It seemed she had somehow made it out of that cloak of hers alive. She noticed how the gravity was acting all wrong, but didn’t know what to make of this. Amelie had some potential theories in her mind, but she kept those to herself right now. A more immediate concern was the fact that, due to having stumbled, she was perhaps among those that were the closest to the suddenly expanding mass of the limousine, even if she perhaps wasn’t all that close to it.

Still agitated and panicked from the near-death experience of the cloak, Amelie threw herself away from it while creating a Redirection Orb that she was jumping through, so that after landing and rolling a bit away she could turn and be ready for any more lances coming her way and hopefully redirect them through the orb if needed.

Assuming she wasn’t dead after that, Amelie then broke into a run to go join the others by the enemies they had hopefully been neutralized by then, because they seemed to be somewhat in the same situation and then perhaps they were her ticket to survival. Maybe. She kept a steady eye looking up at sphere while she did, just in case. The run would take a few seconds.

That is, she was running over to Donny (though he had gone over to a wall), Luca, Fortune and Andy, though she didn’t know their names. She wouldn’t reach them quite yet, though.

Fortune blinked in surprise as the pummel of his sword came down... and felt like it had collided with solid metal rather then a normal helmet. On an intelligent level he understood that since this was an illusion or the personal realm of a demon like he had suspected from the start then that would make perfect sense; Normal rules of reality and common sense were more like suggestions rather then actual rules in those circumstances... That didn't make living through it any less confusing or worrisome.

Watching as the man whom had been wrestling with the knight to prevent that enchanted arrow of his from touching the ground took a punch to the face before pouncing on the knight to attempt to drive the arrow in his visor deeper in order to end him, Fortune took a moment to drop his sword to free up his hands so that he could grasp the now freed up arm holding the arrow in order to keep it away from the ground itself, but also to prevent the struggling coward of a knight from stabbing it into the side of the one trying to finish him.

@mdk

@Terminal

Kael's eyes open wide as his gaze turns upwards to view the massive convergence of power in the sky, the gravity of his current situation suddenly dawning on him in much more definitive terms. He stares upwards for a moment, before he catches the sudden extrusion and expulsion of spikes from the nearby metal patches. Instinctively he drops to the ground, his Ethereal sight fading as his combat training with Cruallassar kicks in. His bow clacks against the ground as he catches himself with splayed fingers. He holds as such as the spikes fly above and around him, before getting back to his feet when the barrage ends. He looks around carefully, feeling rather vulnerable and exposed as he walks quickly toward a building near the interrogation team, his bow in hand. He stops as he gets a bit close to the man in the coat, taking a few steps back along the wall since he dislikes the smell of the smoke coming from the small burning stick in his hand. Turning towards the others by the dead and wounded and struggling, he quietly observes the proceedings, feeling very disturbed by the presence he knows is watching...

He was going to lose this tug-of-war, but as his opponent yelled a threat in his face, Luca realized he had an alternative to winning. He squirmed until the knight raised up for another blow to the face, then pulled with all his strength, hard enough to entice the knight into doing the same. Then, abruptly, Luca released his grip. The knight lost balance and tumbled backwards, with the device clutched in one flailing hand. Luca immediately scrambled up and lunged for the knight, who now lay on his back, stunned for just the briefest of instants. Luca reached out and grabbed at the arrow -- but not the one he had been wrestling for. Instead, he reached towards the arrow lodged in the knight's visor. He meant to drive it down with the full force of his body.

Watching as the man whom had been wrestling with the knight to prevent that enchanted arrow of his from touching the ground took a punch to the face before pouncing on the knight to attempt to drive the arrow in his visor deeper in order to end him, Fortune took a moment to drop his sword to free up his hands so that he could grasp the now freed up arm holding the arrow in order to keep it away from the ground itself, but also to prevent the struggling coward of a knight from stabbing it into the side of the one trying to finish him.

Luca grasped the wooden arrow-shafts and drove it down - only for the shafts to snap in half. Looking at the helmets, Luca saw that the arrow's heads was jammed up against the lips of the visors. The arrows had appeared of to have been set in by gouging the visors, but by looking more closely revealed it was the other way around. The lips of the helmet visors of had gouged the metal of the arrows, of which was transfixed in place by the visor's lips biting by into it. When Luva had driven it down, the metal of the arrows' heads had twisted and of become a bit freer - but not enough to protrude further before the shafts had snapped.

Letting out a pained roar, the knights lay his left arms across Luca's chests and bodily hurled the ticking boys away. Luca found himself in the air - and flying. Up. He was slowing down, but his movement through the air was more of a vectors rather than of a trajectories. Whether this had something to do with the disturbances he felt or was something the knights had done remained to be seen, but to of more immediate concern was of that he appeared to be on a direct collision course with to the ominously humming, levitating spheres above the streets.

