You holster the bolt pistol, tightening your grip on the force blade. You make your way after Tybalt, Filigree tagging along, her entire front side splattered in blood.
She licked her lips, giggling madly, her lightning claws crackling with energy.
The cyber mastiff easily takes care of the plaguebearers one after another, their bones easily cracking under the force of his jaw.
One of the daemons raises its rusty blade, swinging at the dog, the edge screeching off his armored chasis. A few sparks are seen and his left foreleg grinds, barely able to move. Even crippled, the mechanical hound manages to get out of the way before a second blow is struck.