The Agama Fruit Festival wasn't something the Kobbers got to see. It was one of those "off-season" events that the locals held, and it just so happened to be at a time when the group wasn't present for it. Which was a bit of a shame, because as the stalls rose up in the Grand Agama Market, bannas were hung and flags flown, it definitely would have been a sight they would have enjoyed, had they been there to witness it.
Those helming the festival had prepared all year for it. Stalls laden with the finest, ripest produce filled the streets with colour from one end to the other in a riot of hues. The scents, too, changed the air, replacing the drab smells of the air with the refreshing aura of green things, from the zest of maracuya and lulo to the floral hit of feijoa and so much more. No expense had been spared - everyone had a stall to call their own, and all of it lead down, like the threads of a spiders web, to the market square. It was here that those with a more enterprising mindset sold merchandise and more to any tourists that happened to be passing through.
The shouts of vendors as they bade customers come to sample their wares, the rows of well-tended fruits and the music that filled the air mingled together like threads on a tapestry, creating an atmosphere of relaxed jolity and well-being among the assembled people, Yes, it was a good time for the city. A time to relax and celeberate everything that was Agama.
And, they assumed, with no superhumans or monsters to worry about.
They were proven wrong very quickly.
The roar of the mechanical monster truck that barreled down the streets of the market square blotted out the screams as the assembled masses dove for cover. Black, heavy smoke belched from the exhaust pipes, leaving behind a choking fog that smothered the smell of fruits and made people cough and splutter. With a deft flick of the steering wheel, the owner brought the contraption - which looked for all the world as though it had been pasted together from metal blocks - powersliding sideways, knocking over stalls and crushing fruit in its wake, before coming to a stop in the middle of the square.
Gruntilda Winkybunion heaved herself to her feet from her cauldron-shaped control panel and cackled as she surveyed the carnage. Crushed fruit smered over the cobbles, trashed stalls scattered along the length of the street and people running and screaming in terror. And no mayor to worry about - for some idiotic reason, he hadn't been present to preside over this year's festival!
Not bad, for starters. But starters was all this was!
"Guess who's here, it's little old me!
Grunty's come back for round three!
My big debut won't be delayed,
Gather round, see what I've made!"
One warty fist pounded down upon a button on her control panel. In response, with a grinding of gears, a set of double-doors ratcheted open on the back of her truck, yawning open like the maw of some horrible carnivorous plant. And out from the cavernous depths, things poured out. Metal things the size of a man, pink and spherical with stubby limbs. But their comical appearance was offset by their wide, gnashing maws and the clank of their razor teeth grinding over each other.
Gruntilda let loose another wicked laugh as she watched her creations rush out into the daylight.
"While you've all slept, I've turned mechanic,
Building Gruntbots to make you panic!
These metal minions need a test!
I'll set them loose, you do the rest!"
The Gruntbots didn't need much in the way of encouragement. Programmed to cause as much mayhem as possible, they were already spreading out like a wave of ants on the hunt, seeking out targets to terrorize as they rolled forwards. It wasn't long before packs of the mechanical monsters were at work - biting stalls to pieces with their steel teeth, crushing carefully-grown fruit to a pulp with their bodies, chasing and snapping at panicking fairgoers. Within seconds, everything that had been so carefully set up was in ruins, banners torn to ribbons and merchandise in crushed tatters.
What had once started out as a moment of peace and celebration was once again a scene of chaos. And the orcehstrator of that chaos laughed with maniacal glee as she watched her creations destroy it all and send the people running, if not in fear of their lives, then simply to get out of the way.
But not everybody was running.
Someone had just arrived. They'd turned the corner into the street that lead to the square and had paused upon seeing the carnage. Then, after a moment's deliberation, they'd begun to walk towards the scene of destruction that the Gruntbots were wreaking, opposite to the movements of the terrified crowd.
