Behind them there was a roar as Alrich burst out of a crowd of attackers, shaking off a mist of blood. His kimono in shreds, gore streaking his arms, the Bishop looked like an avenging angel engaged in slaughter. He snarled and moved toward the melee, his long, tapering fingers hooking themselves into claws. Gestalt, in a stunning display of good sense, elected to run. In four separate directions.
