It occurred to Wash about a half-second in to this that, given his lack of magic, he was the least prepared person in their group to handle this. In the next half-second, that flipped to most prepared: he'd already died once, after all, and he knew what to expect. He could handle it.

Provided he came back.

Right.

He forced himself to stay in the moment, shoving all the memories screaming for his attention away and trying to swallow his own terror. Just because he believed he could handle dying again didn't mean he wanted to, but that was exactly what he'd set himself up for. He focused instead on the rift - not too big, not too many Nox pouring out, but definitely enough to outnumber them and one right in front of him-

He dropped low and lunged forward, driving his shoulder into the Nox's ribs (or where its ribs would be) and ignoring the claws that raked up his arm. He caught a shadowy appendage the next time claws came flying at him, threw all his weight against it, and swung the Nox - one of the smaller specimens - in a tight arc, letting it go just in time for it to crash into another Nox. Three down - not out, but down - and only about a dozen more to go - at least, right now. He could keep these guys busy for long enough. He could do this.

That was about when another Nox all but tackled him from behind and he went down hard, face down sprawling on the pavement.