Now that his left hand was free, it was grasping for the new weapon beneath his coat. No reason to play nice with these sons of bitches - and right now, with soldiers trying to get their bearings, speed was more important than collateral damage.
How the fuck did it go this wrong? And where the fuck was Elemmire?
The closest "soldier" - who was still shielding his face from the sudden light - took a lunging stab right in his miserable chest. The schiavona's blade emerged from his back, bringing a flood of bright red with it. More shouting. Soldiers were shoving past priestesses, drawing closer to him. Skandra used the sword to spin the Drow - now dead on his blade - just in time for the dead creature to take an arrow in the back. Skandra dropped his left elbow on the body's shoulder. Used it to steady his aim. The weapon he was pointing was nothing he'd ever used before.
Where the Vel had gentle curves and no hard angles, the new weapon - though close in overall shape, with hilt-like grip jutting out of a longer section - was all about hard angles. The grip itself was rounded, and comfortable to the hand, but it was attached to a strange device indeed. It was as long as Skandra's forearm, half as thick as a gold bar, and came with an opening at the same end as the Vel. On both the right and left sides of the thing were smaller rectangles, as deep as a coin and roughly the same size but square. There was the same switch, like a crossbow's and meant to fire the thing.
Skandra pressed it.
Unlike the Vel, there was no sound. A flash of blue light, almost faster than his eyes could follow, and then the chaos really kicked the fuck in. An entire rooftop exploded in a sea of blue and white light. Another scream as stone was hurled into the air - only, as soon as the light touched it, the stone began to dissolve. The archer's body vanished in a hazed cloud of black smoke where the punishing light lashed out. One thousand arms of the thing, erasing the debris of the explosion before it could strike anyone down below. The earth beneath his feet trembled at the impact, and the sound was horrifying, but the explosion was not just destroying - it was erasing, as though the rooftop and its occupant had never existed at all.
"Fuck!" he shouted again - this time, half-swear and half-prayer.