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One of his ears flicked, angled towards the ruins of a building. The anthromorph knew that he heard something— a scream that sent a chill to his spine. Would he scream too? Would that end his life or the vision he hopefully believes to be? It seems that the place is a wrecked warzone, or perhaps they all have been already brutally murdered, with that helpless expression of death as the last. Bronze surpressed a shudder, placing the colorful toy gun on the gritty cement as he leaned on the wall, glaring eyes trained forward.

Until he heard a foreign voice from behind.

Jumping back in surprise, the Caracal barely controlled himself to not scream. Bronze staggered as he landed, his paw immediately at the hilt of his sword before facing the stranger. Mind clouded with dangers and bloody deaths, he quickly slid his thrusting sword from its scabbard, his weapon pointed at the alleyway. Wait. Where is— wait, what? Heart still pounding, his hardened glare landed on the smaller cat, confused, wary, and definitely hostile. "You... you speak." Bronze steeled his arm, these words is all that he could blubber.

"So do you," she says flatly, just like her body language when he spun around to face her with a steely blade. She lay like this for two reasons; niether one has anything to do with fear of getting stabbed or shot by a tall cat-faced guy.

First, she wants to appear as harmless as possible. Again, not out of fear but out of the need to convince him to lower his guard.

Second, now is a good time to admit that she is a afraid, not of Bronze but of whatever drew that scream of terror from her master. The shrill cry sends a chill down her spine and makes her hair bristle. Let's do this fast.

"Look, I'd love to screw with you but there's not enough time to do both that and make sure everyone gets out of here alive. We could really use another pointy thing on our side, so are you in?" A little to straight-forward for her tastes, and probably not the most convincing plea, but she flashes him a smile and hopes he'll agree to put that sword to use...not on her.

The drawer contains mostly files and stacks of papers bound with large paperclips. In its hayday, this might have been how they kept track of where they stored whatever came into the room. Today, the room falls silent, confused and not sure if it should laugh at her ramblings or not. She's clearly losing focus, growing delerious as the ambient fire burns through whatever oxygen she has left to breath, leaving nothing but gas to fill her lungs.

It staggers back, taking enough weight off of Helynah for her to squirm out of its grip and make a dash for her trident. It grabs Niskali's blade-wielding hand, knowing exactly what he's aiming to do. "Don't you dare!" Niskali has the same weakness it has now, so with unnatural flexibility, it sprouts long claws from its right foot. The shapeshifter's body bends in a few ways it really shouldn't be able to as it tries to tear the mask off of the Warpriest's face. It hopes either that it can rip the mask away or that the threat of getting the mask ripped away will force Niskali to back up.

"Oh thank the Goddess," she breathes as Niskali comes to her rescue. She wastes no time wriggling out of the demon's grip and running for weapon. A glance back tells her that the dragon is trying to get the mask off or stab underneath it. He knows his own armor better than anyone, so she trusts that is an excellent idea and waits to see how their personal confrontation goes. She makes a mental note that direct stabbing will not work as long as Vincent holds that form, so her normal tactics are null. Time to think a little smarter.

Niskali feels the creatures leg move beneath him and, on a hunch, tilts his head back and clamps his strong jaws around the clawed ankle. Some billion-years-past ancestral instinct kicks in, a rush hitting him as his teeth try to tear into his foe, his head turning to yank on it, rip out tendons, and exert his raw might on the beast. He was civilized, a trained fighter, but sometimes you just meet an enemy where survival comes before elegance. Also, whatever creature the shifter's leg came from tasted fantastic.

Victi giggles, seeing the paperclips, "I could try making a tension wrench with these, thank you, evil place!"

Wait.

That's actually a good idea.

In her moment of lucidity, Victi exhales sharply and holds her breath. Her lungs scream for her to inhale almost immediately, but she ignores them. Oxygen is needed to react with carbohydrates to release energy by converting them to the very stable oxygen and water. this allows, at various points, the re-combination of Adenosine diphosphate, ADP, and a phosphate group to create Adenosine triphosphate, ATP. ATP would then be broken down to form ADP again, and release energy for cellular function.

