Although his sluggish mind was, even in these conditions, disinclined to be moved to any emotion worthy of the attribute "strong", or, for that matter, even "middling", Old N was not entirely pleased with the pre-Columbian barbarian bellowing at him to stand up. Needless to say, there was no command which repelled him less than that one - well, perhaps with the exception of "[i]wake[/i] up", which was arguably even worse for being the first sound he usually heard before being dragged from his repose. To the brute's credit, however, he had readily provided an alternative, sparing the demon the effort of thinking of one himself regardless of what he was told, which somewhat evened his image in Old N's murky view. Clicking his mandibles together to bolster his motivation, he abruptly brought the best part of his weight to bear on the pinned guards' legs by sliding closer yet to the floor, resulting in audible dry snaps and a pair or pained yelps from somewhere above him.

Having thus ensured that these two would not bother him any longer once he turned away, or, at least, that their mobility would be somewhat reduced, the demon began to move towards where he presumed the centre of the hall was. However, while lowering his head even further to incapacitate the guards, he had not considered what implications this would have for his subsequent course of action; namely, he now found himself actually leaning forward too deeply to even appear parallel to the floor. This meant that, were he not to stand up, he would not have been able to walk without scraping the soil with what (barely) passed as his face. Unless...

So great was Old N's reluctance to straighten himself out, especially after having been told to do so by someone else, that inspiration - or "awareness of himself and his surroundings", however one wished to spell it - suddenly flared up within him, filling his intellect with a wondrous idea. Instead of raising himself to an erect position, the demon actually bent lower yet, until his lesser forearms were close enough to the ground for him to rest upon. Then, scuttling much as a non-fiendish crab would, he rotated away from his previous position and towards his supposed goal, only to find himself looking at a large pair of feet. 

With a heroic effort of will, Old N compelled himself to throw a rapid glance upwards, briefly glimpsing the grim countenance of what was presumably the warden of the place, and the one who had previously knocked him away from the door. Although he normally would have required at least five minutes to figure out how he should act in such a position, the thirst for revenge at having been cast down from a comparatively comfortable spot, combined with the presence of the two savages (not that it was quite so reassuring, but at least he could reasonably expect some support while facing this fellow), lent Old N sufficient confidence to act immediately. His first step in further approaching his inner(?) crab was thus to snap at the feet before him with his pincers, which were larger and altogether rather more menacing than those encountered by careless swimmers on mundane beaches.