"Blasphemy!" Mailik bellowed, eyes were wide with rage. He drew back his arm and let fly the three remaining darts in his hand.
The darts hit Spike's chest dead centre with a hollow thud, punched through clothing and skin, and stuck there. He stumbled backward and gazed down at the feathered protrusions.
"No thanks," he growled as he plucked the three darts from his flesh and tossed them to the floor with a clatter. "I don't care for the game meself. I fancy something with a bit more physical contact."
He launched himself across the pub and struck a blow that connected with the vampire's midsection. They hit the floor in a flurry of limbs and brutal assaults. Spike grabbed Mailik by his thick black hair and drove his head back viciously into the floor once, twice, three times.
"Yeah, that's more like it," he said with a toothy grin. "And what's your problem with breakfast cereal, anyway? It's the one damn thing the Americans do right."
Mailik bucked savagely and threw him off. Spike quickly got to his feet, a billiards table at his back. He snatched up a cue stick and brandished it like a spear. "Not quite sure how ol' Laibach'll feel about me turning you to dust, but right now I just can't seem to care."
