The next thing Nostariel felt after the fall and wave of heat was a pair of arms under her own, because Amalia was dragging her back into a stand. They didnât have any time to recover at leisure, because the impact of the blast had knocked both of them to the left, and one of the pride demons appeared quite intent on coming after them first. It was bigger than she remembered the other one beingâthe one in the Fade, in Feynrielâs dream. Amalia wasnât even sure if that was the last one she encountered; she only knew that it was the most significant. That one had found purchase on her companions. This one, she knew, would not, and that meant that at least the effort to kill it would be straightforward.
It was not her preference to have the full attention of such a large opponent, but she knew that her chances of withstanding such attention were greater than Nostarielâs, and so she didnât hesitate. âStay back,â she warned, though in truth she doubted the necessity of saying so. Nostariel was intelligent and experienced bothâthey could make this work.
Strafing to the right, Amalia drew the largest weapon she hadâa curved blade about three-quarters the length of her arm. It had been sheathed at her hip, and lacked a companion on the other side. Indeed, her other hand she kept free. Flipping her grip on it, she laid the blunt edge along her forearm and continued to move sideways. The creature tracked her with its eyes, but she was considerably more patient than it, so when it started to charge her, she was ready, diving out of the way into a roll that had her back on her feet in seconds. Considering the impact it made against the opposite wall, it was definitely for the best that she not let it come into contact with her.
Nostariel utilized the distraction Amalia provided to the fullest she could. Looking at the strange mutated version of the pride demon led her to believe that it, unlike others of its kind that she had encountered, was somehow fire-based, which meant that ice was always a good bet. With this in mind, she took hold of her staff with both hands, one of her arms still bloody from the cut sheâd inflicted upon herself. There wasnât time to worry about it, howeverâkilling the demons before they themselves were killed was much more important.
Knowing that much, Nostariel launched a steady stream of projectiles at it, especially as it charged past her position on its way to try and take down Amalia. When it made impact with the back wall, however, she switched tactics a little bit, instead building the magic into a cone of cold spell, trying to trap the demon face first against the wall for as long as she could. Ice bloomed from the stone floor, creeping up its calves to its armored knees and above, trapping it in a rather exposed position. That said⊠âAmalia, it wonât hold long! Be careful!â
There was a time limit on the advantage, and that wasnât unexpected. Amalia didnât need to be told twice to capitalize on it, however, and was sprinting full-tilt for the creature before it had even been fully iced into the wall, springing up and onto the frosty spikes that held it in place, and thenâbefore she could lose her traction and slide back downâagain, this time into the armored plate that protruded several feet behind the demonâs elbow. One last jump gave her access to the back of its neck, and Amalia torqued herself in midair, adding a half-spin to her jump that gave the broad slashing blade in her hand more force as it cut into the flesh there. Lavalike fluid erupted from the wound when she severed whatever the analogue of a blood vessel was, splashing back to land on her armor with a hiss, spoke rising from the black scales it was made of, but the dragonâs skin served her just as well as it had served the dragon, and though it was uncomfortably hot, she did not burn.
Landing in a crouch, Amalia rolled to the side as the demon freed one of its legs from the icy prison, using that foot to kick free some of the frost containing the other one still. From behind her, she could feel more of Nostarielâs magic projectiles rushing by, and backed off and to the left, so as to once again present the demon with two wide-apart targets. Lines of fluid fire coursed down its back from the wound she had dealt it, but it remained on its feet, swinging around to face them again, its eyes like hot coals in its head.
Nostariel didnât relent, knowing that their best chance to take down the demon before it managed to cripple either or both of them was to do so quickly. It had definitely taken damage from Amaliaâs strike, as well as all the ice she had been throwing at it, and for a moment, it looked as though it knew not which target to choose. In the end, it swung towards the mage, who was still pelting it about the head and chest with ice, probably considerably annoying.
The Warden started to slowly back away, still throwing magic, hoping to guide it far enough towards her that Amalia could slip around behind it and get a few more good hits in before it managed to do much damage of its own. Unfortunately, it chose this point to show off its capability for damage at a distance, and she soon found herself facing down a very large ball of flames. With a quick gesture and a desperate burst of magic, she raised an ice wall in front of herself, the fireball crashing into it with great force, exploding against the side and hurling chunks of ice and slush in a wide radius. At the very least, Nostariel supposed, she wasnât currently charred.
