Strygwyr stood ready, muscles tensed, a red, toothy animal, clawed, furry feet poised to react in an instant. The void was indeed an imposing force of eternity, even gods feared it. In that moment, he quickly considered his circumstances. Without his bloodrage and healing, he was undoubtedly more vulnerable than ever. There was a chance that this priestess could kill him, casting his spirit into the emptiness of the void. His mask hid his worried look. Without him, his gods would starve, and his people would perish. If he was taken down now, it would be all over. Without his race to placate them, would the gods of slaughter ever stop? Of course not. Strygwyr smiled at the thought of the Flayed Ones vengefully spilling out of the confines of Xhacatocatl and draining the rest of the world. he knew their thirst and the satisfaction of satiating it. In that at least, he could find some satisfaction. But to see them suffer, lose his home, and risk the utter destruction of the Twins in their their ravenous thirst, was something he could not allow. The void priestess would pay for her insult, and he would prove his worth as a blood seeker. 

He sensed the magic building as she prepared to charge in, giving him just enough forewarning to dodge to the side, his blade ripping through her robes and dragging its edge into her flesh as she passed by. Oh, how he had been so lucky. Keeping his watch on her as she landed and lifted her bare fists defensively, he lifted his weapon to inspect the new scent. Shreika's blood trickled along the bright metal. "The Flayed Ones favor me. I shall remake my bond with them in sacrificial blood. Once again, I will share their thirst." Facing her, he licked the edge of his bladed tonfa, tasting her blood in front of her. 

Even now, he was playing the mental game, stalling, and yet breaking down her confidence and will. The cloud of black mist was clearing, revealing the two to the outside world and gradually unburdening Strygwyr's senses. The north gate was still closed. Scores of voices erupted in screams just outside the west wall as the archers of the 11th were slain by painful magics. He sensed her hesitation. He had to have perfect timing in order to avoid potentially getting blasted by any of her magic. Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, he charged, exuding raw, primal fear that hopefully will disturb any plans of a spell she may have had. Slashing with the left and then the right, he aimed to take out her fists and neck, as well as whatever was left still standing with the second swing.