"Over here," calls a voice, in heavily accented but otherwise perfectly clear English. "Your gadget lost the fight."

The speaker made it up onto the same tripod as the brazier, it would seem; a moment later he leaps down to the ice, staying in a crouched position. His expression is distorted with an unwholesomely painful-looking smile.

"So someone thought to offer me competition after all. I had wondered if anyone on this side of the barrier was going to try."

As he comes to his feet his hands come alight with the same clear green fire that burns in the brazier above.

"Although how you think you're going to stop me from delivering the City into Azathoth's hands is beyond even me."