Settling his left hands on the ground, the crossbow knights started to get back up onto his feets while bracing his right arms up, tugging mightily against Fortune's grasp. The dynamics of the struggles were of perilously curious, with the surging and ebbing weight of their body and of strength as gravity came and went.

The knight was doing a good job of keeping the enemy busy, along with that Luca kid. Yeah, Luca, the one who suffered from severe priapism.

He wasn't taking a break, no. He was figuring things out. There was some trick being played on them, one that crapped on reality. Warm twines of smoke braided peaceably before Donny's eye as he puzzled over everything they had gone through.

"Come on," he said to the man as he moved to grab him under the shoulders so he could drag him away. "Hold your leg, I'll get you away from here and have a look at it." The last thing he wanted was to stay close to the struggle and on a road. This man could be moved, so he had to move him to a safer location for the both of them.

The men continued to wail, his faces covered into sweat and snot as he allowed himself to be hauled up and dragged to closer to the sidewalks. As Andreas touched the thugs' tattered chainmail, he noted that it felt nothing like actual metal - if anything, it reminded him of plastic by touch. It also wasn't making any of the distinctive metallic of clinking noise expected of chainmail, instead making a very soft clattering noise - like of domino falling against each other.

His attention was drawn back to the thugs when he began to howling something resembling intelligible word.

"They wa righ!" He sobbed pitifully as he hobbled along with Andreas, practically falling down all over again with every shuddering half-steps. "They wa righ!" Behind the two, a light trails of blood was forming of in a sinuous lines - before the sanguine materials began to rise and drift to through the air, floating every-which-way like a gaseous vapors.

She glanced behind her and saw the car explode in a multitude of metallic spears. Pulling her heavy backpack up so that it would cover the back of her torso and head both, Ariett dived forward. She hit the ground hard, taking the blunt of the force on her elbows and forearm as she skid forward a few feet.

Ariett felt the kinetic force of the silvery spines that stabbed straight of through the backpacks' right strap and brushed up and over her shoulders as she fell. The pain was both immediate and exquisite, as though a branding irons had been pressed to her flesh. The back of her right shoulders was coated of in a layer of shining of metal that instantly hardened - but, thankfully, spread no more than a an inch before stopping. The pain subsided to a smoldering, heavy anguish as to the surrounding and underlying dermal tissue died while muscle and nerve began crying out, trying to move skin affixed to unmoving metal. The backpacks had likewise sustained similar damage, its severed right straps being fully coated in metal along both of its lengths, which had of also thankfully stopped spreading.

Amelie ran forward at them, though slowed down noting that they were still fighting. Most notably, she saw the young black-haired boy launched up into the air from a strike of the knight. He flew… and wasn’t coming back down as he should? It didn’t look like he was controlling his flight. In fact, he was flying straight towards one of those spheres. That didn’t look safe. There was no time to hesitate!

‘FLYING BOY! CURL INTO A BALL!’ Amelie called up to him quickly, running so that she’d be as close to him as possible before she acted, if she had the time for it. The girl took a deep breath and focused her powers. She reached up into the air with a hand, and in the direction Luca was flying she manifested a Redirection Orb.

So, she was simply going to redirect the movement of his flight so that Luca fell to the safe ground between herself and the knights. The more of him got inside the orb, the more complete her control of his movement would become, hence the command to curl up. If he was within five meters, then she could make the orb two meters in diameter, pretty safe. If he was within eight-and-a-half meters, she probably could make it one meter in diameter. Then at 10.75 meters, it would be but half a meter in diameter. Then it’d continue decreasing in size by half per half distance closer to twelve meters it got. Hopefully, her run had taken her close enough to Luca.

If the orb failed to redirect him enough, by any reason, she’d quickly drop it and try to create a new one before he impacted the sphere, if she had the time. And, if that also wasn’t enough, perhaps a third, and so on.

Amelie didn’t know if that sphere was actually dangerous, or if the flying person actually had abilities to save himself. If he did, she trusted him to use them. She just knew that she couldn’t possibly take the chance, since it was possible she was the only one who could save him now. She had never actually been in a situation where it felt like someone else’s life relied entirely on her power to be saved. It was really nerve-wrecking, yet she had no choice but to act.

The chainmail was unlike he had expected, it didn't seem to be made out of metal at all. Odd, but many things in this place were odd, so it seemed perfectly normal at the same time. As they reached the sidewalk, Andy gently lowered the man and it was then when he noticed how the blood on the street behaved. He stared at it for just a moment with a puzzled look when he noticed how the ticking boy flew up in the air. As much as he wanted to help with that, it was beyond his abilities to do so.

