Clawed legs cut and beat him, but Loam held firm. Riding the thing's midsection he held its mouth at bay with his scabbard while he stabbed its abdomen with the broken end of his sword until it finally pierced the beast's carapace. He rode the death throes and extracted himself from the mess when it was over.

Nine. This would be number nine. The ones in the air were the problem of the dragons. He took advantage of the reprieve to secure his busted longsword in the scabbard and grab a spare one dropped by one of the defenders. No time to patch himself up, but at least he could catch his brea-

Then a dragon shaped comet streaked past him, followed by six more armored shapes that hit the ground with the force of cannon balls. When Loam found his feet again the five survivors of the impact were already on him, smelling his blood and metal. He kicked up a nearby spear to impale the one at the front, but it's fellows simply tore through the new obstacle and came at him. 

There was no time for thinking or tricks. Loam lashed out viciously with his blunted sword, hitting the Skeeter's eye hard enough to dig into the head. Wings cut him and he whirled, driving his new sword into another. Mouths bit him. It was a whirling savage dance, but in the end Loam stood over the broken bodies bloody and mangled, but alive. 

With the same stubborn determination that had propped him up all his life Loam walked away from the carnage to find the next bug to squash.