When he realized he was going nowhere for as long as he couldn't breathe, he stopped struggling and forced himself to focus on the labored pull of lungs. It wasn't the first time he had ever had the breath knocked from him. Once he was past the instinctive panic of it, he could feel the strength coming back to his limbs. He heard the shuffle of her steps drawing closer, didn't dare to look in her direction lest he tempt another spell. Perhaps if she thought him down, she wouldn't waste more mana on casting. It was likely the only chance he had.
Her shadow fell across him first. Only then did he turn his gaze in her direction. He could see nothing of his friend behind the dead eyes, the hungry cant of mouth, her usually clever hands bent to claws. It felt as though the moment dragged, when in reality it was likely less than a second or two.
I'm sorry, he thought for the last time. He exploded into motion, both arms sweeping up and together in a lethal arc of daggers crossing blades. He shoved back outward and felt them connect in flesh with a meaty "thock". The force of the thrust severed muscle, tendon, and bone alike. He was already rolling away by the time her head was falling; he was on his feet before she began to lose hers in a fall to the side.
He exhaled harshly. He looked at her only long enough to be certain that was enough, that the body wouldn't stay on the attack without a head to guide it. The one sound he made was equal parts pain and fury, an inarticulate growl. He had no words.
Turning his back, he closed the few paces to her staff and shoved it into the back of his belt. Others in this place had returned from the dead. There was a chance she might, although there was no way to know if it would be whole or like this again. He couldn't dwell on that. He had other people he had to look after. This very long night was just beginning. No one could mourn if they didn't survive it.
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Her shadow fell across him first. Only then did he turn his gaze in her direction. He could see nothing of his friend behind the dead eyes, the hungry cant of mouth, her usually clever hands bent to claws. It felt as though the moment dragged, when in reality it was likely less than a second or two.
I'm sorry, he thought for the last time. He exploded into motion, both arms sweeping up and together in a lethal arc of daggers crossing blades. He shoved back outward and felt them connect in flesh with a meaty "thock". The force of the thrust severed muscle, tendon, and bone alike. He was already rolling away by the time her head was falling; he was on his feet before she began to lose hers in a fall to the side.
He exhaled harshly. He looked at her only long enough to be certain that was enough, that the body wouldn't stay on the attack without a head to guide it. The one sound he made was equal parts pain and fury, an inarticulate growl. He had no words.
Turning his back, he closed the few paces to her staff and shoved it into the back of his belt. Others in this place had returned from the dead. There was a chance she might, although there was no way to know if it would be whole or like this again. He couldn't dwell on that. He had other people he had to look after. This very long night was just beginning. No one could mourn if they didn't survive it.