Shards of ice and frost pelted Amalia as she snuck around the demonâs flank, but she was unconcerned with them, instead readying the blade in her hand for another series of attacks. It was hard to say exactly which area she should targetâwith the demon much more mobile than it had been before, trying to gain altitude before striking would just be a waste of time. She could try for the backs of the knees, but she did not like her little swordâs chances at surviving too much more concentrated heat. Picking something further away from its core and thus cooler was preferable.
In the end, the answer was obvious enough. Patiently, Amalia waited for the demon to advance far enough towards Nostariel that she had room enough to maneuver behind it. Once she was certain it had not noticed her, Amalia surged forward, ducking low and aiming for the back of its ankle. There was a gap between plates there, and she slammed the blade between them much as one would a broad chopping knife, hoping to sever the tendon there, or at least damage it enough to hobble the demon.
She must have been at least somewhat successful, because it roared, shifting all of its weight to its other foot, pivoting more quickly than she would have guessed and dealing her a resounding blow with one of its massive hands. Amaliaâs feet lost purchase on the ground, and she was effectively thrown back into the wall. Without enough opportunity to adjust for a landing, she hit the stone hard with one arm, trying to break the impact for the rest of her body. She succeeded, but at the cost of her ulna, the long bone in her forearm shattering in several places with the force of the hit.
Amalia landed hard on her feet, shifting the broken arm behind her to protect it. It hurt quite a lot, but fortunately, she did not think the bone had broken her skin, and it was held relatively well in place by her armor.
On one foot alone, the demon was hardly as formidable as it had been before. Amalia had paid for that with the use of her arm, and Nostariel wasnât about to let it go to waste. Another fire ball shot towards her, but she ducked under it, feeling the heat singe some of her hairs, and coming up on the other side of it, lighting both her free hand and the end of her staff with magic. The demon was turning around towards Amalia, but a large sphere of ice bludgeoning it in the back of the head altered those plans considerably, and it swung back around to face her.
Destructive magic was not generally her forté, but Nostariel had been improving in its use for several years, and so she dug deep, pulling up as much mana as she felt she could safely handle at once, gripping her staff with both hands to channel it all through one conduit. The resulting blast of energy hit the demon square in the face, ice spreading downwards over its neck and shoulders, hardening the magma dripping from its wounds and locking its arms and torso in place. The rapid cooling brought on by the ice was enough to freeze the magma inside its body in place, locking it in one position.
With a heaved exhale, Nostariel collapsed onto her knees, the massive discharge of energy bringing on a fresh wave of fatigue. The ice had continued to spread, frosting the creature from head to toe, though the worst of it was near the neck and shoulders, and it thinned towards the extremities. A rather moot pointâit clearly wouldnât be moving again for some time.
Moot or not, Amalia was not content to leave anything to chance. With her good hand, she sheathed the badly heat-warped blade sheâd used, and drew another, this one shorter, stouter, and straight, fashioned more like a climbing spike than anything. Fortunately, that meant it would serve exceptionally well for this purpose. For a few seconds, she examined the ice-sculpture the demon had become, then chose a readily-accessible part of it, behind the uninjured knee. Driving the spike in as well as she could with one hand, she kicked it a few times to make sure it was solidly in there, then drew a small pouch from her belt. Placing it carefully on the spike, right up against the surface of the demonâs flesh, she stepped back a fair distance.
With Nostarielâs help, the small packet was lit aflame, and after a delay of perhaps a second or two, a contained explosion took off the demonâs leg, and the bottom half of the arm on the same side, tipping the still creature over and causing it to smash further against the stone floor, effectively leaving it with a limb and a half. That would do.
Lucien, able to avoid being knocked over by the force of the demonsâ entrance largely due to his weight, found himself directly staring down the middle one of the lot, and grimly drew his sword. He wasnât sure what the Wardens thought they were doing, keeping demons down here, but what he had to do now was obvious enough. To his left, he could see Amalia helping Nostariel to her feet, and he thought he spotted the glint of Stroudâs armor to his right, but he wasnât sure exactly if any of the others were behind him or just out of his view, grouped closer to one of the sides. He was sure heâd find out eventually, but he couldnât risk looking behind him.
Everburn slid free of its sheath with a soft ring, and he brought it around in front of him, grasping with both hands. This would be better if he could keep the demon pinned as far back against the wall as possibleâthe room wasnât tiny, but it was small enough that there was a serious risk of collateral damage if the demons got too close to one another and then attacked one of his companions. If they could keep the conflicts somewhat isolated, they had a better chance of success. So, rather than wait for the demon to come to him, Lucien pressed the attack, leaning sideways to avoid something that appeared to be a lash made of fireâhe could feel the heat of it pass by his face, a little too close for comfort.
