Things were going well for a moment.

Anastasia brought over a cloak, presumably retrieved from one of their attackers from before. Semyon didn't have the time to examine it -it seemed no one did- but no matter what it [i]had[/i] been, now it was a rudimentary bandage, and that was all he needed to know. Giving a quick "Understood" to Atticus, he continued his watch, pacing around their group with gun drawn and gaze darting.

His eyes focused first on the 'hound' belonging to the Young Reaper, giving it wide berth as it went on its way. He hadn't interacted with it at all, but given it's owners current thoughts of him, he felt now wasn't the time to try. It seemed to be on a mission anyways, so Semyon counted it as a sign that the reaper was still well, and continued his watch.

The man named Gabriel was the next to be spotted, dashing over to them armed for war. Semyon absently noted the man's armaments once more, part of his mind filing away assumptions on Gabriel's fighting styles as he greeted the approaching man.

"If you can help Hoyle, you're needed there." He took a moment to gesture towards the injured Werewolf being carried by Atticus, just in time for the incubus to stagger under the weight. "Healing or helping carry him. Otherwise, we need to watch for assassins."

Another approached, the one who had spoken with the Young Reaper before, offering to help close Hoyle's wounds herself. That brought a sense of relief to Semyon, finally, the Wight giving her a polite nod as she finished speaking.

"That might be for the best, Miss." He continued his watch as he spoke. They couldn't afford to be ambushed, not this close to the gates. "Pain or no, it's better than dea-... [i]No[/i]..."

Semyon froze for an instant, gaze locking upon the white-furred form that hadn't been there before. Ahead, he stood before Tamarind and the injured Werewolf she carried. He saw the figure leap back, something clutched in one hand...

...And a bloodied, silver sword in the other.

Semyon took off with a hoarse, desperate cry, legs launching him through the air. He covered the ground in bounding leaps, gaining speed every time his feet struck the floor. The attacker turned and leapt as well, aiming for the gate that still signaled safety, only now for the wrong party. Something cracked along his leg as Semyon drove every ounce of strength he could into the next leap. No clear shot presented itself, and the Wight's non-silver rounds wouldn't do enough to stop the fleeing form even if he had the chance. So he surged forwards, crossing the distance with impressive speed, aiming to latch himself upon the form and haul him away from the open gate.

But his quarry was a Werewolf, fast in its own right, and with less ground to cover. Semyon watched as the attacker got away, crossing through the gate even as he closed the gap, slamming to a stop against the gate's supports with nothing to show for his efforts at all.

[i]" нет- Тьфу, пропасть!"[/i] The oath tore itself from Semyon's mouth in a snarling growl, the Wight snapping around to Tamarind and the one she carried. Blood was what he saw, the older werewolf's stomach open and spilling life from her form. Too much, far too much spilt, on top of a wound she had already suffered. Three centuries of existence told Semyon that her life was over, the look on her face one he had seen many times before.

So many, many times before.

[i]" Тьфу, пропасть..."[/i] His voice grew quiet and cold, form slumping back against the gate's supports. How little time had passed since he had started this mission? And already one of their number was lost, one of his employers badly wounded, and the company main office under siege and failing. 

Semyon's lips curled back in a feral snarl, even as his eyes cast themselves away from the bleeding form before him. His right hand remained locked around his weapon, but it hung limply at his side. Part of him knew he needed to move, other parts urged him to pursue the murderer, but he stayed still. He didn't want to move, not right now. He just wanted to stand there for a moment, doing nothing.

Not that doing something had helped at all, so far.

[i]"... Боги ударить в этот день..."[/i]

(( **"No- Damn it all!" "Damn it all..." "... Gods strike this day..."
At least, that's what the translate says. ))