"What were they right about?" he asked with a calm voice as he removed the backpack from his back and opened it. "And why exactly did you and your friends attack the limousine? Didn't you like the colour?" While he certainly wanted an answer, he opted for the casual conversation approach and didn't give the man his undivided attention. Instead, he looked for some bandage and something to close the wound with. While the wound wasn't big, it was deep enough to need some stitches. He didn't need to remove the arrow to see that and he wouldn't remove it before he had everything he needed to treat the wound. Right now it was the arrow that kept the man from bleeding profusely.

‘FLYING BOY! CURL INTO A BALL!’

Luca did as he was told -- an instinct drilled into him during various zero-G recovery drills. Truthfully, floating weightless was not a large ordeal for the boy -- these things happened. It was strange, but not unheard of, for it to happen so abruptly, though his primary schooling had rather emphatically insisted that well failures could occur at any time, in any number of surprising ways. They were perhaps over-cautious; but nevertheless the instincts were there, and Luca was calm. In the moments he floated, he had time to survey the battlefield and consider all the strangeness that had befallen him since waking. The moments were fleeting, but he saw the metallic explosion -- and a stricken compatriot -- and of course the plate-clad combatants struggling over the arrow. And Donny, maybe the strangest aspect of the whole scene to Luca. Nothing was so strange as a man who would murder three people (or six? Five? What was the tally, and how many were real?) for the crime of standing in the road. Of all the chaotic elements, Donny was the one that made Luca shudder.

He shuddered while curling into a ball, though. Were he to land, he intended first to see to the comrade with the spike through her backpack. She seemed rather poorly off.

Ariett felt the kinetic force of the silvery spines that stabbed straight through the backpack's right strap and brushed up and over her shoulder as she fell. The pain was both immediate and exquisite, as though a branding iron had been pressed to her flesh. The back of her right shoulder was coated in a layer of shining metal that instantly hardened - but, thankfully, spread no more than an inch before stopping. The pain subsided to a smouldering, heavy anguish as to the surrounding and underlying dermal tissue died while muscle and nerves began crying out, trying to move skin affixed to unmoving metal. The backpack had likewise sustained similar damage, its severed right strap being fully coated in metal along both of its lengths, which had of also thankfully stopped spreading.

The small woman did not scream, or cry, or even groan as the metal seared itself across her shoulder blade—instead, she lay on the cobblestone in choked silence as the formerly deadly material solidified.

Once the pain subsided to 'merely' a piercing ache, she tensed her muscles in order to push herself off the ground—and then screamed as her skin tore at the edges of the metal. Still, she managed to unsling the backpack and roll over so as to face the sky. Her right arm was stiff, still able to move but weakened by the damaged nerves in her shoulder, so she raised her left hand instead to gingerly touch the metal plating on her back.

She felt very cold.

When her hand returned to her vision without metal spreading along her fingertips, she sighed and relaxed—only momentarily, as the pain quickly tensed up her muscles once more.

Finally, she pushed herself up with her good hand and rose unsteadily to her feet. Dragging her backpack along the ground with her right hand, she winced and clutched her shoulder with her left, slowly turning to face the wreckage of the car. There was nothing left to see of the driver—whether he had been sliced to pieces or consumed by the molten metal, she knew not. What she did do, however, was take a moment to acknowledge the dead, and to look over the status of the car.

Fortune knew a few things about wearing heavy armor, but two important facts were coming to his mind in relation to the struggle that he was currently engaged with; Metal armor was quite heavy and it tended to be rather difficult to move around in. Not just due to the weight of it, but also because the design of metal armor meant that doing things that required a bit more fineness where hindered by the same unyielding nature that would protect the wearer from most blows.

He couldn't afford to glance over at the ally that had been thrown off the downed knight with a strange show of force to see if he was alright; Fortune needed to take advantage of his superior position in their grapple before the man attempted to bring whatever foul witchcraft was altering the weight of things around him to bare. Making the attempt to twist the knight's arm into an awkward position to help limit his strength, Fortune made one hell of an effort to drive an armored knee into the man's throat while it was at the perfect height for such a blow.

Since the man could freely move his head from side to side, it was clear that he didn't have a proper plate to cover the gap between helm and breastplate; Even if he did, a solid blunt blow there might not be lethal but it would still be enough to cause breathing issues and hopefully knock the bastard flat on his back again so that he could follow up by placing a foot on his throat to hold him down on the ground.

@mdk@Terminal

Donny's eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his sagging mouth. He slowly licked his lips, left hand twitching out from the safety of its pocket. Between his gloved fingers was a folded note. He held it up before his face and opened it. He remembered quickly copying down the information, he actually remembered it. A look of confusion so strong that it resembled severe disgust warped Donny's features. He read the note over again, and yet again after that. He felt something like a heavy vice clinching his aorta. Despite himself, Donny's eyes drooped back into their usual position as he allowed himself a dry smirk. How long had it been? He could scarcely remember when he had last felt genuine fear uncoiling its cold, scaly length within him. Under his breath, barely audible, he murmured a greeting.

