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[i]Useless.[/i]

This was the word currently loudest in Zell's mind as he found himself tired, injured and struggling with the fresh, equally skilled swordswoman in front of him.  Here he was; fucking stuck behind a cultist - while the alarm continued to sound and, more concerningly, the charging spell of 'Big Bad Boss' started to approach a crescendo.

He could do nothing because he couldn't even hurt half the monsters in this temple.

[i]Useless![/i]

In a brief breath between exchanges, Zell sighted Sil putting a clinic on the spearman, disarming him and generally looking like a badass in the conflict.  At any other moment ever, Zell would've loved to see it, but right now he was furious - ([i]You're fucking useless, Zell![/i]) - and his anger would turn into full-blown temper tantrum when a bunch of brand-new wraiths were summoned into the picture.

"FUCK THIS PLAAAACE!!!"

Had he managed to contain himself for roughly ten more seconds, James would be bailing him out with a blessing of holy fire.  But nope.  He unleashed his inner crybaby.  There [i]was[/i] a silver lining, however... yet another piece of proof that Zell was the kind of man who excelled at finding a way to win.

Cheesing.  Charm.  Chicanery.  Straight-up Cheating?  Marsel Brooks was a choose-your-own-adventure of cheap charades that so-often saw him cheering at the chequered flag as champion.

...So, aside from the childish chants consisting of crying, cuss words and chastising - Here was the extraordinarily cool part of what happened...

Back against the wall with a swordswoman and another wraith closing in, he looked to his right and saw the oil lamp held in the sconce.  Then he recalled Barracker's advice, from the beginning, about elemental damage.  There wasn't much thinking after that.  'Thinking,' after all, was not Zell's style.

"Aha!" he struck the oil lamp with sword, exploding the glass, oil and embers, his drow-made blade biting a millimeter into the stone wall.  Aside from the small explosion and mess made, oil began pouring down the flat of Zell's sword, subsequently lighting on fire as flames from the lamp followed down the trickling oil.  The result was a very temporary flaming sword.  "Take this you fucking freak!"

Reckless but effective, Zell practically melted the closest wraith in a whirlwind of wild swings that saw his fire sword spitting mini fireballs all over the immediate vicinity, like some kind of moving volcanic eruption.  The swordswoman could not get near, forced to back off and avoid the spitting fire or the actual flaming sword itself as Zell just kept extending his combinaton with strikes and swings in perpetuity.  A second wraith tried to find an opening to attack Zell, took damage and screeched in pain, backing off rapidly to avoid getting sent back to Hell.

It didn't take long for the oil to run adry on the black blade.  The flames turned from orange to dying blue before disappearing.  Zell siezed the momentum gained and pressed the shaken swordswoman.  And before any kind of balance could be redressed, James Sirius played his hidden trump card at the most perfect of moments.

[i][b]"I beseech thee, Mother Iris, thou who are radiant and wise, ruler of the skies and bearer of the sun, Guide us with thy luminous light's gentle sway so that in thy name victory may be attained "[/b][/i]

"Hahahaha!" Zell's laughter was maniacal as his sword lit up on fire once again.  His aggression ramped up against his retreating oppenent, who was barely parrying away the attacks.  How long had James possessed this blessing!?  How lesser men would've played the card too early!  How many other tricks did that man have up his sleeve!?  [i]Who better to have them, huh?[/i]  "James, ye wonderful bastard, ye!"

Sil suddenly appeared in the middle of the duel, then flew a sharp turn straight up.  The next instant, a ghost blade missed the falcon and struck the expert swordswoman in the back, causing her to cry out.  Zell jumped on the opportunity and charged right into her, getting stabbed in the process of running his sword through her chest.

[i]Ouch.[/i]

As the two sword experts seperated, the cultist fell to the floor while Zell stumbled a step, one hand holding the hole in his abdomen.  Even leaking blood, and with a bad shoulder, now that he had holy fire on his weapon, he easily fended off the basic wraith attacks.  Almost lazily, he dismissed the aggressions of the wraith who'd stupidly got one of their own cultists killed trying to take out Sil.  Now it too retreated with a holy fire wound courtesy of the Englishman.  Zell pushed himself forward.

The spearman who lost his battle to Sil, crawled to his spear with bloodied and injured hands.  The moment he tried to pick his weapon up, Zell stamped down on the shaft, then kicked the cultist in the face.  A holy fire sword was best utilised on the primary target.  Especially now, before the boss could launch it's super attack.  So Zell spun around to gain some momentum and hammer-threw his sword straight up at the Greater wraith.

Then he picked up the spear on the floor and advanced wearily on the Lich.  He'd lost a lot of blood, but would make a final action to try and stab the skelly-summoning bastard.  The rest was up to his friends.

He was done.