Frisk huffs out something unintelligible, having said nothing useful whatsoever, and the pair of them are clearly not moving fast enough. Claws catch against their shoulder.

Chara's reaction is instantaneous.

They rip free from Frisk's grasp. Their cudgel swings and crashes down over the thing's wrist in an abrupt, vicious swish of motion.

The brutal snap of rending bone and cartilage is unmistakable.

Chara smiles as it snarls its displeasure, rearing back in obvious pain.

"Run, Frisk."