Putting the skeletons down for good was no easy task. It was not completely impossible, as enough structural damage would ultimately render then largely useless. But dealing such damage with a sword...

Fanilly had to do her best, she couldn't let a single one of the undead's numbers past her!

Using the pommel of her sword as a blunt instrument, she brought her weapon down as sharply as she could, a crack resounding from its impact against the skull of one of the skeletons. While she could hardly be described as a physical powerhouse, the young knight's speed and the weight of her weapon being brought down hard successfully cracked the aged bone, temporarily sending the skeleton to pieces as it did. Immediately she began kicking the bones apart. If she couldn't do enough damage in a single blow to permanently disable them, she could at least make their revival take longer!

The skeleton's less-then fluid movements were also a boon for her. While their numbers were not insignificant, they were not the fastest opponents! She could keep Vosahnn safe!

Metal rang against metal as she deflected a blow from one of the undead, before swinging her sword through its ribcage and spine at full force, knocking it apart and cutting through bone! As long as she could keep this up, as long as they could open a path deeper...!

The armored man gritted his teeth.

Circumstances had turned against him quite swiftly. With the pain shooting up his arm, the dagger still lodged in his elbow, he had been placed at a considerable disadvantage. With each clash of steel against steel, he was forced back, losing ground. And yet there was no room to disengage, not to retrieve the lost amulet nor try and call some of the skeletons back to assist him.

"Damn you... damn you! Where is that blasted mage...!?"

His frantic self-defense furthered devolved, a string of curses erupting from his lips with each clash of the two men's weapons.

But he wasn't leaving a big enough opening to pin down. In spite of being injured and enraged, he was still managed, even if only barely, to make himself far harder to take prisoner then to kill.

With the mention of a mage, it was likely there would be reinforcements soon, and given how they were already surely running low on time...

[hr]

The Barukstaedian man collapsed, with one final glare and a wheezed curse in his own tongue directed not at the one who had taken his life, but at the one who had interrupted the fight and pinned him down.

Perhaps this much was to be expected from a northman. He died glaring at the naga, his ire wholly directed at the one who had prevented the battle from continuing.

As for Damon Cal...

It was an almost surreal sight. As the blades came down, the vampire simply grinned, springing into the air almost immediately. Of course, such a move would hardly matter when it came to the blows that Sir Nicomede and Sir Fleuri had unleashed, they still bit through flesh and bone, they still served to sever one of the vampire's arms and one of his legs, the former still gripping his crossbow. This would be expected, perhaps, to be a crippling blow even to one who could heal from such damage, and yet...

Damon Cal hardly seemed bothered, even as he managed to land, with disturbing grace for the blood spurting from the severed stumps, on his single remaining foot several meters away.

"... My my, good work," he commented, "But... it's not enough."

Rivulets of blood suddenly became solid, like thread, snapping the vampire's limbs back towards his body. In the blink of an eye, they had already reattached.

And he was already leveling his crossbow squarely at Fleuri.

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