The Modir let off one more salvo, but Quinn’s shot was dead-on, striking the missiles as they clustered and blowing the monster’s chest apart, only for it to be utterly mulched in the explosion of its own artillery. 

[i][color=black]Two...[/color][/i] came a gutteral anger so visceral Quinn could hear clear as day.  

Not so clear was her view of the two newcomers. The second Modir’s demise had left a sizeable cloud of smoke and ash in its wake. Fire was beginning to spread through the fields, catching red once it touched the wheat and turning the ground into a carpet of flame. 

Aside from the thundering footsteps growing ever closer, and the encroaching static of something beyond, these moments were nearly peaceful. Nearly. 

[i][color=black]Quinn![/color][/i]

An alien reflex wrestled with her, and managed just enough control to lurch her sidelong as a modium spear pierced the smoke like a bolt of lightning. It had been aimed for her head, but blessedly it missed; instead, it struck her cannon, right through the barrel. There was a low whine almost like that of a living thing, and then Quinn’s weapon burst into flames and crumbled into ash in her hands. 

Inside her it was like a tether had snapped, but she knew it wasn’t permanent. Already it was reforming, strand by strand, but it would be some time before she could wrench her cannon back from the void—if she was lucky, it would be as she phased. 

But as the agony of combat was keen to keep reminding her, minutes [i]did[/i] always feel so long. 

The two Modir cleared the smoke and charged her. The one who’d thrown the spear manifested it once again in its hands, and lunged to stab at her. The other, whose weapons appeared to be a pair of long blades extending backwards down its forearms, skirted around to flank her before dashing in as well.