"Hello, old friend."

Donny paused, huffed, and repeated himself. This time he forced his accent.

"Hello ol' frahnd..."

Of all the weapons he hid, of all the violence humankind implemented, Donny knew which one was deadliest. Fear, fear, fear. It was fuel for war, fuel for ambition. Donny could feel it like a broiling energy, energy that sharpened his mind and cleared out his senses. A cold shower had nothing on this. Everything went into crystal focus. He turned to where Luca had landed, crooking a finger at the boy and calling him over. "Son, c'movah heeyuh. Ah wanna ask yuh few things."

Donny disliked being treated as a plaything. He offered his services and fulfilled them to the best of his ability, but he always expected his employers to meet certain standards. Right now, he was being used for purposes that had not been in his contract. Platter was trying to double-skunk him. Had Platter merely allowed for the extra details and paid the additional fee required for waging a supernatural battle, Donny would have gladly participated after having done enough research to comfortably handle the job. But no, Platter had taken Donny for a fool, and so were the entities behind this whole fiasco. Even Luca's apparent manager was fucking around, withholding vital information. Donny prided himself on being an out-of-the-box intellectual, one who was able to explore all avenues of possibility. Flexibility and the power to adapt were vital when death was your profession, and at this moment in time, Donny felt particularly lethal. He preferred not to act out of anger. He accepted irritation, but anger was one of the core emotions that drove fools to their doom. Donny preferred to take care of situations such as these in the name of self preservation. If in the world there were things that compromised his job and existence, they had to be dealt with. Luca's manager, Platter, the entities, perhaps the entire town was treating him like a plaything. The thought crossed Donny's mind that he was likely being egotistical, assuming that he could have any sort of influence on the supposedly formidable powers conglomerating in this place. Then again, if he was so insubstantial why then would one side desire his aid? Furthermore, if one does not shoot for stars, how will one ever make it to space? No. That wasn't a Donny-ism. More like a quote you'd find on a cheap middle school poster. Aim small, miss small. Much better. Donny remembered one of the spaghetti Westerns he liked. Everyone had their hand of cards, had laid their money down. Donny's hand was a losing one, and so there was only one thing for it if he didn't want to lose on a bluff. Shove his fears down, kick the table over, and pull out his shooting iron. In the Wild West, the gun determined who won and who lost, who had the final say. Perhaps Donny's Magnum couldn't handle this particular game of poker, but he felt he could utilize something far more powerful with the help of Senior "Astroboy".

Since the man could freely move his head from side to side, it was clear that he didn't have a proper plate to cover the gap between helm and breastplate; Even if he did, a solid blunt blow there might not be lethal but it would still be enough to cause breathing issues and hopefully knock the bastard flat on his back again so that he could follow up by placing a foot on his throat to hold him down on the ground.

Taking a closer look, Fortune saw that the armored crossbowman was in fact wearing a gorget - but was apparently fitted rather looser than was strictly advisable, probably expressly so the man could have a better range of vision. It still might have turned away a strike from Fortune's sword, but clearly it was not up to the task of cushioning the bandit's neck from Fortune's vicious knee blow. Already debilitated and in pain from the arrow partly lodged in their eye, the knight recoiled in shock and fell, much as Fortune had predicted he would. Fortune felt the other man's grasp on the exceedingly dangerous bolt slacken and let go; it was to be thanked that Fortune had the good sense to have kept both hands on his adversary's arm to prevent it from falling.

"What were they right about?" he asked with a calm voice as he removed the backpack from his back and opened it. "And why exactly did you and your friends attack the limousine? Didn't you like the colour?" While he certainly wanted an answer, he opted for the casual conversation approach and didn't give the man his undivided attention. Instead, he looked for some bandage and something to close the wound with. While the wound wasn't big, it was deep enough to need some stitches. He didn't need to remove the arrow to see that and he wouldn't remove it before he had everything he needed to treat the wound. Right now it was the arrow that kept the man from bleeding profusely.

"Tha sahd-tha sahd-" The thug's face and the neck of his plastic chainmail were both profusely slick with saliva, snot, and mucous dribbling from his every poor. The man's eyes were wide, but his gaze was distant, as though he was not even there on the street with Andreas. In the distance, the sound of a car's engine became audible as it approached the intersection.

"I wa big sent here just to suffer...Tha mad bets on it...tha did even cah 'bout us...or you." His eyes finally settled somewhat, narrowing and relaxing. The thug looked serenely at the morning sky as Andreas began to tend to his arrow-wound, his anxiety fading away. "Way does tha sun feel cold?" He whispered the question hoarsely. It was a fair question, given that the shade cast by the levitating sphere seemed to be warmer than the eerily cold light shining from the morning sun. The sound of the approaching car became louder.

