Lying on the ground, staring up at the night sky while explosions went off left and right, gunfire and magic fireballs. Parry had listened to Tony describe the concussive power of explosive weapons before, fighting in the jungle and all that. He'd listened to the lycan back then out of decorum rather than interest. Turns out he would have been better off paying attention to those old war stories, especially if Tony had one he liked to call "The day I survived 18 rockets."

[i]I retired to get away from this shit. Well, not the rockets and guns. Those are new. Not much different from Daemon curses and flaming javelins. What the Pit is that noise though? My carbon monoxide thingy? Oooooh, ringing in the ears? Is that what this is? It's not ringing, Tony. More like an eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sound that's getting quieter and quieter...[/i]

Aaaaaaaand, back to reality.

Tony was inside screaming about a back door, probably reliving his glory days from 'Nam.

Parry caught the scent of blood tinged with spearmint- Rikive was shot but definitely not dead.

Something suddenly stank of Demonic pitch mixed with copper. So Karram's drably dressed girlfriend was a demon? And she was shot too. And returning fire if that pop-pop-pop sound was any indicator.
[i]
Great. A Demon-touched. This is gonna get awwwwwwkwaaaaaaaard.[/i]

Flint was doing his level best to keep Parry alive, erecting dirt barricades to absorb any rockets that came their way and firing off pistol shots with his own hand cannon.

"Aw, Flinty! My knight in shining armor!" Parry grinned, leaning up and planting a chaste kiss on the detective's cheek as he stopped to reload. "Oh hells! You taste like whiskey and Marlboro. Get off of me and get some aftershave!" The Celestial took all of six seconds to scratch and claw at his lips to get the taste off of them. "Like licking a trailer park rug. Never doing that again."

Parry rolled to the side, giving the PI a chance to reload without getting any more smooches, while the Celestial considered their options. The house was warded against magic, so either Nemsemet had guessed that and sent his lackeys loaded for bear, or just never had any fucks to give over the whole "subtlety" thing. Made sense either way, so it didn't fucking matter.

"Tony, back door through the kitchen! There's a subway entrance one block down! We need to get them into the house to trip the Wards on them! Beth, see if you can puppeteer one of the shooters and make a mess from behind them!"