Roman stands at the edge of the courtyard, in grass now a smoldering brown. Holding the remains of a metal handrail like a baseball bat, he glares upwards at the Charred Hun – again hovering above him and formulating a fresh pair of fireballs.
Night Terror fires his wire gun and zips away towards the battle. Bernadette watches him swing off, as she cradles the hurt gentleman.
Good. Once he’s safe, you do the same. Trust me, you don’t want any part of this scene.
Miss, you are helping. Keep pressure on this man’s wound until those EMTs over there can reach you. You’re keeping this man alive.
Night Terror looks down at the fire flickering around the bottom edge of his cape. He quickly reaches down and pats out the flames between his two gloved hands.
