The Mecha-Pool-Vindicator 3000 hit the ground with the grace of a grand piano falling into a trash compactor. It didn't just crash; it excavated. A half-mile long trench of pure, unadulterated property damage stretched across the Moo-Moo Meadows.
"MY SPLEEN!" Deadpool screamed, dangling upside down from a bundle of sparking wires. "I can feel my internal organs playing Tetris! tum, did you see that?! We just turned the Paldea region's most peaceful dairy farm into a crater! We're the environmental villains of this Saturday morning cartoon!"
The Rollout Apocalypse
As the smoke cleared from the wreckage of the giant metal Deadpool-head, the survivors crawled out.
Goku hopped out of a shattered eye-socket, looking completely energized. "Wow! That landing was almost as good as King Kai's jokes! Hey, look at all those round, pink cows! Are they snacks?! Do they taste like strawberries?!"
"Those are Miltanks, you spiky-haired Mother Fu*!" Deadpool yelled, popping his dislocated hip back into place with a sickening CRUNCH. "And they don't look happy! Look at their eyes! That's the gaze of a creature that has survived the Whitney Gym Battle! That's the gaze of pure, unadulterated hatred!"
The herd of Miltanks—roughly three hundred of them—began to glow with a brown aura. They tucked their heads, curled into balls, and started spinning.
VROOOOOM.
"Oh, son of a Bih," Deadpool whispered. "It's a Rollout stampede. tum, tell my fans I died doing what I loved: being an absolute idiot in a different dimension."
The Unmovable Bald Object
The Miltanks hit the wreckage like fuzzy pink cannonballs. They were bouncing off the metal plating, shattering the landscape, and turning the "Mecha-Pool" into scrap metal.
One particularly large Miltank, glowing with the fury of a thousand missed milkings, sped toward Saitama. The Bald Cape was currently sitting on a piece of debris, trying to pick a piece of metal out of his grilled squid.
THUD.
The Miltank hit Saitama's head and immediately stopped dead, its momentum completely deleted. It fell over, dizzy, with its tongue hanging out.
"Hey," Saitama said, looking at the cow. "Watch where you're rolling. I'm trying to eat. Also, does anyone have a glass? I think I see a dairy processing plant over there."
The Demon Landlord
"EXCUSE ME!"
A voice, sharp enough to cut through the sound of three hundred rolling cows, echoed from a nearby luxury gazebo that had somehow survived the crash.
Standing there, wearing a pristine white suit and a fedora that screamed "I'm a 1920s Michael Jackson impersonator," was Muzan Kibutsuji (Demon Slayer). He was holding a glass of red wine—which was now full of Mecha-Pool soot.
"Do you have any idea how much this plot of land cost?!" Muzan hissed, his eyes turning a violent, demonic red. "I moved to this dimension to escape sun-breathing teenagers and mountain-hoboes, only for a giant mechanical avocado to fall on my Zen Garden!"
Aizen stepped out of the rubble, his hairpiece now completely sideways, hanging over his left ear like a dying crow. "Your Zen Garden was structurally inefficient, demon. Now, be a good landlord and fetch me some high-end hair adhesive, or I shall show you why they call me the King of the Hollows."
"YOU?!" Muzan snarled, looking at Aizen's wig. "You're going to threaten me while wearing a dead squirrel on your head? You insecure Bih!"
"IT'S A DESIGNER HAIR-SYSTEM!" Aizen roared.