Though behind the coeurl, Edgar's first-hand experience with the creatures paid off as he realized what was happening, the beast's whiskers whipping audibly as his eyes began to glow with an unearthly light. If there was one thing coeurls were known for in his world, it was their affinity for magic. They were dangerous beasts with their claws alone, but magic in such a tight area as a hallway, especially one where patients often trekked, brought the potential for mayhem through the roof.

He called to Tolten to warn him to move, his own feet skidding across the smooth floor as he broke into a quick dash. His stitches pulled painfully against his skin as he swung his shovel from the side, aiming to land the flat head of the tool against the bulk of the coeurl's body. He could apologize to Locke for injuries later; he'd be in far more trouble in every conceivable way if he let one of the few allies they had in the institute perish. They'd be even shorter-handed than before, and neither Locke nor Edgar would never forget himself.

Unfortunately, Edgar's reaction came a second too late, the coeurl's eyes firing a beam of energy just as he got within striking distance.