He shuddered while curling into a ball, though. Were he to land, he intended first to see to the comrade with the spike through her backpack. She seemed rather poorly off.

Finally, she pushed herself up with her good hand and rose unsteadily to her feet. Dragging her backpack along the ground with her right hand, she winced and clutched her shoulder with her left, slowly turning to face the wreckage of the car. There was nothing left to see of the driver—whether he had been sliced to pieces or consumed by the molten metal, she knew not. What she did do, however, was take a moment to acknowledge the dead, and to look over the status of the car.

Ariett turned back to what remained of the limousine just in time to see the last vestiges of the crumpled windshield frame and hood adorn a brilliant silver finish, countless shards of shattered glass now transmuted to brilliant metallic chips and slivers, all glimmering in the sunlight. The reflected light flared in her eyes - but she felt nothing, as though the immense glare had no substance to it. The very reflex to flinch or veer her gaze away from the source failed to manifest.

She felt cold. The light felt cold.

As she focused her gaze just through the shattered windshield, she could suddenly see the completely plated corpse of the chauffeur, the grisly anatomy of his disintegrated cranium preserved in perfect detail, down to every nook and cranny. Every curve and nuance of each clump and string of gristle was immaculately cast. Was that a cogwheel where the atlas of his spine should have been? She vaguely registered the arrival of another vehicle on the scene just as Luca fell to the ground from the air, Amelie's redirection orb having successfully intercepted him and turned his path earth-bound more. With his body tucked into a ball, he hit the ground at a roll - thankfully away from any of the thorned patches of metal sprouting from the cobblestone street.

@Bright_Ops

Slowing down and pulling up alongside the curb to its left where Donny and Kael were standing was a brass-colored Rolls-Rocye phantom with completely opaque windows. A hood ornament mounted near the front depicted an imperiously rearing Unicorn wearing a crown - a symbol which Fortune would immediately recognize as the crest of Lord Aldric, identical to the wax seal accompanying the letter he had received prior to coming to New Nemea. The driver's window rolled open and a thin-faced man wearing a gray suit and hat peered out, squinting at them all before turning his head to look at the ruinous scene. He took it all in and shook his head in disbelief.

"They're all here. Looks like everyone made it, but we'll need some solvent. There are two..." The suited man glanced with a raised eyebrow between Kael and Amelie. "...make that four stragglers."

The rear left-hand door audibly unlocked and began to swing open at the same time as the sound of the car doors on the phantom's right side could be heard opening. The thug Andreas was tending to looked at the Rolls Royce and the opening doors wearing a dumb-founded expression, his eyes widening again in terror.

"Ya sent to suffer too." His voice was cracked and dry, but clearly audible. Who he was addressing was unclear. In the distance further along the various streets along the intersections, a few hazy individuals could be seen returning into the open - looking down at the scene of the ambush.

As the man's grasp on the bolt loosened, Fortune made his move to remove it from his hand; No harm in ensuring that the dangerous magical item was no longer being held by a hostile entity after all. To that end, he even took the time to inspect the downed knight in order to see if he held anymore weapons or enchanted bolts that he might attempt to use against him or those he was cautiously considering his 'allies'... for the given value of ally in a realm that might have only been a wizards illusion or a demon's lair. Any such things located would be quickly stripped away as well for the safety of all concerned.

Before he has the chance to actually start questioning his downed attacker, another 'carriage' arrived. This one however bore a very familiar looking symbol. Watching the man that had stepped out of the carriage and start speaking, saying something about stragglers Fortune couldn't help but feel his gaze narrow under his helm in distrust. Turning to look down at the knight he had captured while ignoring the suited man and the open carriage door for the time being, he quite bluntly asked "Who are you and why did you attack us?"

Andy frowned at what the man said to him, it didn't make much sense. Being sent here to suffer? It was obvious from all the fluids on the face this man hadn't exactly enjoyed this event, but the answer raised even more questions. Questions beginning with 'who' and 'why', but first things first, the arrow wouldn't remove itself. He took in what the man said, people bringing other people somewhere to suffer and place bets sounded like the plot for a movie, there were at least three movies he could name with a similar plot.

At least the thug seemed to relax now. "It's weird the sun feels cold," he admitted as he tended to the man's wound. One more weird thing going on here, he began to wonder if the plane had even landed on earth. He ignored the sound of the car for the moment, keeping his attention on the actual wound care first.

