Not one, not two, but three portly adversaries barrel toward Mustapha. Like a prized bullfighter, he stylishly steps aside and watches as they miss their mark. Mustapha grabs the closest combatant — decked out in a ridiculous pastel purple t-shirt and blue jeans — and hurls him at his two comrades.
After a comical moment of rotund gents falling over one another in confusion, Mustapha finishes them off with a few of his signature flying kicks. Before moving on, he knocks over a suit of armor and collects the gold that was stashed inside. Bonus!
Where to drop the candy? I take my time to study the terrain, trying to determine how best to maximize my chances of snagging the ticket. After much deliberation, I let go and watch as the sugary treat bobs and bounces downward through the maze of pins.
It looks like success will be mine, but at the last minute my fortune shifts. The candy hops to the left, just narrowly missing the ticket. Better luck tomorrow, I guess.
The rough weather is really picking up. Arthur pushes forward, but something doesn’t seem quite right. It’s as if the wind is possessed by devils. Agility was never his strong suit, and before long a particularly nasty gust knocks his armor away. Decked out in nothing more than his heart-patterned boxer shorts, Arthur struggles to duck and dodge the oncoming barrage. Sadly, his best efforts are not enough, and within moments all that is left of our fearless hero is a pile of bones.
It’s time to change up my look, so I pop in to Cooler Heads to scope out my options. Annie is her usual self, reserved and with little to say. Moe, on the other hand, is in top form today.
None of the gear for sale sparks my interest, not to mention Moe’s rude demeanor isn’t putting me in the mood to shop. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend him, but he is relentless. When Annie quietly complimented my progression amongst the player ranks, he boasted of his superiority over me. He also pointed out I was “broke” when I took a peek at a helmet that was a bit out of my price range.
Deciding I’d endured enough abuse for one day, I call it quits and head over to Shrimp Kicks to get some new shoes instead. On my way out, Moe announces that I wasted their time. Annie just stares at me with a meek look on her face.
It was back-and-forth throughout the entirety of our match, but at long last Plants emerged the victors. Cue the post-game trash talking while everyone awaits the start of the next round. Most of the players sound as if they are still in elementary school.
A particularly high-pitched voice giggles and taunts, “Hey Zombies! You guys are losers!” He continues on in this way until a deeper, older voice finally chimes in.
“Look at your stats, kid. You didn’t even take anyone down. You suck.”
The high-pitched voice stammers for a moment, searching for words. “Uh. Um. Uh. Whatever. You’re the one who sucks!” He laughs nervously and waits, but there is no response. He tries again, “I said you’re the one who sucks!” Still no response. He gets infuriated. “Hey! Loser! Loooo-ser! Loser, are you there? Loooooser!”
The next round begins, and the high-pitched voice continues to expel mockery, clearly hoping for his opponent to take the bait. But his voice is the only thing heard, drowning out everything else. “Hey loser! You’re a loooooo-ser! A loooooo-ser!” he sings.
I press the triangle button on my Playstation controller and select “Mute All.” Ah, that’s better.
Mario becomes fixated on the ball’s spin as it floats toward him. Up to this point, the rally had been impeccable, dealing damaging blow after blow to their menacing foe. Now, it was all up to Mario to finish the job. Missing this opportunity would leave his team vulnerable to a counter-attack, which was not an option seeing as Luigi’s low health had him teetering on the point of collapse.
With his feet firmly dug in, Mario pulls back his racket, takes a deep breath, and swings with all his strength. The impact is mighty, causing the ball to propel forward as if it were a heat-seeking missile. Direct hit! Mario, Luigi, and Paper Mario throw up their hands in triumph, permitting themselves a brief moment of celebration before moving on with their quest.
Little Mac winds up, ready to strike. As he channels power to his fists, a bellow pours from his lungs, increasing in intensity with each passing moment. If Bayonetta doesn’t take action, she’s toast.
Right on cue, Mac charges forward with crushing force, hell-bent on clearing the path in front of him and knocking all adversaries far out of sight. Unfortunately, he’s never faced a witch before.
Bayonetta laughs and flips backward, her movements impressively precise. Amazingly, the passage of time grinds to a crawl. Mac fails to connect with anything, leaving him right where Bayonetta wants him.