[center][h2]'Henson'[/h2][hr][@Raineh Daze][@VitaVitaAR][hr][/center]The silver dagger struck the mannequin's head at speed, a clean enough hit that it seemed to take a moment for it to register the sizeable hole its trajectory tore through its skull as it embedded itself in the wall behind it. 

There was a sound: not of the magus, but a low, gurgling groan in the construct's original, mechanical voice as cracks spread from the point of entry outwards, half of its skull sagging before fully cracking off, sliding off its mount and falling to the floor. One red light dimming and falling with it in clatter of bone, plastic and metal on the ground, the other blinked desperately in tune with the broken electronics that the blow had exposed beneath the shattered ivory surface, loose and severed wires sparking as its voicebox was damaged beyond function or repair. It remained upright on its feet for a moment, only stumbling somewhat as it attempted to return to whatever basic directives had been left with it, the flow of energy animating it began to fail with the damage to its head, splaying its arms out as it tried to maintain a connection to the network and flow of power that had animated it-

There was a click from one of the objects behind them on the table as that finally seemed to prove futile, as the gurgling faded out like a worn-out recording reaching its end, and as the other red light burned out into nothing as the sparking of the electronics was replaced with the simple hiss of smoke. In that moment, Saber might have recalled that the light flow of energy hadn't been the only signature evident from the mannequin; that there had been a second, denser and seemingly superfluous pocket in its chest.

The change took only a fraction of an instant, but Saber's honed senses and instincts would perceive it as a long, agonizing moment of clarity. As the flow of mana connecting the mannequin to the strange communication network was cut off, that pocket expanded outwards: not an increase in its mass, but rather as if it had been kept bound and compressed and was now released to assume its true volume. It began at the deepest layer of the pocket, mana rippling outwards from the core and easily eating through the thin shell that had previously isolated it from what laid beyond. Breaching into the next layer, it began to intertwine with whatever laid inside: compared to the Servant's ability to perceive magical energy, this gave her no such clarity, only that it was reacting with the mana flowing into it to expand even further, the two factors undergoing an exponential increase in volume far beyond the confines of what the vessel of the mannequin's chest could hold-

A deafening roar filled the workshop as what was left of the mannequin exploded, the force of the detonation that had been triggered in its chest cavity tearing what was left of its body apart as the compressed air blasted outwards with force. The volume combined with the mana empowering it was enough to send one flying away from the explosion's point of origin, if not outright maul them as the sheer force of the detonation rocked their frame within the enclosed quarters; if that didn't suffice, then the countless pieces of jagged metal that had somehow been fitted into the topmost layer of whatever shell had been fashioned to contain the makeshift bomb were likely to do the job. The blast sent them flying outwards with speed and force comparable to Asteriel's own thrown dagger, the room's furnishings going up up in a cloud of dust and debris as they were shredded by the storm of shrapnel, the remainder either peppering the walls or continuing along their flight path out and through the broken windows and open door of the storage unit.