The Bloody Lord's answer to Dame Tyaethe's taunt was obvious. There was a shriek like hundreds had died at once. Lord Rozenalt's blade fell. The wave of black and red light that tore through the night air was like a writhing mass of twisting worms, curling around one another. They chewed through the Knight of the Hunt's bronze armor and destroyed whatever being was inside, scorching the soil and grass as it passed over them and tearing towards the edge of the clearing, toppling a tree before fading out into nothingness. But it hadn't worked as he planned. The vampire paladin was already upon him. An angry roar left Rozenalt's lipless skull as his blade clashed with Dame Tyaethe', the resounding impact ringing out over the battlefield, the shapes of the spectral corpses clinging to his sword wavering. "How can you possibly claim victory this time?!" he spat, voice sounding as if it was reverberating against the interior of his chestplate, "I'll crush you! I'll crush all---" The Bloody Lord paused. Something had struck him. It had slipped into a gap in his armor and struck him from above. The bolt from a crossbow. The bolt, still visible, started to shift. Something inside of Rozenalt's armor was moving, twisting around it. With a snap, it broke the bolt in half. Whatever was within the Leader of the Midnight Hunt's armor, it didn't resemble a living human. But the distraction had allowed Tyaethe's attack to force the enraged Rozenalt to step back, to give up ground just a little. The vein-like structures that composed his cape started to move. From behind, it was possible to see that they seemed to emerge from within his armor. They stretched and lurched upwards, writhing, thorny red tendrils tearing through the sky and shredding the air, haphazardly attempting to reach the broomstick-riding pair. The monstrous lord couldn't spare further attention to them, fending off Dame Tyaethe's assault as he was, but he didn't let the bolt go unanswered. The vulture-hags numbers had thinned considerably due to Gertrude and Sir Rolan's efforts and the mysterious flurry of arrows from below, but it was difficult to tell how long that would last. Indeed, more and more twisted hunters were emerging from the forest, monstrous creatures with unnatural forms. Long-legged, multi-armed, crawling monstrosities with dark, hanging hair, faceless giants with razor-toothed maws, and--- A spear pierced one of the imps. Black arrows struck down the grinning men and several knights of the Hunt. Normally, nithyr were not an uncommon sight among the Midnight Hunt's numbers. But perhaps it was notable that they were no-where to be found--- Until now. Their blue eyes lumiscent in the dark, black-skinned forms of the notoriously capricious unseelie fae had emerged from the forest, brandishing bows, spears, and daggers. Their petite bodies were hidden by simple cloth and fur, or by nothing at all, as they joined the battle against the Midnight Hunt, skewering hunters and feathering them with arrows. "Hello there!" cried one of the nithyr, an antler-bearing headband, a fur cape, and a simple loincloth standing as her only clothing, cheerily waving towards the knights, "We don't like him either!" For once, their presence was not unwelcome. ---They were not the only new arrivals. Across the clearing, where the forest had seemed to move as if something huge had been approaching, a dark shape emerged from the forest. A writhing, worm-like thing, hundreds of wings lining its segmented body, took to the skin. Its gaping maw was nothing but a void, toothless and large enough to swallow ten men, as it threw itself through the air towards Gertrude and Rolan. [@Raineh Daze][@Octo][@Eisenhorn] [hr] Forward and forward Renar came – right into the thickly-covered ground between himself and the trapper. Right where there [i]couldn't[/i] have possibly been anything prepared, the ground firm and sturdy just before… but just as undeniably, where there had been solid earth, now there was a pit. Not too deep to climb out of, but an impediment nonetheless. Worse, the earth itself was seeping pitch, black and sticky— And the trapper was now looming, now seeming too unconcerned at the knife sticking incongruously out of a gap in its armour. In its off hand it no longer held a length of rope, just an unlit torch – correction, a [i]lit[/i] torch. One it was all too quick to throw in with Renar to try and ignite the mixture. [@Psyker Landshark] [hr] Fionn's words garnered an odd… chittering sound from the beaked creature. It might take a moment to realise that this was, perhaps, an attempt at [i]laughter[/i] from a throat entirely incapable of it. In a grapple like this, its strangely twisted physique was even more apparent, the inherent inhumanity of the Falconer shining through, and not entirely to its advantage. It was strong, stronger than it had any right to be – but there was also so little [i]weight[/i] to it. Something that might be entirely necessary, the gleaming edges of the gauntleted hand a constant threat even if its main blade was pinned. It wasn't trying to use raking cuts; it wanted to turn the grapple into an amputation. [@The Otter] [hr] The Houndmaster burbled. It hadn't even [i]tried[/i] to dodge, so committed to its attack. But even with its throat pouring blood, it stood straight without concern, the circling hounds only now committing to an attack. One passed too close to its master, and the axe found a new home, tearing through the man-beast without the slightest bit of concern. It was undeniable; the blood was healing it, [i]warping[/i] it. The burble turned to something between a throaty growl and a chuckle, the leather ripped and tore as the muscles beneath it swelled and warped – from something almost human, to something distinctly not, hulking and dark furred and [i]almost[/i] as much of a beast as its own hounds. But still of a mind enough to swing its axe, large enough and strong enough now that it only took one hand, the other free as it pounced to try and grab Fleuri, to grind him into the dirt. ---But she wouldn't let it! Throwing herself forward, Fanilly swung her blade downwards, the glittering edge cleaving through the knight and burying itself in the monstrous hunter's free arm. It bit through flesh and bone, severing the limb entirely and leaving it pouring dark ichor on the grass. For the moment, the man-faced hounds and been disrupted, so she'd taken her opportunity to strike! "I'm here to help, Sir Fleuri!" she declared. This--- This certainly wasn't the fae or spirit she'd seen at the opening of their clash, any longer. Its form had grown larger, more muscular, more hairy, as if it was becoming more akin to the man-faced hounds that were under its control. But she couldn't let that worry her. They'd fight the hunt and overcome it. They had to! [@Crimson Paladin] [hr] It was difficult to see the strange weapon moving, but it was clear it had. This time, she'd had no choice, given her need to defend herself. The unseelie lady's arm snapped into position in the blink of an eye, intercepting Sir Gerard's swing towards her head. Her thin arm visibly jolted from the impact. Her face, at this range just slightly visible behind the veil, seemed as if it may have shown momentary discomfort, a barely-audible, soft sound leaving her lips. It was clear her strength did not vastly exceed the expectations placed by her physical appearance. Perhaps that was why she almost seemed to allow to the blow to push her back, gently drifting over the grass as her bare feet left the ground. Her lacking physical strength made it clear that she was not an opponent who wanted to remain locked up for very long. But it appeared she was mobile enough to escape such situations as well. For now. A barely perceptible flick of her wrist. The world split once again. [@HereComesTheSnow]