Steve-man and the Shoot-Em-Up Gang were all having fun killing commie monsters until a sixth person joined in.
"El diablo has joined the game."
The Shoot-Em-Up squad stopped using their bullet-guns. Steve-man put his pants back on. Even the flesh pounds stopped beating up on each other to see what was going down.
Crackerjack Sampson was the first to speak. "He is here," Crackerjack said, a tremor of fear running through his loins.
Steve-man wanted answers. "How I make wooden shovel! Answer now!" Steve-man was not very smart.
"Two sticks and a wood block, now shut your rectangle, El diablo might hear," Finnegan Wake replied, with puffy eyeballs.
Steve man looked perpetually confused. "Who El diablo? Is he enemy? Can I craft El diablo?"
Just then, a loud series of caws was heard in the distance, followed by bawks and clucks. Enough to send a grown skrake running home to grandma. All of the enemies vanished from the map, and Steve-man and the Screw-It-Up Crew were alone with El diablo.
Crackerjack's face went dark. "It is time," he said, "El Diablo has come for our pesos. Nothing will ever be the same, men. Prepare for the end." Crackerjack took moment of silence to rub himself all over with the butt of his gun, like he'd always wanted. Ahh, that was good.
Stumpy McDermot devised a genius plan. "We should hide in a hole until he leaves," he said to the Chomp-It-Down Parade. They all agreed. Just as they were climbing into the pothole, Steve-man saw something shiny in the distance.
"Diamond! Shiny-shiny-shiny-shiny! Me go get!" Everyone was already on the edge of putting up with Steve-man's IQ, and as they watched him smack his pickaxe against a wall with some glitter on it, they came up with a solution that worked for everyone.
"Let's shoot him," Stumpy yelled with the glee of a small child, "Let's shoot him dead!"
Crackerjack raised his weapon, and right when he was about to pull the trigger, more clucks pierced through the Underpass.
Before the Whip-It-Good Group knew what happened, Steve-man and El diablo were face to face. El diablo, a seven foot tall man in a chicken suit, wanted Steve-man's pesos. "Hola, como stas?" El diablo said, with a sinister grin running across his beak. What neither El diablo nor the Funky-Dance-Team knew was that Steve-man had killed many a chicken in his lifetime.
Calmly, Steve-man opened his inventory and removed stacks and stacks of feathers, dropping them all around El diablo's feet. "Feathers are from chickens dead. Zombies too. Don't know why, zombie don't have wing. No matter. Now, you die from sword." Steve-man equipped his diamond sword and chopped off El diablo's head in one swing.
"¡No!" El diablo, was dead. The Smack-It-Later Bunch were all cheering, but Steve-man realized that his hunger bar was almost gone. El diablo only dropped a feather…but what would humans drop?