Semyon allowed himself a small sense of satisfaction as the construct's eyes dimmed. Every being had a weak point after all, even to tiny pieces of fast-moving lead. Now if Anslem could get the leverage to trip it up, they cou-
Ah, Sethan had taken the initiative himself. True to the title he wo-
Oh. Sethan had just been launched out of sight.
Concern flashed through the Wight's mind, but he couldn't act on it, not now. Sethan was undead -a powerful undead- so it was unlikely that blow did any real injury. Semyon's immediate concern for now, however, was the wave of fire and rocky shrapnel the blinded construct was throwing up at... well... everyone.
Cannot select a target? Hit everything you can. Created being or not, this statue knew combat.
Rising from his crouch, Semyon spared half an instant to glance about the battlefield, then moved. Legs drove against the ground in a sudden, fierce sprint as the undead soldier bolted to, then up the stone shelves on his left. He scaled the grand architecture in steady leaps, shelf-by-shelf, one had helping keep his balance while the other kept his weapon trained on the construct. Pebbles and sputtering embers bounced off his form, but he had climbed high enough, the true danger of the construct's attack unable to do more than spit in anger at his actions.
From up there, as he looked to judge the conditions of his comrades, a voice suddenly whispered by his ear. Belonging to the ethereal form of a strange woman seemingly unconcerned of Semyon's current position, her words gave the Wight his next pressing objective.
Keep Nestor alive? Ah, the volunteer... who was currently charging the blinded construct. Seems he was the kind to repeat a plan until it failed him.
"I won't let him die." Letting go of the shelf above him, Semyon kept his gaze on the sprinting form, even as his own began to tip into empty air. His eyes narrowed as Nestor fired something and began to climb. "But he's badly injured already."
He was in free-fall before the last word left his mouth.
Semyon's weapon spat a pair of quick bursts into the construct's face, then went silent, hammer striking empty air. Tucking it close to his chest, the Wight hit the ground legs first, dropping into a roll an instant before the force would have shattered his bones. He came up in front og the surviving construct, hands already drawing an extended magazine from his coat, swapping out the emptied one and taking aim once more.
"Tamarind!" His voice bellowed out once more, as he kept sight of the werewolf in question. "Look to Nestor at your flank!"
Without knowing how well the construct could hear and judge, that statement would have to be enough. It was blinded, their comrade Nestor seemed to have a plan, but unless Semyon's eyes were mistaken, he was in poor condition. Tamarind was closest, she'd be able to more accurately judge and give assistance, if needed.
As for Semyon, he kept position ahead of the construct, weapon trained upon it's eyes. They were pitted and darkened by gunfire, but if they ignited once more, for whatever reason, he had more bullets ready.