So slow, so slow. So many were coming out and so many were running, but not enough. The tentacles were next to roll back into the cocoon and then the leftover opened its mouth, releasing yet another heavy sulfur-laden breath. The lucentien clicked its hands together, the metallic scraping echoing dully off the walls until - finally - a spark caught.

Sulfur was a heavy gas. It tended to sit on the bottom of a room, collecting until it came in contact with flame, or until its plain toxicity killed whoever was unfortunate enough to be nearby. However, with the door to the hall open, and that new gasp of air from Crawford's room, the people beneath the behemoth were lucky. The sulfur caught fire, rocketing out like a column of flame, but it quickly settled toward the floor, the flash of flame and heat rolling in a thin band outward. If they were smart, they'd run before the flames hit them.