Approaching, Martin hunched, opening his posture by letting his arms out at his sides. His eyes widened, wholly focused in the meat in front of him, the flickering glimmer of the lance. He'd break it, like the bones...

His arms were thrust forward, and then down, and the lance launched him up in an arc; the second sent him spiraling downward, and with a heave, he sent the lance ahead of him. Break. Bleed.