Terrence had taken to the hill, the sniper firing shot after shot at him, and he returned shot after shot without being able to get proper aim. The sniper was keeping him distracted enough to only allow random potshots.<br/><br/>But when Terrence popped up and didn't get shot he knew the sniper was reloading. This was the window of opportunity he needed. He ran, as fast as possible, managing to wide and out of the snipers range. Quickly, he ascended the hill, thinking of nothing more than removing their biggest threat. The gunslinger was in control now and the revolvers were leading the way.<br/><br/>Terrence came upon the sniper, he had rolled over and fired a shot, but it went wide as he received a bullet for each eye. Terrence knew what needed to be done now. The sniper rifle was - in it's own way - an elegant weapon, even if this one was magazine-fed. But the Gunslinger's hands took it willingly. Within seconds he'd drawn a bead on the last man, and in the same time frame, had blown his head clean off his body.<br/><br/>Sara was safe, that much he could be sure of. But Terrence was utterly unaware of the last man, coming up to him with a dagger in hand. Terrence only just telegraphed it in time. But his hands didn't have time to reach the guns nor the time to get out of the way, the dagger pierced his arm, the blade going all the way through. Terrence growled in pain and rage. The dagger-man landed punches to his face, causing blood to pour from his nose and mouth.<br/><br/>But the resolve, that resolve that kept him alive for years, that resolve that kept him sane, it kicked in. He grabbed his attackers head and pulled it down, bouncing his nose off of his forehead, shattering it and leaving the man in pain. Terrence grabbed his guns and smashed the butts of them into the bleeding son-of-a-bitch's temples, sending him reeling back, only to fall to death with the last two bullets in Terrence's gun.<br/><br/>Now, the adrenaline was over and the pain rushed back in. Terrence's head was swimming and all he could taste was blood. The wound in his arm was agony, and it stung like acid on flesh.<br/><br/>Terrence managed to reholster his guns but could not reload them. He stumbled down the hill, spitting blood and calling out Sara's name.