Helter did not so much bark as it did howl.
The demons got organized. Grouped up, started approaching in droves. Bryn counted the oncoming group--one for each finger, and her index got itchy. One demon rose its voice into a piercing crescendo--and the note staccatoed in its throat. Six bullets: two in the head, one in the gut, three peppering its thighs, all working together to bring it to the ground. Her depth perception was awful, and Bryn's only way of compensating for it was the application of extra bullets.
The bullet casings tinkled a lullaby for the demon's dirt nap. Thoughts raced through the bounty hunter's mind, counting the shots like beats. Bryn watched the demon drop. Its head bounced. Four left, closing fast. Fast, faster. Too fast. Her mind raced through its options.
Move.
Fourteen bullets sat in her magazine, and Bryn herself sat like a duck. She hated immobility, but for some reason, her leg wouldn't cock. It wasn't some fear paralysis; something kept her there. Move. Her instincts weren't operating. Move. Bryn wanted to, but didn't see an alternate option. Move, move, move, move... Her eye rolled in its socket, surveying the scenery--and found her way out. Saloon, sitting on the outskirts. Old wood, easy to clamber. She'd get awful close to the demons but--
Move!
And she did. Off like a shot, her prosthesis whistled in duet, carrying Bryn--and her tune--up the nearby wall, piercing its way up the planks with almost surgical precision. Her fingers barely touched the wooden siding. Making it up onto the awning pistol-first, the rest of her rolled forward and reacquired her piece in one fluid movement. Rational thought turned to static in her mind, ringing like a flashbang between Bryn's temples. One of the demons was following her up. Its head poked above-and-it-was-gone. Skelter screeched in harmony with the demon's death throes. Bryn didn't even recall unsheathing it. She knew this feeling. She relished this feeling. Pure, sweet adrenaline and its moment-to-moment nepenthe came to her aid, as the browns and blacks and reds of the wasteland turned all-too-sharp, and the three remaining demons turned nearly florescent against the townscape. The climb slowed them a touch, but they were much closer to Bryn than she ever would've preferred. What she did have on her side, though, was a command of the landscape; she knew towns. One of the quick ones zeroed in on her and took a pair of shots to the leg. It barely even seemed to care.
Bryn bounced against the awning, heading backwards into the ramshackle, long-destroyed window. The quick one followed and it followed fast. Careening through the window, she'd only had a moment to raise her blade against the all-too-quick Ravager. Sinking the tip into the demon's throat, she flung with all her strength, pulling Skelter back at the last second as the demon went careening down into the bar. She heard its vertebrae snap. Another shot to the shoulder was all she could get in before its cohorts made it through the windows, with Bryn herself sandwiched between them.
8 foot drop.
Crowsfoot stuck the landing for her. One Ravager pounced into the other when she jumped the railing, but they quickly took stock of the situation. Before Bryn could regain her balance, the taller one broke the railing and chucked the splintered beam, to which her left leg replied with a sickening 'schlick.'
The beam gored her inner thigh, cutting deep before turning hard and landing between Bryn's legs. It was survivable, but the demon was prepping for a jump and that was most certainly not. Seven shots went wide, but the eighth struck it square in the chest mid-leap. The other demon wasn't so unlucky; on pure instinct, Bryn's foot cocked back, pushing the beam directly in its path and ripping its shoulder cleanly from the socket. It was alive. It was pissed.
And, considering the low growl from the other end of the bar, Bryn's ears had deceived her. Whatever had cracked, it wasn't the demon's spine. Her leg was getting shaky and these demons were getting worrisome. Her pupil retracted to the size of a pinhead, and her arm moved like a whip. Bryn left two shots in the closest Ravager, and her last bullet found purchase in the other's skull, rather than its shoulder. She kept pulling the trigger.
Click-click-click-click. Her mind kept moving, racing. Her first adrenaline rush of the day. Bryn crumpled into a seat, pulling a new mag out of her pocket and reloading.
Fresh wound. The laceration was pretty deep, but the blood was oozing. Tearing off the rest of the remaining pants leg, Bryn made a bandage that'd suit her until she could get the cut looked at. It felt cold at the edges, and the cold mixed with the abrasive material didn't do anything to help how much the wound hurt. Biting past the pain, Bryn holed up in the saloon, watching for the next batch of demons. She'd made a hell of a lot of noise, and knew that more were coming. She put her back to the bar wall, raising Helter towards the doors.
This was going to be a long day.
