[i][color=ffe63d]Oh [b]fuck.[/b][/color][/i]

So, so much of Quinn's strategy in combat revolved around her cannon. It was how he maneuvered, how she deflected, how she attacked, how she kept space. So as it crumbled to ashes in her hand, she downright [i]felt[/i] her options decrease. This was something new; she'd never lost her weapon for more than a moment. And at that thought, a memory from the deep mists of time crept back.

[i][color=gray]If your weapons can't be relied upon, then you need to know how to kick and punch like you mean it.[/color][/i]

Well, here was the test. She brought her hands up in the instinctive stance that she used when fighting, blind spot kept as far away from the enemies as possible, hands up in front. The icy grip of dread started to encroach on her heart, but with a fierce shake of her head, she [i]shut it out.[/i] No. [i]No.[/i] She was a [i]pilot.[/i] She could [i]do this.[/i] [i][color=ffe63d]This is what they were born for.[/color][/i]

The spear came at her first, and she dipped low, then brought her arm up elbow-first, catching it on the modium scutes that ran along her arm. She took advantage of the recoil to sneak in a low kick on the spear-wielding Modir's shin, and it made a vocalization of frustration and perhaps a little pain before [i]Ablaze[/i] danced back and out of the way...

...Only to be caught off guard and [i]barely[/i] slide to the side of the other Modir's vicious blades. This time she had less of a reach disadvantage so she snapped her leg out [i]hard[/i] this time, catching its arm by the shoulder. She felt a [i]pop[/i], but unfortunately, it didn't seem like it had broken, just dislocated. Still, it gave her time to nip in and rake it across the back of the neck with her claws before she backed off again. And again, she was nearly impaled by the flying spear. As it was, it skated along her ribs, setting her teeth to snarling. They were coming again, this time faster, more together. The seconds ticked by.

One of the blades clattered against her leg, only barely caught on the scutes. She gave a silent thanks that [i]Ablaze[/i] had them; life would've been much harder otherwise. Even then, she was rapidly being covered in small superficial wounds. Not enough to really be a danger, but enough to slow her down, and enough to pierce much more through the numbing field.

 She forsook any opportunity to counterattack now; focusing solely on dodging. The thread of her cannon was growing stronger, but not fast enough. Never fast enough.

The seconds ticked by. The clock ticked down.