Sparks fly as the swords clash. Fire, meet lightning. Harley’s dagger slashes a limb here, thrusts into ragged cloth there. She’s keeping the smaller creatures at bay, forcing them to dodge or retreat to lick their wounds. The bigger one is the problem. It stands a foot taller than her when it straightens, light on its clawed feet, blocking with its twin blades or taking swipes that force her to evade or block in return. It’s not giving ground, and when Harley gets a chance to stab at its gut with her dagger… suddenly another arm reaches up to swat the thrust aside. They were tucked close beneath the swirl of its cape and one might have missed them in the shadows, but this creature has a second pair of arms and it’s willing to use them.

Nor is it alone on the ramp now. It seems content to stay on the defensive as she’s surrounded. Even the other creatures who’ve dropped down behind her seem in no hurry to use those pistols they hold. Nonetheless, Harley’s window to get out of there is closing fast…

Then fingers pull on triggers and two weapons bark out through the high winds, again and again. One of the smaller creatures is thrown to the ramp entirely; two or three more reel and stagger under the brunt of that fire – including the one that laughed at Palmer. Harsh cries ring out as those not fighting Harley scatter, some probably wounded already. They paid little heed to the three fleeing, and it’s cost them. Well, the others have their attention now.

A few of the bigger ones vault off the sides of the ramp, taking up position and sighting down longer weapons. When they fire it’s with a low thok, like the slamming of bolts. The first rounds sing over the retreating team’s heads, needle-thin and brilliant blue, a burning ozone smell in their wake. The rifle-beasts sight again through the swirling snow. Properly, this time.