By the time Mack saw the massive, winged demon drop in front of him, it was too late for him to change his course. He dug in his heels into the ground, but a combination of momentum and muddy ground caused him to keep skidding forward. Even if he could understand the general gist of what Taran was saying, Mack wasn't paying attention, as he was too busy crashing face-first into the demon's bright yellow tunic.<br/><br/>The demon, surprisingly dense for something that just flew down from the trees, didn't budge.<br/><br/>Mack on the other hand, slipped backwards onto the loamy ground, before quickly getting to his feet and backing, his eyes trained on the demon in all his seven foot glory. He had to crane his neck a bit.<span style="font-style: italic">Fuck.</span>The demon did not look too happy. Then again, that was to be expected, considering Mack had been taking advantage of the rain to avoid him for weeks - and that there was a fresh black imprint left on his tunic where Mack had crashed into.<br/><br/>Mack's skin started to accelerate the output of black, tar-like slime that it had always excreted. Gross, but if previous encounters were anything to go by, he would need a lot of it. His eyes darted to take in his surroundings. Not the worst terrain; with all the trees he had an advantage in mobility. He went back to looking at Taran. The other demon's sword was sheathed, but Mack eyed his gauntlet, probably hot, if it wasn't already. He slowly shifted his weight, preparing to bolt.