"Let's go for two," Marc answers. The weight of the thing will take it down without having to blow all four supports; with luck, they'll only need to blow two before it'll come down. Without luck, three.

Two more of the Sylphid guards are down, dead, and a third is bleeding profusely with both hands clutched to his gut. Marc rushes the remaining guard, bowling her over before she can get her weapon back up.