The body needs energy, not oxygen. Hell, she knew that! She used that trick all the time while swimming, and it's how a firefur could handle smoke so well. She could give herself maybe a minute or two. Just because their bodies COULD run just on stored energy didn't mean it was good for them.

That, and this place did seem to be slowly draining mana out of her body. Not quickly, and less when she had less, it felt like, but those earlier zappies had burned a lot. She was very low.

She got to work, grabbing two paperclips, straightening them, making a short hook with one and bending the other in a tight U shape. It.... was hopefully stiff enough.

She fought the urge to breathe to keep focus. The pain in her still-raw hands would have to distract her. Gods this sucked. Death was the other option, though, so she did her best to puch through.

She tried to feel how many pins were in the lock.... five? maybe six? Great. That was.... actually a lot, to be honest. At least it was only a 2-d lock, though.

It turned.... counter-clockwise. Okay. Good. The wrench would probably work. First pin..... moved easily. Not that one. Second...... a little sticky. She pushed on it, but it didn't stick. Crud. Okay, 3? Nope.... Four? no, but almost as tight as two. Five? ...... YES! The pin was set. She tried 2. Good, pin 2, binding pin 2. Four was probably next.... yes it was. 5,2,4. She made sure to remember that sequence in case she had to reset. She hadn't poked 6 yet.... nope. 3? Perfect..... she worked to stay calm, avoiding putting too much pressure on it. Didn't want it to freeze and reset on her. 6 again? no. 1? there we go.... and now..... *click*. 40 seconds later, and she was out. Also, thankfully it still opened out into the hall. She twisted the lock, turned the knob, ow, and shoulder-checked the door open. It wasn't exactly better seeming outside, though.

She looks just as much as his ancestors for a thousand... hundred... million years ago! "Wh-what?" The anthropomorph asked in bewilderment, his eyes furrowed in a state of puzzlement. It was all too much- the overload of information and bizarre continuities that shouldn't exist. From his perspective, everything could be real just in a whim of a moment. It's not funny. "Under my conditions, that is." Bronze spoke clearly, his sword arm lowering in a more relaxed state, but his mind is still ready to stab and skewer if she advances. Who knows if the cat is a one of them, and can rip his head away from his shoulders in one pounce? He doesn't know, and he never wanted to. Perhaps he is like this because of the psychological stress of facing the most dangerous unknown.

"One, you must always be fifteen paces away in front of me." The Caracal swayed his rapier in a shooing motion, telling the quadruped to move backward. "Two, I'm not one of you, nor will I ever want to be with one of you. Not until I clarified everything. Three, well, I want a way out of here. If you don't even know how, or has a clue to escape this hell, you're on your own." Bronze stated his conditions, waiting for a reply.

A sharp but slow inhale as she complies with the first condition broadcasts some bad news. "No, no I don't know how to escape. I kind of assumed we'd pick a direction and start walking." As she says it, she's fully aware of how stupid that sounds.

"But hold on a second!" she blurts, worried that he might just pack up and leave her. "If you stick with us, you'll be waaay better off then on your own. We have a doctor, and some really capable fighters, people you'll want on your side.

"Oh, and you'd have me of course," she grins. "Your therapist and comedic relief. I also have pretty sharp claws."

Everyone who says that laughter is the wrong way to react to getting your leg torn into has not met Vincent. Its first response to Niskali's is to hiss indignantly, but as it lets Niskali rip its lower leg off of its body and hobbles away, it starts to chuckle. Quietly, so as not to alert the dragon of its escape. The bulky pentatheic body is had stolen begins to melt away like a hot piece of shedding skin, and then it folds in on itself while Vincent thinks of another form to take.

Meanwhile, the missing leg regrows. Its flesh and bone regenerates quickly, this time unimpeded by paralyzing venom or massive internal bleeding.

It casts a glance to the door into the police station...that bite kind of hurt. It considers fetching the cenobite and calling it a day, but not before trying to sow a little bit of discourse. The foot, as it grows back, is not ugly and clawed, but human.