One Gruntbot, still crunching the remains of a stall between its teeth, turned and saw that somebody. Somebody new. Somebody who was walking towards the scene with measured, easy steps. A middle-aged woman, somewhat heavy-set, with dark brown hair in a bob cut, brown eyes fixed with determination on the scene. A woman clad in a simple blouse that bore the traditional patterns that marked has an Agaman native. And, curiously enough, with a basket of fruit hanging over the crook of her arm, as though she were doing no more than visiting relatives.
That was when the Gruntbot made a fatal mistake. It looked at this approaching woman and saw, in its simple-minded ignorance, an easy target to terrorize. With a high-pitched, buzzing cackle, it lunged for the newcomer, jaws agape and eyes rolling.
There was a sound like fruit pulp being shoved through a coffe strainer-
SCHWING
-and then the robot, instead of biting down on a hapless victim, went sailing past her in two halves that clattered to the street floor.
Grunty gave a shriek of shock. People stopped running and turned to stare. Even the other Gruntbots halted, bewildered.
The woman hadn't stopped walking. But there were a lot of minor details that had changed. She was now holding what looked like a katana in her free hand, the blade already dripping with spilled oil, and her fruit basket seemed to be devoid of an orange. Greenish smoke or fire, barely visible, danced across her form as she approached, eyes fixed on the wide-eyed witch. Her footsteps on the cobbles were muffled by the clanking strides of the figure that had manifested behind her - the faint and indistinct shape of samurai amour with nobody to fill it, dened and worn, dirt and vines still clinging to the creaking, hollow shell.
"Let me tell you how it is, bruxa," said Micaela Nogueira in level tones. "I spent a long time growing the fruit in my basket. I put all of my heart and soul into raising the plants they came from. I treated them like they were my own children, so that they would be strong and healthy for the festival. And now I have to waste them on someone like you, who has no respect or appreciation for what we do."
She came to a stop, lifting the weapon so that it pointed quarely at Grunty. On closer inspection, something else - juice - mingled with the oil that slid greasily off the blade, and the handle had the texture of orange peel.
"So I will give you ten seconds," continued Micaela, "to take your engenhocas and leave."
There was an ominous silence in which Gruntilda stared at the newcomer, open-mouthed. For a moment, she was utterly speechless by what she'd just seen, what she was still seeing. The memory of something she'd read in an old and grody book of occult lore was bubbling to the forefront of her mind. She'd read about this, she was sure. What was it called again...?
But she didn't get the chance to reply. The remaining Gruntbots, as equally stupid as their fallen comrade, now had outrage to back up their poorly-thought out impulsiveness. Shrieks of fury filled the air as, one by one, the crazed contraptions threw themselves towards the new aggressor, gnashing their teeth in fury
"No, you idiots!" Grunty shrieked, banging her fists on the rim of the cauldron. "That woman's got a-"
Too late. The katana went clattering to the floor as Micaela reached inside the basket once again, yanking a fresh mango fron it, and spoke in an undertone.
The figure behind her reached out towards the fruit in her hand, wherupon there was a horrible squelching and tearing noise that seemed to come from nowhere. The mango's flesh warped and shifted, the skin exploding off and juice flying, and pulp morphed into metal.
The first two Gruntbots to reach her soon regretted their achievement when a massive mallet, backed by the woman's twisting upper body, smashed them away and sent them flying into a side alley in crumpled wrecks. But Micaela didn't stop her momentum. Spinning on the spot, she brought the hammer up, then down upon another Gruntbot that, heedless of what had just happened to its comrades, was trying to rush her from head on. The massive weapon struck the thing right on the forehead, pancaking it with a metallic crunch and an explosion of loose cogs and springs.
A cheer went up from the crowd at the sight, the people that had once been running now turning to witness the heroism on display.
Abandoning the hammer, Micaela pulled out two more oranges at once, tossing one to her free hand. The Gruntbots were converging on her now, gnashing and hissing, but the oranges were already warping, extending and thinning out into two more blades as she took up a stance in readiness. Her aura flared up and the armoured apparition loomed behind her, glaring at the opponents with sightless eyes.
