[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@VitaVitaAR]

A blued gleam behind the crook of the opponent's elbow heralded a howl, full of rage, pain, swearing vengeance. He had opted for maximal safety, retreating from their range immediately after diverting Gerard's strike with his own blade and imposing a skeletal wall between the pair of Roses. It had proven to be an obstacle beforehand, something worth taking note of, but now...

"Kill her, kill her!" he howled, glaring fury in the direction Vosahnn must have fled.

Bone snapped beneath steel as the Captain darted to the side, following that same wall of reanimated corpses and interposing herself between it and their young Nem charge. New orders given, they began to move as one towards the side of the chamber. Gerard was similarly quick on the uptake—

But rather than dashing to the right side of the room, he instead surged [i]forward[/i]. This was an opening he would be braindead to not take, even within the deepest pits of the fervor that consumed him. His Captain could more than handle keeping young Vosahnn safe from mindless skeletons— that much he could plainly see. Here, against this man, she could be said to lack size, strength, experience— her training was nothing to sneeze at, but Gerard did not believe it was particularly boastful to conclude that this fight suited [i]him[/i] better.

He would ruthlessly push the advantages on the table.

A compromised arm.

A distraction, blinding lust for reprisal.

That same horde Fanilly engaged, now so far away from him.

Fights were decided by moments, and this one Gerard [i]seized[/i].

Naturally, the burst of motion in his peripheral was noteworthy enough for this man, experienced in spite of his clear outburst of anger, to take note of. To catch a man like this wholly off his guard would be asking too much. However, he was nonetheless forced to react rather than act— Gerard had all at once filled the space that existed between them, bearing down on him with blade drawn. 

Immediately, in the same instant the armored man's eyes widened, Gerard swung.

A [i]zhornhau[/i] to open. Diagonal cut starting from the right shoulder, something quick, high, and immediate— draw the eyes. Feint.

Off-balance, stuck in readjustment, he would bite on defending it. Heavy strike right for the head again, no chance that did not flash every warning signal.

He felt the clash of blade on blade, but not the pressure of a bind. Immediately, Segremors stepped forward and to the left on a diagonal, his longsword riding rebound and twisting in his grip to attack the other side. [i]Zwerchau[/i], a windmilling horizontal cut at head height. Delivered by the twisting of the arms above oneself, it could rapidly attack either side with successive strikes. Great for pressing an advantage and driving forward, further and further into space. 

His step in had served a dual purpose— not only did it activate the legs and hips in powering the Zwerchau, it took his foot position much closer to that of his unnamed foe.

If he could get close enough, he could initiate a wrestling exchange by tripping him over that lead foot if he barred his vambrace over the man's throat, and the Knights would have their prisoner with a fresh blade against his neck quite quickly. No way this one wasn't some kind of big shot within the present corps— the plate alone was reason to believe he fit the desired bill.

If he could not, and his opponent gave ground, he would continue his furious assault with more strings of cuts, either herding him away from that talisman or outright killing him, ending the threat for good.

As long as they won, Gerard personally found himself unbothered with either outcome.