The audible buzzing was Azarak’s only saving grace as the door slammed open and he strode into the room, firing off a single round at his quickly rising opponent’s upper-body, a sloppy shot, a shoulder graze at best. He followed up by nimbly rolling over the door-bridge, feeling a blade somehow cut into his back and spine and cleave a nasty chunk of flesh from his body all the while. The pain ignored as adrenaline spurred him on, he dived into the room and had his pistol already trained at his foe to fire, expecting the bum-rush or quick escape that was most common in these sorts of situations. Either way, he wasn’t letting whatever had just hit him have a second try, once his foe was dead or dealt with it would be a simple matter to turn and face what he assumed was a second opponent.