"Well placed, Do'rhajul. I'll not waste this chance."

Fendros had not been idle behind Do'rhajul's shield. There were no more spells or tricks to be attempted. The brightness of Spellbreaker's ward cast Fendros into a silhouette. In a short doubling-over, his shape grew like ink flowing out over vellum. His master-crafted armour broke away to reveal fresh black fur. When the light abated, Do'rhajul heard a low, rumbling growl from behind him. He saw eyes shining back the reflection of Daedric princes, a large bone ring on Fendros' finger, and the now undersized axe grasped in one clawed hand. Fendros tossed his head one way to acknowledge Lorag's potentially final move.

"Now," Fendros said in an articulate baritone through his sharp teeth. "TAKE US TO OUR PREY!"

How Fendros was in the lead. He threw himself forward with a unity of ruthlessness and evasion that belied his animalistic form. Spears and halberds were dodged, snatched, and thrown aside. Throats were cut as if by the wind after the wake of his claws. Larger beasts that took time in their approach found their necks snatched and broken before they could command their muscles to move. For as many as Fendros slew in his rapid advance, he knocked aside two more for his pack to dispatch, trusting that they were behind him. He no longer cared if they were all to die, or at least he closed his heart to it. The final stretch was a clear path after one more skaafin skull was crushed against the floor. He fell into a three limb sprint which turned into one more long leap. The axe swung around and over him in his hand, poised for Vile's hip.