Ivan rang the world's loudest bell, or so it felt. The energy of a kick from Ivan was an amazing thing, not to be downplayed by the robot's reaction, but apparently, that was just the kind of punishment that machine was built for. Its huge, brassy, bell-like carapace jolted, reverberated and bounced as if mounted on springs, rebounding its foe away like some kind of mega-sized pinball bumper.

The hare had caught it in midstep, causing it to teeter back one stride. It remained stable, but had been halted in its advance, giving at least a second or two's extension of Ember's well-being (see: not-flatness). It was still en route, though.

Meanwhile, the good-for-nothings in the cloaks slipped straight out the back door.

Of course, it was no sooner than he realized the potential threat did Power Mask put his titanic, overcoated rear in gear. Ivan was simply leagues faster than him. He was doubly impeded however, when the hare was sent fastballing past Tank's head, and he was forced to narrowly dodge him like a big furry bullet. He pressed onward of course, as quickly and undauntedly as he could in the big bell contraption's direction.

Thankfully, he was close enough to hop his way in between the mechanical monster and the feathered females in course. He'd seen enough to know that direct blows were not something to apply here, and any body-crawling lucha libre stylings were far too risky in the face of bird-squishing, so the tortoise simply squatted down and held his ground. The bell wasn't tall enough for his massive frame to duck under, but he could still apply the right force in the wrong way, shoving his grizzled hands underneath the bell's edge, and pressing up. It was more a matter of buying time rather than incapacitating it, but whatever worked.

"Queek... thee gurls..." he strained out.

"On it!" declared Dureau as he swept in, boots scuffing, cape fluttering, and scooped Ember first, as she was the nearest to danger.

The robot meanwhile tilted slowly rearward, groaning, plinging, and panging with the sound of straining gears and springs. Its body flexed upward, then teetered precariously on one foot, while its glowing green eyes, mounted under a small helmet atop its head (kind of like a second, smaller bell) seemed to widen in the dark. Its arms began to flail for balance.

The Baron meanwhile had a little propriety struggle in the background as he made haste to carry both Ember and Jack out of the way without treating them like sacks of potatoes, but also without straining utterly and giving any grim implications that they were, in fact, too heavy for him (along with the hefty shield on his back).

... They ultimately got carried like sacks of potatoes, for which he apologized in whispers of "Sorry, just hold on" along the way to safety near the wall. There he plopped them down and whipped out a dagger to cut their ropes. The chains would be easy enough to slip off once the cords were out of the way.

"Are you okay?"

Meanwhile, the robot finally had to disengage in its attempt to fight back against Tank. There was no way the tortoise could possibly heave-ho it off the ground, given its amazing weight, but he did manage to pitch its center of gravity far enough off that it suddenly reached critical imbalance, and went rumpling off to the side in a series of wild stumbles that ultimately carried it straight through a wall, and into the front room of the store with a distinctive *grranch* of snapping wooden beams, and a shower of rubble and plaster.

It caught its balance on the other side, and quickly swiveled back to face them, hammer held high.

Ivan was hoping for the best, but wasn't expecting much from his attack. Needlessly to say, he was REALLY unprepared for the machine's reaction to his jump kick. He was sent flying in the opposite direction, over the heads of his allies.

Saving face, he did a sort of sideways roll onto a knee upon hitting the ground. A hand reaching into his jacket as he stood up again, gripping the handle of his gun. However, he hadn't even brought it out before the griffon girl approached him.

"Can I borrow your gun?"

"..." He gave her a blank stare.

Then he let out a sigh, his eyelid shutting gently as he hung his head and pulled the gun out and handed it to her. But then he looked at her again.

As soon as she would grab it, he would give her a deadly serious staredown, "Be careful. This be a powerful weapon... An' ya only got one shot." He gestured with his free hand, an index finger jutting upward to emphasize the word "one".

Meanwhile, Ember's attack did pretty much what Ivan's first attempt had indicated it would:

*K'TAAANGGG*

That is, ring ear-piercingly like a bell, and shake a bone-rattling reverberation back through the little red bird's pipe. It was a valiant attempt, and it made the thing's weird little head bobble a bit, but again, there was no visible damage.

However, it seemed to be sufficient provocation to make it to take a few stomping steps toward her and begin raising and lowering its two-foot-wide metal mallet very mechanically, and with great force. This meant that for each slow step it took, it drove its hammer into the floor twice, obliterating not only whatever was in its path, but also a good chunk of the floor itself. Its method of aiming, however, was not very precise, and basically amounted to walking in the general direction of the nearest enemy, and continuing to smash non-stop at a rate of about two crashes per second.

*KRUNCH-KRUNCH-KLOMP-KRUNCH-SMASH...*

*Pwang!*

The shot ricocheted off the floor and disappeared right up the inside of the bell-shaped robot's armor, just as planned. It vibrated loudly; sparks showered out its bottom like a big, pyrotechnic robot fart. There wasn't much further ricocheting noise from inside it, as it seemed the shot had managed to dig well into something pleasingly fragile and breakable.

The machine paused momentarily.

It began to jolt up and down, and torque to one side, making a rumpa-rumpa-rumpa noise like a washing machine with a lopsided load. Its left foot gave out, and it slumped over onto the rim of its bell, turned, rolled in a circle like a settling coin dropped on its edge, then fell over sideways, exposing its shadowy, smoking underside to the world.

Its hammer-wielding arm suddenly spun wildly, and it began thrashing around in slow, but crazed circles on the floor, wrecking anything remotely nearby. It was, for all practical intents and purposes, defeated. It was just in its mindless, robotic death throes. In other words, it was still a threat, but no longer a conscious one.

Meanwhile, the vivid light from above began to fade away, as did the low roaring noise. Whoever had tried to attack them was gone.

Ivan watched as the cowgirl took his gun and judging from her stance, he knew what was going to happen. He winced a bit as she fell on her butt..then looked up to see if the shot had successfully done..anything to it.

Apparently, it had. The robot fell after a moment and started flailing on the ground. Dureau suggested what he was thinking. Ivan nodded, and reached for the hilt of his blade and brought it out. Might as well keep hitting it where you know it hurts... He leaped into the bell-shaped bottom of the robot.

He would then begin stabbing at the robot until he managed to break some circuits or anything else of importance for the robots motor functions.

It was dirty work, but somebody had to do it.

Ivan's vicious disembowelment of the machine was effective. Oil, sparks, flying bits, and small electrical shocks were all involved, but it was a successful robot-goring, and soon, the machine stopped moving altogether and fell silent.

It was finally quiet again.

Ivan stepped out from inside the robot and sheathed his blade with a satisfied grin on his face. He snatched the gun from Jack's hand when she offered it and tucked it away inside his coat, "I don't need no permit fer a relic." He said, returning the playful grin.

The grin faltered as he looked at the others, "Well it be appearin' we found our glittery weirdo the old fart at the bar spoke of." He said, "But he got away..." There was some understandable disappointment in his voice.