particles and the majority of it into nothing. The wave of red sputtered and became unruly afterwards, continuing on after Bogard’s will had been done. It damned it's red fury towards the wooden woman, threatening to devour its giant figure. Right before it reached her, it spurred upwards and slammed into the Prison, decimating an entire tower and maiming its twin. The pieces of stone was rocketed off to sea, where it splashed ripples. 

The blast faded into the sky with a giant sigh, giving its life back to the setting sun. 

Far from the main battle, Bogard’s body was prone in his wrenching motion. He could be mistaken for a small statue begging to the sky for mercy. If not for the rippling and thumping of his muscles beneath flesh and the erratic heaving of his back, one might think him frozen. When the first layer of snow had reached the ground again, a army of its battalion touching his skin, he reacted to the stimulation. 

A repulsive pain wracked his entire body,  contorted him. He felt himself double over so tightly that his head was between his legs, he knew he was screaming bloody murder.[/indent][hr]