When the first robot lunged, she sprung into the air and kicked off of it, sending herself even higher and leaving it rolling away with a bewildered screech. Twisting in midair, she extended her arms, and the spinning katanas sliced through two more of the creatures that had leaped up to intercept her. As their boggle-eyed wrecks went tumbling to the ground, she straightened her arms out, spearing the fourth one in the face before it could reach her, before yanking the swords apart and tearing it in two with an almighty crack of splitting metal. Oil splattered all over her body and stained her dress and skin as she turned her momentum into a forward somersault that should have been impossible for a woman of her age and build..
She landed expertly, on both feet. Not even a single fruit had fallen from her basket. The wrecked remains of the Gruntbots lay around her in twisted, mangled heaps, still spitting sparks. The crowd had set up a cheer that rolled over the city like a tsunami. Oil stained the ground and filled it with its chemical stink, alien to Agama for many years.
Micaela inhaled through her nose, relaxed her tensed arms and stood up straight, her aura flickering and fading away. She turned to face the open-mouthed, horrified Gruntilda.
"Right, then," she began to say-
WHAM
-and gasped as the last Gruntbot tackled her from the side.
It was a hard tackle that knocked the breath from her lungs and sent the katanas flying from her grasp. The force sent her flying backwards and crashing to the ground, the automaton on top of her, and the crowd was forced to leap back and away from the impact site as they screamed in horror to a man and woman. Metallic teeth snapped and clanked mere inches from the woman's head, the reek of grease and rust filling her nose and making her gag.
"Get off!" she cried, hands instinctively pushing and shoving aginst the spherical body. Her fingers slipped on the polished surface and found little leverage with which to get the writhing, snapping demon away from her. Her legs kicked furiously, trying to help get her body up and off the floor - but the heavy weight of her attacker pinned her down, keeping her trapped and at the beast's mercy. Its mass pressed down on her chest and stomach, constricting her even further, and she fought for breath in her efforts to get feee.
She turned her head. The basket had fallen from her arm and the majority of the fruit was gone. No doubt thrown out by the impact of the robot colliding with her. There was only one thing in there now. A bunch of concord grapes, sitting almost forlornly at the bottom of the basket. Where she'd deliberately put it.
She hesitated. She didn't really want to. Grapes were tough to work with, and in any case, she had a strong objection to-
The jaws chashed shut much too close. The edge of a tooth grazed her cheek, sending knife-like pain through her skin.
Right, then.
"Hah!" Grunty was heard to bark as she watched the chaos unfolding, a triumphant smirk on her skull. "Not so tough now, are you? All those fancy Eidolon tricks, and-"
BANG
Grunty screamed again, as did the crowd.
The gunshot exploded out of the back of the robot, oil and loose mechanics spurting from the exit hole. The thing froze, eyes wide in shock, shuddering slightly as its internal systems juddered to a stop with so much damage. Then it fell back with a groan and a clank as it hit the pavement, smoke trailing from the open mouth, motionless and lifeless.
Wielding the still-smoking flintlock in one hand, Micaela Nogueiralet out the shaking breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Then she sat up, pulled herself to her feet and wiped off some of the mud that had splattered onto her dress.
"You were saying somethig, bruxa?" she asked, fixing Grunty with a hard stare.
The witch, however, had already revved up her vehicle, the choking fumes pouring from the rear. Stuff this for a lark! No way was she going to stick around here, not with some crazy woman around who could turn fruit into weapons! And all of her Gruntbots turned to scrap into the bargain! As the monster truck tyres churned for purchase on the cobbles and the engine roared as if sharing its mistress' internal fury, the witch pointed a trembling finger at Micaela's direction, eyes popping.
"You haven't seen the last of me!
I'll be back, just wait and see!"
And with that declaration, Gruntilda Winkybunion shot forward, turned another powerslide and was roaring away before anyone could stop her.
Not that anyone did. They were too busy cheering and celebrating. But as the chants of her name came up, as people rushed up to congratulate her and shake her hand and repair the damage - which, as it would later turn out, wasn't even that much - Micaela Nogueira was looking down at all the squashed fruit.
She sighed heavily, the mask of determined anger falling away at last.
"What a waste."
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