Trowa's ears tilted back, catching the sound of more of the building falling to pieces, but he couldn't stop what he was doing just yet to turn and look.

A crowd of vampires went down a short ways away, and he managed to snare a glimpse of the little blond guy with the sword making slow but highly efficient work of freeing the creatures' heads from the restricting confines of their necks. It was impressive, considering how distasteful the act seemed to be to the stranger.

He had no such need to tiptoe around the destruction of his enemies, himself, but one never looked a gift fighter in the barrel of their gun. Or the... pommel stone of their blade... whatever. The whole damn thing was a badly mangled metaphor originating from horses and mouths anyway.

One of the leeches grabbed him round the waist; within a second he was back to his human shape and hunkered down on the ground while his assailant stood in confusion with wide, empty arms--another passed, and Trowa had changed again and rushed him, throwing the weight of the prehistoric monster into his legs. Another nearby screamed in terror at the sight of something that hadn't walked the earth in ages, but only for a moment.