The Raskal was smashed into the ground, forming a large crater with spiderweb cracks that spread across the forest floor. He was injured and a trail of blood flowed down from his lip, but that was the extent of his injury.
It was not anger that filled the Raskals' eyes, but discipline. He was a trained soldier, but more importantly, he did not have much room to think. In this disadvantaged situation, the only thing running through his brain was the training he received.
He drew his weapon, a section staff with four chained staffs instead of the usual three. Each one of his hands firmly held onto one of the sections. Letting out a battle cry, he attacked!
Dashing up into the air, the Raskal swung his staff furiously at the flying, shining golf cart in an attempt to squash it like a fly.
