No sooner had Crow sad down that [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GxYqKVHagg]madness erupted[/url]. For a brief moment, he was surprised, but when his new...employer stuck his own arm into the adversary's mouth and forced him to bite it, only cool righteousness filled his veins. Of course the Grounded would stoop to something so crass.

Not that it mattered now. Grounded or not, they could all be killed just the same. What mattered was how deft one could dodge the Sportsman's noose. Crow had no intention of meeting his end here, crippled and stuck on the floor of the Wal.

He leapt up onto the table. It was sturdy enough, being made of the tough plastic and metal common in feasting courts. As he kicked off from the ground, he pull his knife from the sheath and soared over the chaos. With any luck, he wouldn't have to soil his blade with Grounded blood.

One foot touched down on someone's shoulder. It was a light touch, barely more than a tap, but Crow used it to hop to another man's shoulders. His lightness came in handy here: most people would have knocked someone to the ground, if they tried what he was doing now. But these men were bulky, and he was slender. It worked, almost perfectly.

Then an arm swung up toward him. Clutched in the hand was what Crow recognized as a Lasblaster. Held backwards in the man's grip, it was little more than a club, seeking to knock him to the floor. Crow reacted almost instantly, but not quite fast enough. He dodged the weapon, but the arm holding it brushed his own, crippled one. A lance of pain shot up his arm.

Crowley howled and swung his knife into the man's arm, striking bone before it stopped. The fingers twitched, loosening around the lasblaster. Knowing he had only seconds, Crow wrapped his legs around the screaming man's throat, cursing with ever-increasing frenzy at the pain in his lame arm. He put his knife's handle in his teeth and wrenched the lasblaster from the man's hand. Then he hammered down hard on the man's skull, dropping them both to the ground.

Only one of them landed feet first. Crow spared no thought of remorse toward the unconscious, or dead, man he left behind as he limped toward the cart. He tossed the lasblaster into the hooded man's lap before climbing into the back of the vehicle. He spit his knife back into his hand and put it away. "Let us depart, Grounded companions." The words tasted like ash in his mouth: how low he'd fallen.