R3 breaks hold

"Is that all?" he taunted. "Weak, weak! They're all weak! Give me something I've never seen before!"

He gave it to him. An extra pair of legs popped out of Franky's legs, extending on metal poles and restraining Hale's waist. Hale was a strong guy. He could've broken out of any wrestling grapple in the world, no sweat, but nobody knows how to break out of a hold administered by semi-disembodied robot legs. Not even Hale. It was impossible.

Franky's chest opened up like a refrigerator. Every shelf was crammed full of sodapop bottles, bottles that Franky grabbed four at a time in each fist and chugged them down in a single gulp. He held his palm out in front of Hale's face. A massive hole opened in the middle of his hand, and a mass of ultra-compressed carbonation the size of a beach ball pumped down his arm.

"Try this on for size! Coup... DE..."

Hale swung a right hook straight at Franky's open hand, shoving his whole fist down the barrel and clogging it up. The mass of air inside him swelled and struggled, inflating like it was about to pop.

"What are you doing?!" Franky shouted. "You can't hit me while I'm calling my attack name! Foul, penalty, red card! You're breaking the bro code over here!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I sure as hell don't care! Don't mess with my friends, ya drongo!"

With his free arm, Hale grabbed Franky's wrist and aimed it at just the right spot. He sussed it out perfectly, without even looking, tore his arm from the hole, let all the burst up air shoot out over his shoulder. Straight at the demon.

The shockwave blew the devil straight to the other side of the floor. It wouldn't have been surprising if everyone in the building felt it. Fourze got knocked straight off his feet, only barely managing to right himself at the end as Hale wrenched himself free of the double-footed grip.