Sharp pain twinged around his hardy forehead, on account of Captain’s fangs designated themselves as unwanted guests in the guardsman’s forehead. Neck yanking back in recoil, resentment towards his attacked immediately started to brew within the confines of his gut. The bite was not powerful, and missed its target location by a solid inch or so, though it drew blood - the familiar sensation of warm ooze already seeped from minuscule wounds. A furied growl began thundering in his throat; nobody touched him like that, especially by the second-rate heap of scum that was a Pittian. Whoever this fucker wanted to call himself, the feline’s name was about to be etched in stone for the rest of eternity. "Alright, douchenugget, you’re really getting it!", Leroy spat, rearing himself for yet another lunge.

And then, to the mutt’s utter surprise, Beck made the scene, attempting to land a good hit on the scoundrel who initially aimed to tangle with the child.

Before any further action could be taken, deafening palpitations broke the sky’s silence, instantaneously followed by a sound only comparable to a flamethrower on performance-altering drugs. Disoriented, all previous intentions momentarily blurred, the Tangler’s hardened glare combed the skyline in an effort to identify the cannonade’s cause. The fresh, unaccustomed black smoke served as an obstacle, but a dusky reptilian figure who could be identified as Azrayel was diagnosed as the sudden chaos’ source. Looked like the fellow was holding his own just finely, what with that magical fire stuff conveniently spurting from his maw. Great stuff, keep it up.

Focus returning to where it once had been before (the caitiff known as Captain), the lack of Beck startled Leroy. Even more, there was a new face, one who wore a docile demeanour.

The kid was gone. Shit.

Slightly panicked, blood continued to slowly trickle down his noddle as Leroy dipped away from the deuce of Pittians. A good few moments had passed, before he found himself coming to a skidding halt. Crow, being mauled by a rather talkative Jervis, as Arrow’s chompers made contact with the opposing leader’s leg, with a hasty Beck making an attempt to gore the fox not far off from the group. The fox’s rotten heart was so set on victory, that his monologuing was beginning to sound like a Saturday morning cartoon villain. Seriously, nobody cared; it was soon to be four-on-one, his chances of victory in this scenario we slim.

The leader was caught in a pickle, the captain of the guard was feasting on some leg, and the medic went for the torso, leaving the back, neck, and head as the only current areas available for attack. Honestly, the hound preferred some good ol’ fashioned leg maiming - but when a snob was knocking the everliving shit out of your boss, beggars couldn't really be choosers, could they?

Rearing himself once more, Leroy launched his tall body through the air and towards [member=3615]JERVIS[/member], his bared pearly-whites aching to messily sink themselves into the red fox’s collar. This was a high-risk high-reward feat; yes, munching on arteries would prove very beneficial, though the possibility of missing was still strongly present. And, even if he did successfully gnaw on Jervis, missing the neck was very much a possibility, as Leroy wasn’t entirely good at aiming. And finally, such a move left Leroy’s own rear exposed; free real estate for those willing to make a move of their own.