At the end of the treatment he wrapped a bandage around the knee and he glanced over his shoulder to see the doors of the Rolls Royce open, the bloody arrow lay on the ground next to him. Then he heard the last sentence the thug spoke and Andy looked at his patient again, followed by a sigh. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Surely that wasn't aimed at him, he had been invited here to take care of someone's treatment. Unless the e-mail was false. He shook his head, for the moment he didn't want to assume that. As far as he knew Tafans was in need of help and he was intend on giving it. One thing was obvious, judging from the terror in the eyes this man was afraid of the Rolls Royce, or the people in it, and there had to be a reason for that.

He started packing his supplies again and put them in the backpack. "Listen, don't put any pressure on your knee, or if you do, be very careful with your movements, you don't want the stitches to tear. And you might want to go to a hospital for a scan of that knee and probably a tetanus shot." He smiled briefly as he got up on his feet. "I can't do much more and I have a patient to see, but I can give you a little more of my time if you care to explain about who sent you here to suffer and why. And I don't suppose you know Tafans? A Kanuri boy?" It was worth a shot, even though he doubted this man would know the whereabouts of the patient he was supposed to see. The one who most likely knew that was the recently deceased driver.

He had no idea who the people in the Rolls Royce were or why the doors opened, but one way or the other he needed to get some directions and get where he had to be. If this man couldn't answer, he'd ask the people in the brass-coloured vehicle. Which didn't seem like the best idea judging from the terror in the eyes of the thug when he looked at it, but maybe it was the only option he had. Unless he'd go around asking random people on the street.

@Terminal

Seeing the new carriage come down the street, Kael looks at it with some degree of surprise and awe. He had presumed that the carriage they had come in...now plated with silver in the middle of the street...was powered by magic or something, but this vehicle was making noise like it was a mechanical device moving on its own. Astounding! Still, his wonder didn't get in the way of his suspicion. They had just been attacked by a party of unknown origin, with strange powers in a stranger world, and the revelation of the true nature of the world around him had left him feeling somewhat like a cornered rat. As the new vehicle pulled up, Kael drew and nocked an arrow, keeping it down and undrawn...but ready all the same, as he took a few steps away from the carriage and wall to give himself room to maneuver. He had heard what the fellow on the road said, and while his meaning wasn't clear...it was certainly disconcerting enough to justify precautionary measures.

Turning to Donny, Ariett made a patting gesture in the air, followed by hands clasped momentarily in mock prayer—roughly translated, the meaning was please don't shoot anyone. She didn't really know what ticked him off last time, and she was hoping to figure out their intentions before bullets started to fly this time around.

"Technically we—or rather, he—shot first."

Ariett then faced the newcomers and spoke up so as to be heard over the loud humming emanating from the orb transfixed above the street. "Are these men yours? If so, I'd like to point out we're still armed, and the police are on their way. I assure you, we aren't worth the trouble." The threat was only half-true. She had not yet retrieved her phone since the dive, and she really had no idea whether or not the voice on the line had been able to locate them without Ariett's help.

@Terminal

Donny tensed up as the Rolls Royce approached, quirking an eyebrow at Kael as he did so as if to suggest he ready up for trouble. The hitman's half lidded eyes and wickedly arched brows suggested a limitless capacity for violence, lips pursed with anticipation. A cigarette smoldered at the corner of his mouth, the last one having been near imperceptibly replaced. Kael, being the little calculator he was, probably knew what that meant. Donny's right eye twitched as Ariett made calming motions at him, and for a moment he looked like he was going to go after her too for showing weakness... Only to grunt in admission a second later, his posture slackening as he seemed to shrug the malice off. The car rolled up, the window rolled down, the fellow inside scrutinized the group and began to speak. Donny interrupted him.

"Hawld awn, jus' a quick question. Haow manuh bluebirds does it take tuh sing?"

Donny's left hand flickered out of his coat, a shadow of a blur. Unless the gentleman driving the Royce had the reflexes of a boxer and the instincts of a soldier, he'd scarcely be able to react to the small object being tossed through his open window, a hard, ovular thing which could easily roll under a seat. He'd probably have no idea what it even was until he saw Donny plug an index finger into each ear and curl into himself as he fell to the side, shoulders hunching up to cover his neck, which would be all the time it took for the explosive to detonate. Concussion grenades have a far smaller lethal radius than frags, but are no less useful. Perfect for minimizing collateral damage whilst clearing out small rooms or, say, a vintage automobile. The shock would pulverize the windows, force a smoky kinetic halo out of the ground around the car, and undoubtedly kill everyone inside. Of course the grenade could be tossed back out before the 2.5 second fuse expired, but that was assuming the passenger was as sharp and clever as a cat and that the device didn't land in an awkward spot. Why the sudden attack? Donny had his reasons. For one thing he didn't trust tinted windows. He also knew that he could check the bodies and car for information, and of course he already had someone to give them information. It just takes one captive to talk. Even if the folks in the Royce knew a few things the thug didn't, Donny wasn't in the mood for allowing anyone to approach so brazenly. If help were meaningful, he figured it could come in a far more modest and unsuspicious fashion. If Donny's assault went well, he'd deliver the punch line once everyone's ears stopped ringing.

