[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center]

His eyes stung.

Rudolf's frantic search of the remains of the warehouse had revealed to him only more of the same— shredded ironworks, scattered bodies, and thick, choking haze, painted crimson by flame where night alone would have seen it a cold, dry black. Hardly a great situation to begin with, but now that he'd dropped into the thick of things, he was certain of the sense he'd gotten from those precious few moments up above the rafters—

A flash of light from his peripheral, sudden brightness muted by the dust even as the bullet it sent carved an instant's track through, drawing the vague idea of a line towards him before he managed to get his heftier blade in its path. The impact registered through his grip and pauldron, the pinging sound that he'd come to associate with knocking bullets off course ringing out and reaching his ears. He suspected that the echoes of all the gunfire would have driven everyone inside nuts if the building was intact. Either way... he grit his teeth as he about-faced, torquing his course through the ankle into a rough shoulder check, bowling the rifleman over before he could loose another shot. His hearing was back in working enough order.

[b]"...al with the boy, I'll play with the girl."[/b] an unfamiliar yet cruel voice sneered, followed up shortly by the pounding of boots against tile. By his count, three, coming to swarm from further ahead.

[i]Not three, four. Trying to find one way to skin a cat that's behind you.[/i]

—And they were significantly outnumbered. The dust was clearing now, revealing a trio of charging men, gunblades of various types in hand, very definitely looking to take him out of the picture, but even worse than they—

A dark blur overhead, whose strides had been quiet as any he'd missed beneath the noise of louder battle. In each of its hands, streaks of reflected flame. Knives. They weren't after him, but something past him. He had only one ally here— and she was nowhere near this tall. No chance they'd stumbled into a mysterious benefactor at this hour, in this situation— she was doubtlessly the one who had declared they'd 'play with the girl'. No prizes for guessing who it'd be.

[color=c0392b]"Clear out, Miina!"[/color]

With the hand that held his dagger, Rudolf ripped the cloak free and flung it high,[sup]1[/sup] this unnamed assailant's vision suddenly filled by charred, burning fabric as she cleared the top of his head in her otherwise nimble leap. That'd force at least a moment's adjustment even if she was good enough with those knives to tear the thing to ribbons. And if not, then he'd seen what his Mystrel compatriot could do when he gave her a proper opening... but an opening was about all he'd have time to give.

Thunder, close, instants away. If he hadn't heard so much of it the last night they'd spent at Ramuh's sacred ground, it would have seemed deafening.

He wrenched his body, grip fully closing around the bone of his dagger as the mercenaries crashed into him, explosive force behind their blades forcing him to try and redirect himself, rather than parry their triplicate attack. The dive took him out of their initial line of fire, as it were— enough to come out of the roll in a crouch, then leap again to the side as they about-faced to try and track him down. 

No place to breathe, even with the night air returning— these guys weren't letting up. He doubted they'd let either of them [i]out[/i]. He needed to force them back, draw his proper weapons, and cut their way to freedom. To the others.

Here, he planted the Rondel through the flooring, and grit his teeth as he swung the excess momentum through a wide, arcing swing of his greatsword, filling the space the armored men would have to traverse to split his skull with an imposingly nimble, impressive-looking crescent of edged steel[sup]2[/sup]—

—Before ripping the fang free and returning that fell greatsword the harness on his back, his precious second bought. Almost ripping the wings free from either side of his belt, he wasted no time in pouncing to meet their next attacks. He grit his teeth. They were three men. Men who fought as profession, men armed with the same gunblades he'd gained new respect for, but all the same men, not divine, not enhanced, not monstruous— Just three men.[sup]3[/sup]

Sparks rang out. Steel met steel.

At this rate, some small part of him wryly noted, he wasn't going to find time to realize how frightful this all had been.

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[list]
[*][sub]1. Rest in peace, soldier. Fashion inspectors around the world shall mourn your passing, and that of your bespoke pyroclastic aura.[/sub]
[*][sub]2. Fascinating detail in how that curse interacts with the ambient clouds of dust et al in the air— we already talked about bullets leaving blink and you miss it lines through the suspension, but this hunk of junk? Doesn't do that in the slightest. It's like a ghost passing through. Maybe one day we'll learn that it hurts banshees normally, or something.[/sub]
[*][sub]3. Your sense of scale might be a bit askew after I started talking again, Rudolf. Just know I'm an effect more than a cause.[/sub]
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