Ren threw his Frame to the side, working its thrust verniers past their redline to change heading and momentum while at the same time trying to keep the whole bloody thing from overbalancing and spilling him onto the pavement.
Though he supposed he wouldn't feel all too much pain, if that were to happen. Not for very long at any rate.
The scythe-like blade-arm of a Slave burying itself inches away from the rear of his ride was as sure an indication of this as any he'd be likely to get.
Still, he wasn't in any hurry to take that particular journey quite yet ...
With the howl of overstressed equipment, the Frame shot off at an oblique angle compared to that in which it had been heading just moment ago, and clear into alley.
For a moment, he thought he'd managed to deter pursuit. That is, until the bulk of the Slave obscured his upcoming exit, chips of concrete spraying upwards from where its legs had burrowed into the ground as a result of the impact following its leap.
The man didn't swear. There wasn't time enough to waste on such things. Instead, he cut forward thrust, turned the Frame's body sideways - something barely possible in the relatively narrow alleyway - and cranked up the engines while redirecting all the thrust to the groud effect verniers ...
... and praying, for all that was worth.
There's no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole.
The Frame seemed to bounce off of nothing at all, in a way resembling a rubber ball, and the Slave's first swing - horizontal and sweeping the bredth of the alley before it - went under the rising vehicle.
For a moment all was still, even as Ren realized the other weapon arm was drawn back and prepared to literally swat ... or slice ... him and his ride out of the air before he could clear the enemy and the alley's exit.
Then the construct roared, shrieked, and exploded in a shower of emerald sparks ...
"Got him!" came a voice over his comm unit, even as the Frame touched down and he had to fight a little to get it balanced again.
Delay, misdirect, confuse ... those were the chief goals of Black skirmishers throughout the city. The fact that all of them knew it just as well as if they'd been born there made the task somewhat easier, if not by any means simple or trivial. He'd just experienced that much, and not for the first time in the past half-hour either.
Still, they were managing to sow discord within the enemy ranks, and isolate and eliminate the occasional Slave/Lord pairs as well.
Now if the Otome would finally get to their part and rally already ...
A sudden flash of light overhead, along with a sort of subsonic shriek that resonated from the direction of Garderobe and was felt rather than heard, derailed that thread of thought.
Why, oh why did he not think that this was heralding a 'good' thing?
next: Arika, Erstin, Sergei, Mashiro, et al. come across Smith. Among other things.
-Griever
EAT: Edited to fix a nonsensical sentence.
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm