The beast was full of rage, too angry to think straight, it only ever seemed to move in straight lines, and the daemon slayer took advantage of that, as he launched his assault. The daemon would rush him, and as he leapt out of the way, the warrior sought to poke at the monstrosity, inflicting wounds that would bleed and weaken his enemy. Then, after some manoeuvring and little success, the satyr realized what had to be done. The same pile of rubble he'd started this fight on, would end it. He let his enemy rush him a few more times, dodging more carefully now, until he was lined up. The daemon paid his scheming no heed, however, and continued trying to bury its blades in the increasingly infuriating cavalier. It continued to be met with little success, however. And its next charge would prove more momentous than the others.

This time, the knight has his back to the ruined wall. So when the daemon began its charge once more, he hopped atop it, and then behind it, while his opponent simply rushed the mound of rock, crashing into it with more force than the goat-man had anticipated. His ruminant reflexes saved him, however, and he escaped with only a bruised shin as the whole rock wall came tumbling down before the wrath of the daemon he faced. The beast flailed its bladed limbs as it collapsed with the rubble, but to no avail. Even as it struggled to rise, the daemon slayer was striking with all the fury of a thousand divine suns. He thrust his shashka through the thing's unbladed throat, and tore downward, slicing open its most vital arteries, to let it bleed out. He then realized that daemons probably didn't rely on arteries, and followed that with an upward stroke that severed the head of his enemy. Daemonic blood spurted violently, boiling as it sprayed into the air. Even in death the thing was angry. So mad, was it, in fact, that the thing was still struggling to rise.

The satyr acted quickly, bounding around the abomination's razor-coated limbs, and slicing away at its unprotected underarms, removing any physical ability to control the limbs by hacking the flesh free of the bones. His assault was vicious, and he didn't stop at the head and two limbs. He figured he might as well go all the way, and he soaked the once-holy ground in boiling, corrupted vitality. Where the stuff soaked into the ground, the grass would only ever grow red, but the cavalier was unconcerned with that. He was more concerned with making sure his enemy was dead. He stabbed the limbless torso a few times for good measure, burying his blade to the hilt in the evil flesh.

"Not even dry and I've got to wash again..." he observed with a grimace as he took a step back to check on his handiwork. "I suppose it could be worse..." he added with a shrug. Then he looked around, wondering if his steed had just decided not to join in this fight, or if the lizard was truly occupied. If it didn't come back with something for him to eat, he decided they were going to share strong words. Then, having no time to deal with strangers who would run from a fight whilst armed, and then refuse to rally to the aid of an actual warrior, he returned to the pool to cleanse himself once more. Rinsing fresh blood from him took only a moment, though, and soon he was back to where he'd left off, cleaning his equipment, and then oiling what needed it. He figured he would be done by mid-afternoon, and spend the last of the light getting away from this place. He would make camp somewhere a little less prone to daemonic attacks...