"There's gonna be a few waiting for us," Herc speaks, low and quiet, Striker Eureka in his hand and Rebellion held up. And as soon as the lock clicks, well, he's doing like the lady suggested, but staying as far forward as he can to make sure he can catch their attention first.

"Come on, you ugly mongrels!" Clattering his hilt against his shield, Herc is determined to get and keep the attention off the women with him. Not because they're women, no - he's smarter than than - but because that is what he does, it's what he's good at, and because they're not wardens and they still offered to help. That isn't the kind of thing lightly dismissed or easily forgotten. The blade of Striker Eureka is engulfed in flame, roaring through the air with each swing and thrust.

Two genlocks lumber forward-- and the bastards ignore him, though Herc twists to hack with his sword at the hamstring of one, hobbling it, bashing it with his shield before twisting to try and catch the other other, leaving a gash in his side. He'd follow up, but there's a shriek at his back. Thing is, he loves a good fight. It's about the only thing he's really good at, even with the Calling dragging at him. He and he guards and he watches, and right now he drives the sword through the shriek's throat before it sags to the ground.