What happened first was their route was suddenly cut off, those in the lead because thrown backwards by an invisible wall of force. Those behind them noticed that the street behind them was different, changed as if it was a mirror reflection of the direction they were going, except without them standing there. From the alley way to the right, the sounds of boots beating against the cobblestone. The woman in command gestured quickly towards the alley way, her mind not registering this obvious trap in the moment of chaos. They entered a small courtyard with a well in the middle of it. Across from there was their way out, but unfortunately, it was blocked off by a number of men in rather nice suits, all standing at the ready with some kind of element in hand. One of the cultists made a made dash forward, diving into the well for his own safety and to check if the others could follow. His body was soon shot upwards, through the little awning serving as the well's roof, sending him flying with enough force to clear the houses blocking them in. The water stayed in a geyser like fashion as one of the men casually twirled his hand about in it's general direction.<br/><br/>The boots quickly came in behind the group, showing more of the same men standing behind them. From above, light soon shown down as a man with wings landed on the roof, immediately flanked by two people with guns. At the sight of the guns, the cultist that gave up his cloak cursed. "Fucking Construct, he made more Tech."<br/><br/>"Indeed I did," a calm voice said from in front of them. "I made more Tech when I heard that a group of terrorists were planning on blowing my primary alchemical refinery." The men in front parted like the red sea to allow this man to pass through. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about this man, save that there was an air of superiority about him and that every other man in a suit seemed to fear him. He was dressed in a very fine suit. The craftsmanship was apparent, even in the dim natural light and the light of the winged man above. The red especially popped as he stepped fully into view. "So I feel it was a great investment when I find that the terrorists failed, and are cornered with four rifles staring them down."<br/><br/>The man continued to walk forward until he was within feet of the group, hands folded behind his back. "Would you all prefer we do this where the only ones left are my men and those of you who wet themselves, or would you prefer that we end this without anyone unnecessarily wasting their magic?" The man asked. The area was filled with silence, save for the ever so slight ticking of something. Before the sound could become more prominent, a cultist charged the man, pulling a wicked looking blade from under his cloak. The man did not move as the cultist attempted to plunge the blade into his chest.... but something very different happened. The blade snapped from the pressure, leaving only a gash in the suit itself and not the flesh beneath. The victim of that assault scowled and shot his hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the cultist's neck.<br/><br/>He stared at him for a few moment, as if measuring him. "Incredibly, you are worth less energy than this suit costed in Bars," the man said, slightly shocked. "That means you have no way to pay me back for this transgression... and are thus useless." There was a sudden, crunching sound as the cultist suddenly went limp. The man in charge dropped the corpse and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, beginning to clean off his hand. "Now, would anyone else like to ruin my suits?" Emlyn asked. "If you value your life as much or more than I will, I suggest removing those horrible cloaks and disarming peacefully."