Land, leap, land, leap-- a burst of Grimm's own Shade Wing equivalent slams against them from the edge of a platform and into another.

Despite the blows, shock is fading; irritation, naturally, steadily rises in place.

The already-flimsy reasoning of 'a dance' falters in this sudden strike. There's no rhythm or polite bowing here. Grimm could have come over and knocked.

They forget the Dash and instead shift into darkness itself, a shadowy blur behind their opponent. Their Nail lashes out, aimed between his wings.