"Only one."

Amelie breathed out after having brought the boy back to the safe flat surface, relieved by her success. Okay, so good things first, it seemed like the sphere above their heads hadn’t killed anyone after leaving the car. Sensible, why would people be living beneath murder-spheres? … That said, if that’s the case, then why did it lash out against the lightning-rod? ...

First things first. She didn’t know what those guns were, but Penny had promised her death and Amelie was taking any advantage she could get. She hurried over and picked up one of the submachine guns that the two grunts had been carrying, doing her best to not look at the corpses as she fished the gun up and kept her fingers off the trigger.

‘…’ Immediate problem, Amelie had never even seen a real gun before. Of course, she knew the theory and seen them in movies, but… What was ammunition? What was safety? What could be moved? Making sure not to touch the trigger and point the shooty end at the ground, Amelie checked for moving parts and options, trying to figure out all the preparations…

With the assumption that the gun had not triggered a booby trap or something, she’d then turn to look at the car as it arrived. She cautiously eyed the man speaking, frowning while holding the gun pointed at the ground, she didn’t trust pointing it in any other direction. Amelie was somewhat aware of what a walking disaster waiting to happen she was, holding this weapon, but… Still. Better safe and sorry than dead.

‘What do you mean by “stragglers”?’ She asked, mildly hostile in her voice, eyes darting in-between the man and the opening doors, prepared to raise a Redirection Orb at any moment.

… And then Donny threw the grenade. Amelie’s eyes widened in surprise and she dashed to get to hopeful safety, a bit further away, not turning around until she heard the explosion and confirmed she was safe.

Luca landed safely and rolled a bit. When he got to his feet he had a good look at the metallic remains in the road and instinctively tried to categorize the reaction which had created them. Flash-freezing was more likely than deposition in atmosphere, but the spiked pattern made no sense for liquid expansion, so some kind of..... Right, the girl. He stepped around them carefully, mindful of what he didn't understand, and made his way towards her. "Hey, are you alright? Miss......" But she was already moving away. Rude.

Turning to Donny, Ariett made a patting gesture in the air, followed by hands clasped momentarily in mock prayer—roughly translated, the meaning was please don't shoot anyone. She didn't really know what ticked him off last time, and she was hoping to figure out their intentions before bullets started to fly this time around.

"Technically we—or rather, he—shot first."

Ariett then faced the newcomers and spoke up so as to be heard over the loud humming emanating from the orb transfixed above the street. "Are these men yours? If so, I'd like to point out we're still armed, and the police are on their way. I assure you, we aren't worth the trouble."

Now that things had calmed down a bit, Luca was thinking a little more clearly. A little, at least -- he seemed to forget for a moment that he had moments ago lunged at one of the armored goons in an effort to kill it, but that could easily be chalked up to classic adolescent lack-of-self-awareness. He remembered Donny firing his gun and killing all those people. Donny started all this. He'd joined in, just like the others, but it was Donny's fault. Now, someone was standing up to him, and Luca felt empowered to join in. He mustered all his confidence.

"Yeah!" he said bravely.

The effect was negligible at best. Moments later, after a supremely intimidating rejoinder, Donny chucked a grenade into the next vehicle to arrive at the scene. Luca stood and watched dumbly as his comrades took cover. The shockwave was harmless to a clockwork of his caliber, or at least, harmless to his ear structures. He fell onto his rear, as much from shock as from the blast -- chance had placed him at a more-or-less safe distance -- and suffered only a few scratches from debris.

Luca did look at the damage, both to his person and to the vehicle and its occupants, but it was all surreal and horrifying and he didn't fully process any of it. Instead, he found his feet, growled in rage, and charged at Donny. An observer would have found it a comical mismatch -- Luca was after all small, scrawny-looking, and wholly unarmed; whereas Donny was, well, Donny. Nevertheless, Luca charged at him, flailing his arms in motions that vaguely resembled punches. Murderer.

"Stop killing everyone!" Luca screamed.

Turning to look down at the knight he had captured while ignoring the suited man and the open carriage door for the time being, he quite bluntly asked "Who are you and why did you attack us?"

The oddly cold light cast by the morning sun had aligned serendipitous with the fallen knight's visor, revealing to Fortune the mist of gaseous blood that was evaporating off of the man's face from the injury to his eye, thankfully obscuring the wound itself. With Fortune's foot pressed firmly to his gorget, the knight managed to sputter out a single word in answer.

"Suffer." If he had intended to say more, it was lost amidst a burst of hacking coughs accompanied by hoarse hyperventilation. There were no remaining weapons on his person, and both of his armor-clad arms with trembling faintly on the pavement; the fingers twitching ever so slightly.

