He's not bleeding. Yelena sees Roderick jerk with the impact of being stabbed with a polearm wielded by a man built like a tank, hears him cry out, but there isn't a drop of blood.

It isn't entirely surprising - she'd seen Aelwyn's message noting that some of the Desolation's servitors are made of wax, and the sheer quantity of candles she'd found in the performers' quarters all those months ago had suddenly made a lot more sense - but not entirely surprising is still incredibly disquieting. Living things should bleed. Things that don't are a lot harder to kill.

She pivots, bracing herself with one hand on the ground, and swings her leg in a low, sweeping kick that hits Roderick hard at the knee. Bloodless or no, his joints still bend, and gravity still has its hold. He goes down hard, sacrificing the ability to break his fall in order to keep his hands where he can still use them. For a heartbeat, it seems almost comical, and then the remaining two canisters clipped to Yelena's belt ignite where the light of the lasers plays across them. She throws herself to the side with a guttural curse, before anything else can go up in flames.