Things were continuing to escalate. The blade was wiped on his pants, slipped away as he watched the two women fall, and the commotion in front of the stage. The target of the attack was already down, a fact which drew a frown to his face. It seemed that whatever was going on with the other attacker was being handled. How successfully, he didn't really care at the moment. Since his buddy with the claws apparently wasn't going to come back for another round, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Someone did answer Ghost's call, though perhaps not who he was expecting. Another burst of that superhuman speed brought Warpath to the side of the fallen man, speaking in a calm, low tone to anyone who might be close enough to hear. "If someone hasn't already, call a damn ambulance." Then pulling off his own jacket and ripping it into a few pieces. His own injuries were ignored for the moment, though blood had soaked the back of his shirt and front of one leg. He'd taken worse, and the guy on the ground was in much more danger. It seemed the massive bloodloss was coming from the wings...or what was left of them.
The several pieces of the jacket were quickly made into an improvised pressure bandage over the remains of the one wing, tied around Warren's chest just in case he was wrong about those chest injuries. Would probably hurt like hell, if the man was still conscious, but it would slow the bleeding. James didn't seem inclined to move after that, crouching next to Warren as his gaze took in the fighting going on in the rest of the room.
The act of removing his jacket left the gun and blade harness visible, but perhaps not obviously so. His shirt under the jacket was a dark blue, so the dull black hopefully wouldn't stand out too much. Still, his hand was hovering close to the side where both the gun and one of the blades were located. Just in case.