How much of it was luck, and how much of it was skill? The axe slammed deep but drew no blood, Muu rolling off to the side in the nick of time. Pulling back, the undead warrior wrenched his weapon free from the ground, but she was already in motion before he could unleash a second strike. Roll back, contract, and kick. Like a spring, Muu shot out, the force of her kick unable to do anything more than superficial damage to the undead warrior, but certainly able to knock him away. Rotted boots scraped against the slippery terrain, as he fell on his back, scrambling to get up again while the Bladedancer rose up as well.

It was time to recover, time to put what she had trained for into practice. Time t-

[b]“ASH!”[/b]

Gwyn’s strained voice resounded sharply through the battlefield as heavy drops of blood splattered upon the ice, frosting over into an inappropriately-pretty pink.

It was no simple feat to catch a blade, and even when just trying to misdirect it, it was hard. The fear made one quake, the inexperience made one inaccurate, the speeds made harder. Hot, searing pain shot up Ash’s hands as she struck the side of the sword, the first digit of her right ring finger torn right off, bouncing off the ice and falling somewhere. The tip of the sword sliced into her side, what armor she had wholly insufficient for warding off such a blow, and the effect was as if all the bile in her stomach was suddenly rising up. Such pain was nauseating, even through the mind-numbing adrenaline that coursed into her body.

But she wasn’t dead. If she wasn’t dead, she could heal. If she didn’t stop, she could keeping moving. With bleeding hands, Ash grabbed on, grappling to the best of her ability, starbursts of agony punctuated by each strike that landed onto her. Knees to her stomach, elbows to her back, a headbutt to her skull, a pummeling delivered by bone and metal, her vision darkening and darkening.

And then there was light.

The skeletal form that she clung onto dissolved into white ash, revealing Gwyn behind, her palms glowing with holy light. Ash fell into the priest’s embrace, as words of healing were sung into her ears, pushing back the darkness that threatened to take her consciousness.

One down.

In the distance, Ettamri’s monstrous strength manifested in a blow that pulverized spear, shield, armor and bone, crippling another undead warrior beyond its ability to fight properly. Immaculate and beyond reproach, the white knight proved once more that she was leagues beyond anyone else here.

Two down.

More healing prayer seeped into her body, vanishing fractured bones and damaged organs as if it were nothing, and within moments, Ash was able to stand on her own two feet, woozy but otherwise unharmed. Still alive. As awful as a nightmare, but she was still alive.

[b]“Don’t do that again,” [/b]the masked priest said, turning away to face the undead mage that continued their wordless, soulless chant. [b]“Luck only takes you so far, Ash. It’s better if you learned how to run away.”[/b]