Kevin has gotten worrisomely accustomed to weird shit happening to him, but it still takes Kevin a minute to assess wild new situations. That's how he ended up behind one of the racks of archery targets.

There are... smoke monsters, bro. He doesn't know what they are, and there are scary masked women and creepy... Kevin doesn't have the spare brainpower to drag up adjectives for the nightrenders.

Should he run? He should run. He should definitely, definitely run.

That's when he sees the guy from earlier. The one with the weird eyes, who told that story about dragons? He's getting dragged away.

Kevin is a skatepunk, full of risky impulses. Kevin has made it through his first decade as a vampire, meaning his self preservation instincts do at least exist.

It means he hesitates, but only a little.

"Let him go!"

The pale fire of the klaive flashes through the smoke as Kevin rushes into it, whirling Foehammer in an undisciplined but fast arc. He can't tell if there's damage done, but at least the creatures are distracted by the need to separate around the blade hacking through them.

Scooby's with him, bouncing and darting at shadows, staying just out of reach.