What happened next would have happened fast, extremely fast. There's a realm which dwells outside of humanities visual capacities. This is the realm where the next four seconds transpire.

Darsby, still entirely unarmed by his standards, was caught off guard by the feminine huntress closing in on our farmhouse. He couldn't have heard, seen, or smelled this woman underneath the veil of her magic. 

*Crash!* Through the window came an invisible mass. Reacting on instinct, Darsby turns left to face whatever hidden foe may have reared its fangs here. *Bang!Bang!-Crash!* Two rounds exit a worn revolver's chamber just before Darsby is thrown into the wall at his left with such force that he nearly breaks through it entirely. With a faint shimmer, our new opponent is revealed, one of her hands has wholly passed through the center of Darsby's chest. 

Rippling muscles cascade down the exterior of heavily tanned arms sprouting from a grey tank-top. Loose fitting cargo shorts rest just above sandals — crimson hair jutts in many directions atop veined features contorted by beauty and habitual rage. Fierce orange eyes glow near Darsby's chest as she withdraws her arm from the gaping hole she's created to quickly strike both of his shoulders with a blur of punches. *Crack!-popop!* Bones snap under the weight of her near-invisible strikes. 

The man and his grey suit stand just as this woman finishes her assault, her right arm drenched in chunks of bone and strips of flesh.

"Ahllasta! I told you to stay in the car!" He barks, though somehow still sounding unenthused by present circumstance.
"He's a Baron." She'd quietly say in a mist of rage while staring down at the sputtering form of her victim.

Darsby is again rendered as a mass of broken form. He's crumpled into the ground and left to sputter in effort to speak, both arms limp at his sides after having slid to the Earth below. 

*Bang!* With one movement, so fast it escaped sight, the grey man had drawn a pistol and fired a round into Darsby's twitching head. With that, Anora's companion went silent. 

"Then he's stuck in bureaucracy until his body's fixed. I'm making the call." He then pulls a cell-phone to his ear, sighing while stepping from the room to mumble silently at some unnamed superior. 

The Huntress is all that's left in the room. Her lips are curled int a snear as she stares down upon what looks to be a corpse. She's openly furious, having been robbed of the ability to speak her mind to the figure at her feet.