When he made it in close enough, he swung for the demonâs legâif he could hobble it, keeping it in one place would be considerably easier. The first hit jarred his arms, but proved little issue for the demon, rebounding off one of the armored plates that seemed to comprise the majority of its body. Still, heâd left a hairline fissure in the protection, which meant it could be overcome. It just might take a while.
The pride demon looked down on Lucien with either annoyance, contempt, or some mix of both, and soon prepared to bring a crushing blow down on him. In the middle of the backswing, however, two arrows struck it in the face, causing it to recoil slightly, and interrupting the attack. The arrows themselves, fired simultaneously from the bow of Ithilian, some distance behind Lucien, had not done a great deal of actual damage. They seemed to have annoyed it enough, though, for it to turn its next attack upon the elf, a second lash of fire materializing in the demon's other hand.
Roaring, it took a lurching step forward that also served as a sort of kick at Lucien, and smashed down both lashes into the ground in a straight line out in front of it. Ithilian was forced to dive to the side, the lashes causing blasts of fire to ignite all along their path. Shoving himself up quickly into a crouch, Ithilian pulled an arrow free from his quiver, taking aim at the demon, and loosing another arrow towards its face. This one found an eye, glowing magma gushing forth in the place of blood from the wound.
Ithilian readied another arrow, but for the moment, the demon was bent over and low enough to the ground from its strike for Lucien to strike something other than its legs now.
It took Lucien a second to right himself from the double-over a demonâs foot to the gut had caused him, but when he did, he saw the opportunity. It seemed to be making good use of its arms to control the lashes of fire. In fact, that seemed to be the most dangerous thing about it.
Lifting his sword over his head, Lucien swung down with the full force of both arms and a considerable amount of the rest of him, too, the resounding clang this produced audible even over the din of two other pitched confrontations. Unlike his last attempt to hit an armored plate, this one left a large crack, one that grew as the musculature shifted underneath it, forcing one plate to separate into two, and leaving a rather large, rather obvious new weak point between the nape of the demonâs neck and the end of its shoulder. Before he could hit it again, though, the demon rose, and Lucien maneuvered back in front of it, to hopefully deter it from attempting to attack Ithilian at range.
The deterrence was successful, very much so, as the pride demon roared with aggression at the chevalier, drawing back both fire lashes, and swinging them horizontally now, one coming from each side, an obvious attempt to wrap them around Lucien, to both ensnare and burn through his armor and the flesh beneath. Though the chevalier managed to duck out of the way of one of the lashes entirely, the other one caught his right forearm, wrapping around his gauntlet and biting deep, the flame hot enough to soften the metal and start to sear the skin beneath.
As it made the attack, Ithilian had darted into action around its side, bow put away, blades in hand. The weakness Lucien had exposed could be taken advantage of, but his bow simply didn't have the necessary punch to do any real damage to the demon, and merely annoying it wasn't useful at this point. As the lashes swung together towards Lucien, Ithilian reached the demon's side, passing under the left of the lashes, and leaping to sink both his blades into the thigh and hip area of the demon.
Molten blood leaked out, some dripping onto Ithilian's left thigh, but a hiss of pain was all he gave it, withdrawing a blade to move up around to the demon's back. The neck was the endpoint, but he would need a little more time to get there.
Lucien, able to guess as much from his vantage point, gritted his teeth and reached forward with his entrapped hand, wrapping it around the burning lash, mostly so as to prevent himself from being hauled around any which-way the demon pleased, and give himself a little more leverage over the way they were locked together. He was much smaller than his foe on this occasion, so leverage was imperative.
It was pointless to try and use his sword in this state, and because he could feel the heat starting to eat through the part of his gauntlet protecting his palm, he knew it was imperative to act quickly. Dropping Everburn, Lucien made a run for it, the lash still in one hand. Rather than attempting to move away from the demon, and thus triggering a tug-of-war against a creature with strength far superior to his, he instead went the other way, sprinting towards it, then dropping into a slide between its legs, the fire-lash still held in one hand, which was by this point in excruciating pain. Still, he locked his grip, standing out of the slide and running to the left, effectively pressing the burning whip up against the inside of the demonâs leg, and then hooking it around the outside of the other, in something like half a figure-eight.
The fire did not, of course, damage the demon half as much as it would have damaged him, but it wasn't immune, either, and what was more, its movement was now inhibited, which should buy Ithilian the time he needed to reach the weakest point on its body. Grimacing, Lucien switched his grip, feeling the hot weapon start to burn his other hand, but unable to tolerate more in his right without risking permanent damage.
