[i]Mirror mirror[/i] would be the game here. Glass pebbles answered by meteors that, as one might correctly assume, exploded on impact with the wall -- from incendiary innards or sheer impact? Probably the former. The mantraps burst, spat their red everywhere.

	Here, John thought to continue in his tactic; he pulled his torso forwards from the wall. Morsels of concrete fell at his heels, though the snakeskin seemed unharmed. In fact, when the blood had been spouting from his wounds, now it refrained, held in place by sheer control over that which was his. [i]Then, how to control that which is my opponent's?[/i]

	He caught his breath as he turned to Nudara. "Nice trick, truly. And you should know I actually like tricks, so take it as a compliment."

	He raised his guns and took the same stance. He had a trick up both sleeves even now.

	"Wrong order-Oh shit-"

	The change in pressure ravaged his stance integrity. It didn't stop what happened, however. John pulled the triggers in unison three times -- he had a trigger finger like the devil, and these shots were sudden like the burst of an assault rifle, of shocking ferocity like any artillery. Nudara had his explosion, and John had three of his own launching himself away. Even if the bullets didn't hit -- relocation was the main priority with these shots, not lethality -- three walls of his guns' own pressure waves would with any luck slow his quarry as he accelerated into the wall.

	Just as sudden was the crack when his shoulder busted through. The concrete was what cracked. The change in pressure had still stolen momentum, altered the launch. He didn't hit as hard as he'd have liked and hurt all the more for it. It meant a rougher entry into the space adjacent to the door control room. He crumpled and rubble crumbled all over him, left him to wonder if his shoulder blade had also cracked.

	Hall or room, he knew not; with a flick of his wrist, where he lay, he cast the gun from his right hand behind himself. It clattered a fair distance away, fifteen or twenty feet, at the base of a wall.

	His arm continued in its motion to his left hip for the charm box. Swift fingers scrabbled to get it open. He propped his left elbow directly on the floor for stability, and to give that aching shoulder an ounce of respite. Preemptively, he shot through the opening he'd made to ward off Nudara, arm angled upwards from the floor and swiveling right to left -- the gun seemed to have far more ammo than spatially possible. The rooms pulsed like subwoofers gone mad. Each round fired, at first held in a stretched space far larger on the inside, gave his elbow a terrible jolt that sent cracks spiderwebbing throughout the floor. He'd have almost as riotous a bruise there as on his back.

	Inside the box was his object of hasty retrieval: a black container of hematite warped into the shape of an egg, with a tiny knob for a lid handle at the fatter end and a spout at the skinnier end. It'd fit in the palm of his hand, if his search wasn't soon interrupted by haste on Nudara's part. If Nudara could sense magic, this item could not be hidden from such view when outside its deadening container.