Fire wasn’t really that much of a problem for Dean, in a sort of tangential way; fire meant more shadows for him to work with. Then again, given that it was the middle of the night, it was kind of his element anyway, so the fire was mostly a damn distraction. Cloaking himself in shadows, he lost track of Aza as a woman’s fist nearly crumpled his goddamn cheek in – his flinching turn, supernaturally quick – was all that turned it into a graze.<br/><br/>“Eh? So you wanna do It that way?” Dean muttered, hands blurring as he spoke. Pouches on the assassin’s vest slipped open and handfuls of poison-coated caltrops flew into the air, the fusillade of them literally covering the entrance. A few bounced off of Donovan’s armor. That was deliberate. Donovan was familiar with Dean’s merciless tactics and his frequent use of Nightshade mixed with alchemical toxins in situations like this.<br/><br/>Sliding his feet, nudging caltrops out of the way, Dean propelled himself into a rapid backflip – he’d tossed the caltrops forward, after all, and came up with a hand extended. His shadow tendrils obediently delivered Aza to his waiting grasp and Dean said, “Behave, little bitch. Otherwise how are we going to get out of here alive?”<br/><br/>More caltrops flew from Dean’s free hand, directly in the warrior-woman’s path. They were made of reinforced iron, the tips just a little dull – moving slowly, sweeping the feet – was about the best way to deal with them and not get cut, which could be a death sentence. Poison wasn’t a very honorable medium in combat, but Dean really didn’t give a flying fuck.<br/><br/>Then Donovan opened the Glory and the shadows filling the room deepened, redoubled, deepened again. Those without night vision suddenly found themselves in a world of stark, color-shifted contrasts; orange and red fire became purple and shadows became pits of absolute black. A side-effect of empowering the Shadow, and probably not a happy event for the Vizier’s home team.<br/>