Somebody shouted something.  #8 didn't know who it was, much less what they wanted.  He was pretty sure it was to hurt him though as was evident by the stranger's aggressive stance and the weapon raised over his head.  Some of the men under him were heading towards the guy, but they wouldn't make it in time.  The sword came down.  #8 gasped as he felt his ribs snap under the force of the swordsman's blow.  He tried to let out a long string of curses, or even a single biting one, but he couldn't muster the air.  His lung was definitely punctured by a rib.  He couldn't tell which one it was, exactly, on account of the whole world swimming in blurs of brown, blue and white, but he couldn't believe both of them were useless.  He'd be out cold if that was the case.  

"He's after #8"  One of the pirates shouted.  "Get him!"  Several legions moved towards the swordsman.  Strangely enough, none were holding weapons.  All their hands were stretched forwards.  They didn't want to immediately harm the man.  Their only goal was for as many as possible to grab onto the man and hold him till the flare could be sent. 

Bill, on the ground, surrounded by angry feet digging into his soft body, clung to conscious like a man on a ledge.  "Don't!"  Was all he was able to get out to the swordsman before air slammed into his gut.  All the air went out, and the red light behind his closed eye lids flickered in and out of sight.  

"#98!"  #97 shouted, as his friend fell from the ground.  "Damn you!"  He muttered, watching the man pull out a spear and run.  "Damn you to hell."  Clenching his teeth, the legionnaire looked around for something he could use for revenge before setting his eyes on the general store.  Grinning, he rushed over and kicked the door down, or tried to.  It took a few good ones before he was finally able to make it inside.  He took a moment to search the merchandise before settling on what he came for.  "Here we go."

Normally, the boss was against any type of firearms use in the legion pirates, because with so many members of the legion constantly swarming a place, and the shit they had for him, carrying them around did much more harm than good.  That being said, gunless was more a guideline than an actual rule.  Rifle in hand, #87 hurried to the roof and searched for his target in the fray.  The man didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment.  So #87 positioned himself with the rifle and took him.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of the javelin's from the explosion girl flying towards him.  He fought off the urge to run and fired a shot before being reduced to pieces in the explosion.    

Abbygail was not only able to parry her attacker's strike but sent the weapon flying into the air.  "Why are so many people around here afraid of you guys, again?"  A masked man rushed from Five O'Clock, hoping to get her from a blind spot.  With a flick of her wrist, she swung her scythe in an arc that got the would be assassin in the neck. 

"You stupid witch!"  The man in the mask before said, holding his wrist.  "Now you're helple..."  Abbygail palm struck the stranger in the forehead, snapping his neck back so it hung in such a way the back touched his shoulder blades, and denting the metal cover. 

"I'm never helpless."  With a twitch of her hands, both weapons returned to her.  A group of explosions, from behind her, caused her hair to fly out in front of her. "Ugh!"  She turned towards the woman with the javelins.  "Quit blowing everything up!"    

"Hurry up and close the distance on the one with red hair!"  One of the masked men called.  "She might not be hurt by explosions but her friends don't seem to work the same way." 
"Okay."  Abbygail muttered, rushing forwards with her scythe and cutting the man yelling directions down.  "That's enough out of you."  It was too late though as several of the legion pirates started running full speed in the explosion girl's direction. 

"Who the hell are you!"  One of the masked men snarled, head moving from the direction of his fallen comrades to the woman with the two swords.  He paused for a moment, unsure why it was.  Was he, a member of the legion pirates afraid of the woman in front of him?  Of course not.  Still, he was uneasy.  Apparently, that was something the others with him felt too, because there was hesitation in all their movements.  It didn't last long.  The creed of the legion pirates was 'death for the part was nothing so long as whole won,' or as many of the others said when time was of the essence 'be like the ants.'  They all shot forwards.  The one at the front raised a piece of wood over his head.  Two came from her left, swinging a chain, and the other with his hand thrusting forwards with a knife.  The last one, from seven o'clock hesitated the longest.  He was a bit older than the rest.  Instead of rushing straightforwards like the others he took a few quick steps and launched himself, hoping to smash into the woman's legs and then hold her down for his crew to do the rest.

"Hey #8!"  One of the men whispered as he got done on the ground to communicate to his superior.  "Are you trying to send up the orange flare?"  The leader couldn't speak or not but he rapidly blinked three times for yes.  "Gotcha.  Is it in the normal spot."  Another three rapid blinks.  "Alright, I got it."  Without waiting for anything to be said, the man behind the mask lit the flare and tossed it towards the street.  Before anyone could say anything, a long orange plumb of smoke rushed up the air.  It looked like a still, almost harmless glowing tornado.  

"That's the signal."  One of the legion pirates shouted.  "Everyone not currently engaged in combat get out of here."  The free pirates all quickly turned on their heels and rushed back from the alleys they had come.  

"Oh no you don't!"  Abbygail whispered.  She flung the waited end of her weapon at a fleeing pirate, causing it to wrap around his legs.  He fell with a scream.  The purple haired woman, despite the man's thrashing and clawing at the ground, began pulling him towards.  
Off to the side, now free of the pirates relentless assault, old Bill curled up in a fetal position, crying and muttering to himself.  "It's too late."  Over and over again.