Artemis watched as the stone landed not far from where he stood, and though he’d readied himself for a fight that plan immediately changed. Whatever they threw it wasn’t about to rain hugs and kisses in the area. Artemis quickly sheathed the blade he had readied only a moment a go, grabbed the pale elf under his right arm tightly, and blinked as far away as he could from the event.
His magic had taken the elf and himself a good bit out of the way of the fight. Though fifty feet didn’t seem far, he had landed behind enough cover of buildings to at least not be worried about the enemies seeing him or the elf for the time being. He laid the elf down in the mud and turned back, hoping the man wearing the tricorne had had the sense to get away as well. He couldn’t see where the man was any more but the stone transformed into a raging pillar of fire, and then a few seconds later stillness returned.
’Who the fuck are these people? Bandits my ass!’ Artemis’ thoughts began to fill with fury as his body filled with a wave of adrenaline. He had maintained his calm for the most part but now things were getting messier than he preferred. Droplets of water rolled down Artemis' black mask and for a moment time felt as though it slowed, as he concentrated on his breathing. A slow and deep breath in, a wave of air as he exhaled. His eyes closed, brief seconds passed, and a series of breaths traveled in and out of his powerful lungs. He took full stock of his body: every muscle, every bone, every wound. Artemis was no fool and knew his limits; fortunately he was still far from reaching those. He punched his sleeping left arm to get some blood flowing and flexed the fingers. Within seconds he had enough blood rushing to do what he needed.
He heard Vince’s voice call out from behind a building. “Head’s up!” Artemis could only guess more of those stones were being lobbed. Artemis’ faced turned into an angry scowl and he sprinted around the outside of the perimeter, pulling out his blades and turning the corner around a building to flank the enemies. He blinked once more to close the distance and before the enemies could turn and raised both blades to his right side and ran across their rear. While they aimed their rifles at Vincent, two parallel cuts sliced across the backs of the six who remained - cloth, leather, skin, bone, and every other piece of organic material gave about as much resistance as butter would to Artemis’ strong and quick attack. And if any armor stopped his blade short, they’d find themselves dancing with death himself once more.