Amal saw the sorceress fly, but did not have much of a chance to check if she was dead. It would sadden him, despite her use of him and their mutual lack of trust. Not many women kept him on his toes and he quite liked that. He could think on it later, as his mind was suddenly brought back to the present as the black cat-demon turned to face him. It was like a living shadow and yet wholly, disgustingly organic, and only the way it padded on the ground showed it continually remained in the physical realm. 

The shemite thief high jumped, taking a thick vine in his grasp and using his strong core to swing his legs above his head. The beast narrowly missed the thief, who landed in a crouch, dagger out and flipped to a reverse grip as the moving nightmare regained its feet and stalked closer. By Bel it was fast, and even his keen eyes could barely keep up with the sinuous movements of the dark thing. It bared fangs like small swords, eyes filled with hatred. 

"Come then and face me," Amal said, standing to his full height and brandishing his wicked dagger. 

Silently it came, moving two steps as if it were to stalk Amal before it bounded forward, swifter than a horse. Amal readied himself to jump again, the bending of the knees and arching of his feet evident, even his eyes glanced upwards. But as it thing leaped, Amal went down and did not fly up, letting the creature fly over him with an ungainly hesitance. With tigerish strength, Amal held the huge thing up with his arm, the beast having yet hit the ground, fluidly stabbing into the demon's midsection thrice. The only indication one might know he did so was the jerk of him removing his dagger. 

Now he and the beast grappled, Amal awkwardly keep its claws off of him as he desperately held the thing at bay. It was a losing game, even with its injuries, and after many moments he wriggled himself free and rolled out from under the thrashing beast even as it swiped. Amal planted his feet into the ground and bounced into the foliage, landing gracefully and making his way to Sythemis. The shapely priestess was prone and bleeding from a nasty swipe, but now so was Amal. Blood ran down his chiseled chest from a claw mark on his pectoral, a cut over his forehead bleeding down his cheek. 

"Woman! If you live, you must wake up! Set, I beseech thee!" He cried out, for the first time in his life he spoke to the God of stygia. If this failed, he would not live to regret it.