Eitan gritted his teeth and stayed a shot when Myles and Jonah went barreling into their firing lines. He realized it was their job, though, and so he adjusted his aim to compensate. They kept the leader far enough away that between the bulletholes riddling the thing and Myles' strength of arm, it was disabled for the nonce. That just meant they had a few more en route because of course they did.
When his pistol was out of ammunition, he holstered it and brought his rifle to bear upon the three new Fungeliones. His focus narrowed as it often did during a battle and his aim didn't suffer for the pressure; in fact, it was easier to focus. But when Brenner called for a mêlée, he considered his options. He had his cutlass, of course, but was used to fencing with it. Where monstrous things were concerned, he thought he ought to opt for his rifle with its attached bayonet. The thing would give him optimal reach and he didn't want the beasties getting too close to him.
Taking several steps forward to draw attention to himself and perhaps allow the back line to get off a few more shots, he dropped into a half-crouch, with the rifle and bayonet held close to his body. He next propelled his rifle forward, then dropped his supporting hand while taking a step forward with the right foot, simultaneously thrusting out his right arm to full length with the extended rifle held in the grip of his right hand alone. He wielded it more like a sword than a spear, perhaps, but the reach of his thrust caught the beast where its heart ought to be if it were a natural sort of thing. It flailed at him, its reach too short with his entire rifle and arm extended so.
With all the strength of his arms and wrists, he grasped the butt of the rifle as his boots sought as much traction as possible against its greater mass. Shots rang out behind him, whizzing overhead as he kept low, using the ground to support him. Just when he thought his strength would give out, the collective damage of his bayonet and the bullets brought it down. Wasting no time, he yanked his bayonet free, braced his foot against its neck and brought the point of his bayonet down into its eye, eliciting a gout of aqueous humor into the air. Hoping the brain damage would be enough to keep it down for a while, he retracted the blade once more and turned to look for the next target. They needed the things downed so they could safely see about killing them beyond their regenerative abilities to save them.
When his pistol was out of ammunition, he holstered it and brought his rifle to bear upon the three new Fungeliones. His focus narrowed as it often did during a battle and his aim didn't suffer for the pressure; in fact, it was easier to focus. But when Brenner called for a mêlée, he considered his options. He had his cutlass, of course, but was used to fencing with it. Where monstrous things were concerned, he thought he ought to opt for his rifle with its attached bayonet. The thing would give him optimal reach and he didn't want the beasties getting too close to him.
Taking several steps forward to draw attention to himself and perhaps allow the back line to get off a few more shots, he dropped into a half-crouch, with the rifle and bayonet held close to his body. He next propelled his rifle forward, then dropped his supporting hand while taking a step forward with the right foot, simultaneously thrusting out his right arm to full length with the extended rifle held in the grip of his right hand alone. He wielded it more like a sword than a spear, perhaps, but the reach of his thrust caught the beast where its heart ought to be if it were a natural sort of thing. It flailed at him, its reach too short with his entire rifle and arm extended so.
With all the strength of his arms and wrists, he grasped the butt of the rifle as his boots sought as much traction as possible against its greater mass. Shots rang out behind him, whizzing overhead as he kept low, using the ground to support him. Just when he thought his strength would give out, the collective damage of his bayonet and the bullets brought it down. Wasting no time, he yanked his bayonet free, braced his foot against its neck and brought the point of his bayonet down into its eye, eliciting a gout of aqueous humor into the air. Hoping the brain damage would be enough to keep it down for a while, he retracted the blade once more and turned to look for the next target. They needed the things downed so they could safely see about killing them beyond their regenerative abilities to save them.