John's kick seemed well-placed, what with all the blood, or at least John assumed it was blood, that was pouring out of it. The jarring kick sent him back a pace, spearing his ribs with pain anew. The insect fell back and the rat began pawing at its face and at his bindings to the larger creature.

John was stepping forward to force the insect to yield as one of the more active members of the crowd, a lieutenant by the looks of her, rushed forward and stood over the thing, grinning broadly. Though John had no special love for his opponent, they did seem to be of a kind, and John didn't appreciate interruptions, especially those that were derisive. She spit on the insect, and John took two steps forward as the insect raised a claw, snapping at the flesh between her legs. John made it to her at a dead sprint, raising a knee toward her chest. She was quite distracted by the blood now pouring from her nethers. He leapt forward, adding more speed to the strike, and John's knee connected with the soldier girl's chest. John felt something break with an unsettling crunch, possibly several somethings, and she flew into the crowd, bowling over several of the closer onlookers.

The sister of Ai'Bron that had been presiding over the fight had largely taken a more administrative role until now, but she stepped forward now. John quickly held out his hands, one palm toward the sister, and the other pointing at the girl he'd tossed from the ring.

"She entered the ring, she is a combatant by Citadel rules," John said. He actually had no idea if that was the case, but it seemed logical enough. The sister halted for a moment, and shifted her eyes from John, to the insect, to the girl, and back again. A smirk touched the edges of her lips, but just barely enough for him to see. She sighed.

"Very well, John Cromwell, but if you refuse to wait for my ruling again, I will have you thrown out of the tournament." She waved her hand, motioning to two initiates who rushed to the girl's side. The fight was back on.

John stepped to the side, away from towering over the creature he'd been fighting. He wanted to win, and if he had to kill the thing, he would, but none of the other matches were to the death. The whole thing stank of secrecy, and John wanted no part of it. Though, hopefully there would be an easy way out. He looked down to the rodent, speaking one word.

"Yield," he commanded, hoping to spare his opponent.