The pride demon tried to spin to face Lucien again, but having its own weapons turned against it and its mobility hampered that way was making it incredibly difficult for it to do so. Ithilian had worked his way onto its back, ignoring burns on several parts of his body, but certainly not as bad as what Lucien was enduring with his arm. The process of striking his blades repeatedly in and out of the demon was actually beginning to heat them up to the point of melting them.
Just as he reached the shoulder area, the blade he'd been planning to strike into the throat of the demon could take no more, and only the handle and lower part of the blade came free, glowing a dull orange. The other half had remained in the demon's upper back. Still secured for a few moments by his other blade, Ithilian turned to Parshaara, pulling the dragonbone dagger free and reaching across for the throat of the demon.
He plunged the dagger in, ignoring the searing pain that covered his hand immediately after. Ithilian then pulled across the throat, cutting relatively easily, and sending a torrent of the blood-magma spilling down onto the floor. The demon wavered slightly, releasing its grip on the fire whips it was wielding to bring its hands up near its throat, either to swat at Ithilian or otherwise stem the flow of its life blood. It could not succeed in either, however, as it immediately toppled over forward, sending Ithilian into an ungraceful fall, thankfully not into any of the spilled magma.
It was quite dead, apparently the last of the three demons to fall, and Ithilian clambered back to his feet, pulling the damaged form of his other blade out of the demon's shoulder. He strongly hoped they would not have to do that again.
It was not her preference to have the full attention of such a large opponent, but she knew that her chances of withstanding such attention were greater than Nostarielâs, and so she didnât hesitate. âStay back,â she warned, though in truth she doubted the necessity of saying so. Nostariel was intelligent and experienced bothâthey could make this work.
Strafing to the right, Amalia drew the largest weapon she hadâa curved blade about three-quarters the length of her arm. It had been sheathed at her hip, and lacked a companion on the other side. Indeed, her other hand she kept free. Flipping her grip on it, she laid the blunt edge along her forearm and continued to move sideways. The creature tracked her with its eyes, but she was considerably more patient than it, so when it started to charge her, she was ready, diving out of the way into a roll that had her back on her feet in seconds. Considering the impact it made against the opposite wall, it was definitely for the best that she not let it come into contact with her.
Nostariel utilized the distraction Amalia provided to the fullest she could. Looking at the strange mutated version of the pride demon led her to believe that it, unlike others of its kind that she had encountered, was somehow fire-based, which meant that ice was always a good bet. With this in mind, she took hold of her staff with both hands, one of her arms still bloody from the cut sheâd inflicted upon herself. There wasnât time to worry about it, howeverâkilling the demons before they themselves were killed was much more important.
Knowing that much, Nostariel launched a steady stream of projectiles at it, especially as it charged past her position on its way to try and take down Amalia. When it made impact with the back wall, however, she switched tactics a little bit, instead building the magic into a cone of cold spell, trying to trap the demon face first against the wall for as long as she could. Ice bloomed from the stone floor, creeping up its calves to its armored knees and above, trapping it in a rather exposed position. That said⊠âAmalia, it wonât hold long! Be careful!â
There was a time limit on the advantage, and that wasnât unexpected. Amalia didnât need to be told twice to capitalize on it, however, and was sprinting full-tilt for the creature before it had even been fully iced into the wall, springing up and onto the frosty spikes that held it in place, and thenâbefore she could lose her traction and slide back downâagain, this time into the armored plate that protruded several feet behind the demonâs elbow. One last jump gave her access to the back of its neck, and Amalia torqued herself in midair, adding a half-spin to her jump that gave the broad slashing blade in her hand more force as it cut into the flesh there. Lavalike fluid erupted from the wound when she severed whatever the analogue of a blood vessel was, splashing back to land on her armor with a hiss, spoke rising from the black scales it was made of, but the dragonâs skin served her just as well as it had served the dragon, and though it was uncomfortably hot, she did not burn.
Landing in a crouch, Amalia rolled to the side as the demon freed one of its legs from the icy prison, using that foot to kick free some of the frost containing the other one still. From behind her, she could feel more of Nostarielâs magic projectiles rushing by, and backed off and to the left, so as to once again present the demon with two wide-apart targets. Lines of fluid fire coursed down its back from the wound she had dealt it, but it remained on its feet, swinging around to face them again, its eyes like hot coals in its head.
Nostariel didnât relent, knowing that their best chance to take down the demon before it managed to cripple either or both of them was to do so quickly. It had definitely taken damage from Amaliaâs strike, as well as all the ice she had been throwing at it, and for a moment, it looked as though it knew not which target to choose. In the end, it swung towards the mage, who was still pelting it about the head and chest with ice, probably considerably annoying.
