He skidded the last few metres down the mountainside, landing in some thorny bushes of some scraggly, hardy plant that forgot it died fifty years ago, but was still aggressively clinging to its existence anyway. He had his route more or less planned out to the obsidian mountain, or as best he could from where he had sat on the mountainside. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do when he got in there, but that was future Handy’s problem. Right now, he just needed to get there, get Spike out, and get the fuck out of Dodge. If the princess wanted to have Spike taken care of, she could deal with this shit. He’d even void his demand in the deal if need be.