"I can't do much more and I have a patient to see, but I can give you a little more of my time if you care to explain about who sent you here to suffer and why. And I don't suppose you know Tafans? A Kanuri boy?" It was worth a shot, even though he doubted this man would know the whereabouts of the patient he was supposed to see. The one who most likely knew that was the recently deceased driver.

"I...I nuh tha name..." The thug's eyes were still wide as spotlights, staring without sight at the space behind Andreas' head. "Boy...et by a lion?" An abrupt and deep, red hue had spread across the man's entire face, and neck - and his arms as well. "Wa go. Heh saw tha trud. Three. Wa three. Sha lied."

‘…’ Immediate problem, Amelie had never even seen a real gun before. Of course, she knew the theory and seen them in movies, but… What was ammunition? What was safety? What could be moved? Making sure not to touch the trigger and point the shooty end at the ground, Amelie checked for moving parts and options, trying to figure out all the preparations…

In her cursory inspection, Amelie nonetheless managed to to discover that the vector had a collapsible stock the hard way, with the stock's butt hinging slowly and eerily downwards as she lowered the gun, its motion as unnatural as the rapidly fluctuating gravity.

Donny's left hand flickered out of his coat, a shadow of a blur. Unless the gentleman driving the Royce had the reflexes of a boxer and the instincts of a soldier, he'd scarcely be able to react to the small object being tossed through his open window, a hard, ovular thing which could easily roll under a seat.

The driver had been looking right at Donny with a bemused expression as Donny issued his rhetorical question - and so had a full-on view of the concussion grenade as it was lobbed directly past his face, bouncing off something unseen behind him and falling to the floor. Eyes widening, the driver lunged against his seatbelt in a manic but futile struggle to leap out the window - and shouted a warning.

"Grenade! Get-" Was all he had time to say. The only reason any of the occupants survived was because they had already been in the process of stepping out of the car. The man who flung himself out from the left-hand car door was a huge figure with a face reminiscent of steel rebar, wearing a suspiciously bulky carmine-colored suit and sporting a trim, military haircut. He was halfway through curling into a ball as he leapt, but the shockwave caught him mid-air and threw him straight down into the ground, his face and chest both smashing against the cobblestone street with a sickening noise that was lost amidst the chaos and the doubtlessly ensuing tinnitus. The man then bounced - floating back up into the air off the street, drifting slowly up towards the roof of the adjacent building. His eyes were still open, filled with blind shock and pain - stunned and battered, but alive. Whether anybody who had been getting out from the car on the right side had managed to make it out in time was unknown for the moment.

‘What do you mean by “stragglers”?’ She asked, mildly hostile in her voice, eyes darting in-between the man and the opening doors, prepared to raise a Redirection Orb at any moment.

… And then Donny threw the grenade. Amelie’s eyes widened in surprise and she dashed to get to hopeful safety, a bit further away, not turning around until she heard the explosion and confirmed she was safe.

_{'You could have stopped him, you wretched little witch.'}

Back by Andreas, the thug with the arrow stuck in his knee had not fared well from the effects of the explosion. Diminished though the shockwave was after working through the car, either it or the tremendous, explosive burst of noise had been more than enough to push him over the edge. His eyes rolled up into his skill, and he fainted, mouth agape in a groan torn from the air by the rush of noise.

The pedestrians who had started to reappear on the street were suddenly nowhere to be seen again. The air, previously cool and dry, now seemed to suddenly be getting hotter. Much hotter. Very quickly. Though only Luca was still able to even hear it, the levitating sphere's ominous hum had not changed - the new sound that had just started was similar, but came from elsewhere. It was pervasive, but faint - coming from somewhere over his head, but not from any other particular direction...

Andy listened to the words of the wounded man with a frown, it was hard enough to make out what he said with that... accent of his and now he mentioned a lion? Here? And three? A woman lied? He tried to make sense of that as he noticed the abrupt and deep red hue spreading on his skin. Immediately his mind tried to link that symptom with everything that had happened here. He looked around with a thoughtful look in his eyes when he noticed Donny tossed a grenade into the car.

With nothing to hide behind he just dropped to the ground with his arms over his head. After the explosion and the shockwave, which left his ears ringing for a second time that day, he got back on his feet.
"Will you stop killing people!" he shouted, almost at the same time as the ticking boy screamed a similar sentiment. As far as he had seen the people in the car hadn't shown any signs of hostility, why did this man blow them up? Without any proper warning to the people standing here too.

One look at the man he had treated learned him he had lost his consciousness, but there really was nothing he could do about that. Maybe measure his blood pressure, but even if there was something wrong there, there wasn't anything he could do about that. After an exasperated sigh he looked at the sky, at least it was getting warm now. Quite warm, to be honest. And pretty fast too.