[The shark, as he is, is no more suited to tricks of the Wing Road than he is the Flame, but he can pull them off in a very limited duration when necessary. Really, he can't think of a time that goes past necessary into "life depends on it."
The patterns of the stalactites on the ceiling tend towards clumps of limestone deposits rather than the forests one might see below, many fragile...
The path is more than a little perilous, with chunks of rocks and icicles of stone plummeting to the ground in the wake of the bladed path. It's never long, a diagonal, spiraling bite into stone, a pinball-esque path along the formations hanging from the ceiling, determined to keep up in the air for just a little longer, making the jump from one formation to the next before there simply IS nowhere to go.
Finally he drops, the fall from impossible, fatal heights if it wasn't for the machinery on his feet. As it is, the engine roars and whines, a spark like the flash of lightning at the gouging scrape of alloy on stone... the next jump takes him to the crumbling and erratic path of the rooftops...]