Seeing the knights being slaughtered by Balothiss gave the curse soul a moments respite. These were knights who may have been loyal to an idea at one point. They might be here only from a sworn fealty. Fools, symbols of his own once naivety. The cold grew around the shade. He would release them from their vows. Moving into the fray cold stair took no pleasure in each piercing cry. 

The sword had no hold over him yet, almost on its own did it find its way into each knight. Whether it was the head or chest the twitch the body made from the soul being pierced did little to sway his disdain of these wretches. As the bodies hit the ground frost and necrosis took them. No savior would come on wings of light. No prayer uttered would help them escape. The only thing that sought them was death. It was death that would hold each of them as the specter did its work. Many of them felt the ice grow in there lungs after his strike. As the light of hope left them they could feel the rotting of flesh from their face. Other few unfortunate souls would swing their weapon at this figure only to have it land on the ally across from them. This made it seem that the shade could produce blades from his body. The idea alone sent some knights to soil their armor. Cold stare cared not for the sound or the way they died. Just the fact that they were dead gave him the strength to kill more.