The skies were swirling with ominous, black clouds, rain pouring down from the heavens while the thunder rolled whilst the lightning cracked. The wind was heavy, taking lightweight stray limbs hither and thither in swirling vortexes almost akin to tornadoes. In the midst of all this, two men were locked in battle, showing a rather alarming mastery of martial arts. Each punch was blocked with a parry of arms, the occasional break through the defense into the chest or face. Each kick was dodged or blocked with a riposte.
One of them was an older gentleman of obvious Germanic descent. His hairline was severely receded and what hair he did have was a soft gray color. Every now and then, he'd do a perfect backflip, a feat that should be difficult for a man of his age, and upon landing he'd form a ball of energy and hurl it at his opponent. He'd yell out a word or phrase each time he did, mostly yelling "Feuerkugel!" It translates to "fireball".
The other chap was a somewhat taller man with a very large sized pair of nostrils and nose. I couldn't understand much of anything he said, as he seemed to speak a language that was written in alphabet vomit. Whenever he could he'd ball his fist up and bring his arm back in a straight line behind him and then swing it upwards, unleashing gales of wind at the German. He never said anything when he'd do so, but he'd scream like an evil banshee of the night.
Each crazy mystical-like attack would get blocked and the two would become more furious, throwing their weight into it. The German would jump into the air and manage to kick the Pollack (my dear friends, I am to assume he is a Pollack because of the way he speaks in alphabet vomit) into the face several times. But then the Pollack (okay, you see my dear friends, you REALLY had to have been there. I could not understand a damned word he said so I could not translate anything) would gain the upper hand and grab the German and pull him into a suplex without breaking his neck.
The two would go at it until they were slowly bloodied and bruised. Finally the Pollack was given a swift uppercut to the chin and went flying into the air until his body dropped onto the ground dramatically. The German strolled up to him, the anger in his eyes immense. The Pollack went to try and get up off the ground, but the German's foot would slam him into the ground each attempt. He grinned a malicious grin and hunched over his fallen enemy.
This is what he said "I will enjoy taking your life you dirty oaf. All in the attempt to be given immortality."
To this the Pollack probably said "I will never rest, Wagner!" It would be a good idea to just believe that is what he said.
With that he pulled out some piano wire and proceeded to strangle the Pollack, yelling out "Die, Chopin, die!" He kept trying to slowly take the life out of him, but the Pollack was strong and kept defying him by living despite the excruciating pain.
Knowing death was certain, he asked God for help, but got no reply because I have it on good authority God hates the Poles. He looked around him, hoping something would come to his aid. Then he found a dreidl laying on the ground. Knowing that Germans have but only one true foe (Judaism, if you did not guess it already) he smashed it into Wagner's face, the effect of the dreidl breaking causing Wagner's face to being to melt, flesh and blood pulsating onto the ground.
Wagner cried out for help and began to fidget around aimlessly, whimpering and a pitiful sight. Chopin said nothing, but grabbed a sharp, sturdy stick laying to his left. He grabbed it and walked towards Wagner, who was on his back, choking on his own blood and melting flesh.
"Jlakdjlfkj alkdjlkfjlk lkejofiemcmo." I could not figure out what he said, so I typed out how it sounded instead.
With that Wagner was killed as Chopin stabbed him through the heart with the sharp, sturdy stick. As the German was finally killed, Chopin walked away, muttering something about the next one. As he walked away, the storms began to clear.