Kennet walked calmly out into the chaos that rippled around the circus. His hands folded behind his back as he strolled through the panicking crowd toward the Village. Three hunters pointed their guns at the tall, graceful man, pausing momentarily before attempting to unload their guns into him. Employee witnesses might have heard the Djinn laugh for the first time in their entire time at the Cirque as the human form he held became riddled with their magical bullets. The torn form still stood with the authoritative elegance Kennet commanded, but his natural form of pure smokeless fire blazed through the ripped pieces.
The shooters clicked their guns empty, their eyes widening in fear, as Kennet appeared in arms reach, his flame expanding to engulf all three. Blood-curdling screams rose from within the Djinn's flame as the blessed guns, magic bullets, amulets, and armour they wore disintegrated into nothing. Burnt bodies writhed in agony as Kennet dropped them from his grasp, seemingly taking joy in leaving them alive.
One moment they were nearing the village the next they were back at the weakened cave entrance where the others were pouring in. Several paused mid-step as their feet dropped onto the sloughing skin of their fallen comrades, only to turn and push back through the others to leave the way they came.