Another shadow darts in, bristling like a porcupine, slicing impossible knives across his palms and stabbing into his belly, Deathstrike's elongated fingers sinking into him. The agony that blooms inside him is strangely cold; he grits his teeth around it and reaches out with both hands to wrench the shadow-creature's head back, feeling something snap inside its body.

Redness blurs the edges of his vision; rage is rising up in his gut. He's been fighting the animal inside for days, maybe weeks, in this place. But he can't let it out here. Can't risk hurting Ellie. So he ignores it, though it costs him.

The beserk doesn't feel pain. He does.

He smells the Molotov before he sees it, the harsh scent of alcohol and fire whistling through the air before exploding at the shadow's feet. Logan's more than pleased to find out the spooky bastards are flammable. He kicks the one that's already burning in the chest, pulling its claws out of his body and sending it staggering back even as it screams and crumples. Another falls, shrieking as it burns.

Logan spits blood onto the snow and raises his head.

The shadows are wary now, hanging back, chittering and clicking. One on the very edges of the fight seems to see something and breaks off, heading for a nearby fence -- where Ellie is hiding.

"Kid!" Logan barks out, charging across the snow to intercept it. But the shadows are fast, so fast.