Four steel claws scythe through the tendril and the stump recoils as if making a tactical retreat; the girl scrambles to her feet and bolts into the darkness like a startled deer. It's only after she's darted around a corner, though, that he picks up on the acrid smell of burning leather and realises that she didn't get away entirely scot free. Is that a shoe he sees disappearing into the dark ooze, or-?

No. Priorities. Warsman shakes his head briefly and hurries down the street after her before the creature can collect itself and prepare a counterstrike. He's got to make sure she's okay- if the acid managed to burn her foot as well she might not be able to get to safety. He's turning the corner as she calls out and from that alone it's easy to spot her dark shape down on the curb.

Warsman hesitates at what he hopes is an unthreatening distance, hands lowered so that his claws point to the road. "I'm not going to hurt you." His voice sounds quiet even to him- hopefully she'll read gentleness into it. "Are you hurt?"