Though well acquainted with the idea that death held no sway over him, Grumm had been on the business end of enough high-end gun barrels to recognize -and even respect, is a primitive way- their stopping power.  As such, when Morgann leveled her tommygun at the ghoul's head, he flinched and instinctively moved his clockwork arm to cover up his face.  When the magician spat words instead of bullets, however, Grumm's hesitation rapidly waned.  

No sooner had she finished speaking than Grumm, understanding more intimately her defiant tone rather than her diction, snarled out his own challenge.  All together, the tentacles pistoned from his belly and into the ground.  Their brief but furious downward trip sent them into the walkway at high speed, and when the construction didn't give, the force propelled Grumm into the air.  Ragged cloak fluttering in the bayside breeze and axe poised above his head, the ghoul began to fall, bringing down his weapon like a guillotine.

Fortunately for the magician, the steps Grumm had taken to move out of immediate firing range also put him in a precarious position.  Throughout all of his many fights, the least-occupied position Grumm typically forsook was airborne, and it was a telling flaw.  Halfway through his descend, the ghoul's momentum caught up with him, and he began to spin sideways.  While his course remained firmly fixed on Morgann, the blade of his axe now swung almost horizontally, so all that she would feasibly be dealing with would be him landing on her—though that, certainly, wasn't a tempting option in itself.


Several meters away, Caitlin Halte pushed herself to her feet.  Her hat lay, somewhat crushed and very waterlogged, on the ground beside her, but for now she disregarded it.  “Aim for his heart,” she called, “The x-shaped scar on his chest!”