The irritated and unfortunately bulletproof guard facing River looks no more impressed by her sword than he did by her guns. It doesn't help that her wall and filing cabinet are as much corner as cover; if she moves out too far she's in danger of crossbow bolts and arrows, but her protections limit her movement. And the guard wades into the fray with the unruffled assurance of someone confident in his skill, his armor, or both.

A feint, a sideways dodge, a low kick and a high stab-- Those glinting purple scales around his neck, it turns out, may guard well against beheading, but they do absolutely nothing to help with a katana through the eye.

River rears back and plants a solid kick to the demon's chest in the instant before he goes limp; he crumples backwards, and her sword pulls from his eye socket with a horrible grating squelch. She ignores him, except to wipe her sword efficiently on his once-fancy suit -- you never know when demon blood's corrosive, and his is a marvelous shade of purple -- and to dive over him in a roll that carries her towards the hallway and into another cluster of guards.