Helynah grimaces, watching Niskali turning the monster's leg into a bloody pulp. Being on the recieving end of a dragon's rage is admittibly horrible place to be, and she feels a smidge of pity for that shapeshifting devil-thing.

That is until it pops its own leg off like a lizard losing its tail and lets the armored dragon disguise disappear into some sort of digusting fleshy haze.

Is that disgusting lump stabbable?

Tightening her grip, she approaches it quietly. Helynah, in her bright blue robes and with her large, showy weapon is not a woman known for her excellent stealth, but she thinks she might have to try it in order to land an effective hit on the enemy.

After a moment, Niskali realizes that the beast has slipped away. He sighs, disappointed, but not really surprised. It was probably already healing, too, assuming its body was carrying enough energy in whatever form to do so. C1s always had odd hyper-dense energy storage anyway. It would be interesting if he could capture it, send it to someone to study..... not important.

He held onto the leg, maybe he'd cook it later, and got up, returning his weapon to its hidden spot in his robe.

"If you know of any others outside of this building," he said to Helyna, gesturing to the police station, "I would recommend going to check on them. Remain careful and discrete, of course, it is likely already mostly recovered. I will deal with the chaos in here personally."

With that, he walked towards the door of the station, preparing to kick it open as impressively as possible.

Suffice to say, Bronze was not amused. The humanoid scoffed in disbelief. Nobody knows a concrete way nor a path, even a long snaking path to freedom. "Therapist? Oh, I don't think so. Seeing as you're here alone without your.. err, companions, well, I assume that you've been seperated, or one of those monstrous beings I saw with guts decorating the floor." The feline voiced out his suspicions, indicating that he is watching, observing, and trying to comprehend everything with difficulty.

"Anything more you wish to add? Sweeten the deal? Because I can handle myself far better alone." He approaches the smaller cat, but not really showing any signs of aggression.

Sweeten the deal, huh? She tilts her head and hums, backing away from Bronze as he approaches only to keep in line with his first condition.

The poor guy seems really confused. He clearly hasn’t met Vincent, unless he’s got no sense of smell, but seems to think he has run into something terrible.

And something dead.

Her eyes widen. A glimmer of recognition lights her face. “You saw-” she pauses. Her smile grows sly. She stops backing away and sits. Her tail curls around her feet and she looks as calm as ever as she says, “It seems what you need the most is an explaination. If you have questions, I might have answers.”

I only have one condition: you gotta promise to help us out.”

Bronze sees this situation like a deep pit of black with nothing inside. Sure she may have explanations, but the risk is still too great. Should he jump head first and flail his arms around for something to catch himself with? For a small she-cat, it's more likely that she'll be mauled easily, if she's as weak as she seems. Bronze knew not to underestimate a person the hard way back in his days. The Caracal noticed the recognition from her features, the widening of her eyes as he mentioned the mangled carcass, and the abrupt stop of her forming sentence. What, her kin?

Bronze really doesn't know anything, but the black she-cat is far more suspicious now than ever. He doesn't know any of the monsters yet since he haven't met any. He doesn't know if they really are capable of speech, hence why the humanoid is extremely cautious. And if he is trapped, it is far more likely that whoever's keeping him here has the answers, and to be given it to him with the promise of safety without proof that the cat is indeed with the people she mentioned, he can't trust her now. Who knows if she only to deceive him and strike under the impression of false security? He has to see someone he knows in this dangerous place, of all weird creatures, he can only rely on someone who had the same distinct features as he.

"Fetch me a vixen named Victi and then we'll talk."

Frankly, Raven is used to this kind of distrust. Her interactions with strangers tend to go one of two ways: they trust her immediately because she’s a cat, or they treat her with suspicion because she’s a black cat with a naturally sly disposition. She considers the latter judgement pretty fair because as she agrees to take him to Victi with a solemn nod, a plan to take the long way back to the station bounces around in her skull. Raven can’t take him to the middle of a fight; she’s certain that he’ll shout “BETRAYAL!” and slice off her head the moment he lays eyes on Vincent tearing into, well, hopefully no one at all.

