Lust for the Crimson, Crave for the Ruby

The wolf was unstable, a russet with wild intentions, intentions Slade could not decipher.
The thing with being absolutely lunatic, was the spontaneous leap from motion to motion, being able to flick between motives as if they were weapon choices.
And these were weapons Slade held casually within his closet, but weapons this russet held out to the open, daring any and all to make a move.

He lunged, a swift action only met with returned fire. Slade stole the second of slipping to the left, and stiffly aim a headbutt to the opened jaw of the attacker.

As time slowed to The Nightmare, unsure of whether his blow was successful or not, he spent the precious seconds thinking.
How dare this man try an attack on him? Hostility to a superior? How could Meldresi waste her divine time on such a rancid fool, a imbocile who had no respect to the natural heirchay?