He holds his hand up to his nose, circling his gun finger round in a half moon. The Nerada swarm slips over his hand, growing into a glove over his fingers. He cups his ear.
“Sounds like Jennifer knows we’ve flown the coop. Work with me,” the Doctor sends mentally, feeling the itch over his body of ‘message received’, “... there’ll be several waves. I can feel them through the floor.”
Then he shoves himself away from the stone wall, swinging his arm out with the Nerada in tow around his humerus area, swirling lopsidedly in irregular orbit around him.
Black flies around his wrist like a silk ribbon, careening forward, growing down his arm. Then the sharp onyx cloud whips the helmet off one guard as she rushes him from the corner.
“One down, several thousand to go! What’s it going to be, girls and boys?” he cries to the crowd, gauging the response by the universal quotient of silence divided by footstep.
The Doctor places his foot to the right, toe to heel, pulling back his black arm to strike again.
“So many footsteps!” he says softly, grinning a mad grin with his wide open lips and his shining teeth glooming in the shade of the hallway leading to the stairs, “... it’s going to be a long night.”