The entire rest? Not quite. Still, Rinzler's certainly managed to come close. Toothed bodies lay strewn across the ground, sliced apart or bent to improbable angles. A couple still twitch, but seem to lack the life (or body parts) to pose a real danger.

One is left standing. A swipe of its claw is slapped aside with a swift kick, and Rinzler's frame spins after, a blur of red-on-black that severs the offending limb. It lunges with a chittering shriek, only to take Rinzler's second weapon to the gut. He leaps as it staggers, frame coiling to double the circular momentum before both feet crunch neatly where its spine meets—or met—its head.

There are a few spasms, but Rinzler's focus doesn't linger. No, his helmet is aimed up toward Aloy, even as he shifts up to a crouch. Red sizzles off the edges of both disks, drips from his hands, and stains the dark armor in small spattered parts. Combined with the low growl still filtering from behind the mask, it probably doesn't make a reassuring image.

Still, when Rinzler moves, it's just in gesture: a small dip of the helmet toward Aloy and her spear. Not bad.