But as she prowls past him to the mouth of the alley, she decides that it won’t hurt to share a smidge of honest information with him. “Last time I was there, we were in a pretty bad spot. If you really want to see Victi, I’ll take you” -maybe, seems the screams have faded and the road she walks into is different, crap- “but it’ll probably be like strolling out of a frying pan and into a roaring fire.”

Bronze stole a glance behind him to where the police station is and back at the she-cat. "So it was really there, huh?" He concluded, absentmindedly pointing his rapier to its direction and scratched his neck with his left paw. "At least that's where their scent trail led." The feline surmised as he slid the rapier back to its scabbard. He crossed his arms and faced his 'ancestor' again, his hostility suddenly gone. "I don't know what a frying pan is but I want you to take me past that frying pan. I'll be following you fifteen paces behind."

Bronze treats a situation like this when he feels like he has control over the flow of it, and his actions are only to catch them off guard. The feline is actually nervous. His legs are ready to run and he is sweating under all that fur. Sure he had fought and tricked bears before but that is only because he knows how to handle one. But these entities? He doesn't know anything but the fact that they can shred mammals like paper, and lack of information is sometimes fear-inducing.

Vincent’s shapeshifting is painfully interrupted by Helynah stabbing her trident into its vaguely humanoid body. Steel skewers, coated in blood, poke out of its left shoulder. Helynah lets out a triumphant “Hah!”

And that’s enough for the monster. It tears itself away. The creatures arm hangs limp as it flees into the mist. It’ll come back for Seeker later, if she lives.

Helynah doesn’t chase after it. She pulls out a cloth and wipes the blood off of her polearm. She startles slightly when the dragon speaks to her for the first time. Then she turns and smiles at him, seeing Niskali almost as a friend after fighting by his side.

“Let’s see who is still in there. If we’re missing people, I’ll search for them.” She didn’t see Lilliath and Raven escape the building, so for all she knows they’re still inside.

Raven is busy sniffing the air, hoping to catch the scent trail she and Liliath had left.

Liliath?

Crap. She abandoned Liliath.

No time for that now, she has to keep a strangle-hold on Bronze’s loyalty.

But if something happens to that child, both Lisa and Victi are going to kill her. If she survives that, she’s never going to forgive herself.

She chuckles when Bronze speaks, but not because she finds his words funny.

So, plan. Take Bronze to the police station fast. Pass him off to Victi. Go find Liliath, which will be made harder by the fact that the Town has begun rearranging itself again. Although the police station is still in sight- ah, what a relief -this is definitely not the same street she walked on earlier.

“Right, past the frying pan,” she starts walking.

“Ah, by the way. You can call me Raven, and if you got a name, I’d love to hear it.”

He waited for the trident-bearing woman to approach after her disruptive strike, letting him get within a few paces of him before he brought his leg up and forward in a strong, swift kick, smashing it open dramatically before striding in confidently. "We come to quell any fear or evil in this place, and offer what aid we can! The radiance of the Pentatheon shall shield all those in need!" He called out into the building, voice powerful and resonant. This was one of the moments he lived for as a priest of the Silver Goddess. Granted, it would be better in full power armour, possibly some sunlight to frame him, and maybe a support ship hovering overhead, strafing the evil-doers in a rain of fire and fury, but he'd work with what he had.

Victi was sure she's lost it at this point. She must be having some form of auditory hallucination, because that sounded like a Pentatheic. A large male pentatheic. Hell, with that sort of entrance, a battle-priest of some kind, most likely. Fire, maybe? Water would be probably mention healing, or something about 'dear mother', Darkness wouldn't talk about radiance, and.... hell, would probably just walk through a wall on the ceiling and garrote the shifter or something, without making a sound. Storm wouldn't even bother with words, just go with a primal warcry instead. Ice and Fire.... eh, toss up, but Fire felt more likely.

Didn't matter, though, because it was probably a hallucination and would stop soon. Those footfalls sounded pretty convincing, though.