The party feels a gentle warmth. Harsh begins to shine.

They walk forward, palm outstretched, licks of flame flowing down their arm and balling around their paw.

Harsh begins to slightly blur. The parts of their coat usually a brilliant pink begin to aberrate. Green, blue, pink again, all at once.

The radiant heat rises. The rest of them starts to blur, imprecise, the same paced steps at different gaits.

They reach for something with a flaming hand.

A fiery revolver twirled. A burning knife thrown up and caught again. A charge of flame palmed.

The temperature is intense. Their cloak is billowing. Hot light drips from wounds.

A gun aimed. A blade readied. A paw outstretched.

A howl. A whistle. A snap.

It's not clear how the enemy goes down. Too bright to see.