The Warden started to slowly back away, still throwing magic, hoping to guide it far enough towards her that Amalia could slip around behind it and get a few more good hits in before it managed to do much damage of its own. Unfortunately, it chose this point to show off its capability for damage at a distance, and she soon found herself facing down a very large ball of flames. With a quick gesture and a desperate burst of magic, she raised an ice wall in front of herself, the fireball crashing into it with great force, exploding against the side and hurling chunks of ice and slush in a wide radius. At the very least, Nostariel supposed, she wasnât currently charred.
Shards of ice and frost pelted Amalia as she snuck around the demonâs flank, but she was unconcerned with them, instead readying the blade in her hand for another series of attacks. It was hard to say exactly which area she should targetâwith the demon much more mobile than it had been before, trying to gain altitude before striking would just be a waste of time. She could try for the backs of the knees, but she did not like her little swordâs chances at surviving too much more concentrated heat. Picking something further away from its core and thus cooler was preferable.
In the end, the answer was obvious enough. Patiently, Amalia waited for the demon to advance far enough towards Nostariel that she had room enough to maneuver behind it. Once she was certain it had not noticed her, Amalia surged forward, ducking low and aiming for the back of its ankle. There was a gap between plates there, and she slammed the blade between them much as one would a broad chopping knife, hoping to sever the tendon there, or at least damage it enough to hobble the demon.
She must have been at least somewhat successful, because it roared, shifting all of its weight to its other foot, pivoting more quickly than she would have guessed and dealing her a resounding blow with one of its massive hands. Amaliaâs feet lost purchase on the ground, and she was effectively thrown back into the wall. Without enough opportunity to adjust for a landing, she hit the stone hard with one arm, trying to break the impact for the rest of her body. She succeeded, but at the cost of her ulna, the long bone in her forearm shattering in several places with the force of the hit.
Amalia landed hard on her feet, shifting the broken arm behind her to protect it. It hurt quite a lot, but fortunately, she did not think the bone had broken her skin, and it was held relatively well in place by her armor.
On one foot alone, the demon was hardly as formidable as it had been before. Amalia had paid for that with the use of her arm, and Nostariel wasnât about to let it go to waste. Another fire ball shot towards her, but she ducked under it, feeling the heat singe some of her hairs, and coming up on the other side of it, lighting both her free hand and the end of her staff with magic. The demon was turning around towards Amalia, but a large sphere of ice bludgeoning it in the back of the head altered those plans considerably, and it swung back around to face her.
Destructive magic was not generally her forté, but Nostariel had been improving in its use for several years, and so she dug deep, pulling up as much mana as she felt she could safely handle at once, gripping her staff with both hands to channel it all through one conduit. The resulting blast of energy hit the demon square in the face, ice spreading downwards over its neck and shoulders, hardening the magma dripping from its wounds and locking its arms and torso in place. The rapid cooling brought on by the ice was enough to freeze the magma inside its body in place, locking it in one position.
With a heaved exhale, Nostariel collapsed onto her knees, the massive discharge of energy bringing on a fresh wave of fatigue. The ice had continued to spread, frosting the creature from head to toe, though the worst of it was near the neck and shoulders, and it thinned towards the extremities. A rather moot pointâit clearly wouldnât be moving again for some time.
Moot or not, Amalia was not content to leave anything to chance. With her good hand, she sheathed the badly heat-warped blade sheâd used, and drew another, this one shorter, stouter, and straight, fashioned more like a climbing spike than anything. Fortunately, that meant it would serve exceptionally well for this purpose. For a few seconds, she examined the ice-sculpture the demon had become, then chose a readily-accessible part of it, behind the uninjured knee. Driving the spike in as well as she could with one hand, she kicked it a few times to make sure it was solidly in there, then drew a small pouch from her belt. Placing it carefully on the spike, right up against the surface of the demonâs flesh, she stepped back a fair distance.
With Nostarielâs help, the small packet was lit aflame, and after a delay of perhaps a second or two, a contained explosion took off the demonâs leg, and the bottom half of the arm on the same side, tipping the still creature over and causing it to smash further against the stone floor, effectively leaving it with a limb and a half. That would do.
Lucien, able to avoid being knocked over by the force of the demonsâ entrance largely due to his weight, found himself directly staring down the middle one of the lot, and grimly drew his sword. He wasnât sure what the Wardens thought they were doing, keeping demons down here, but what he had to do now was obvious enough. To his left, he could see Amalia helping Nostariel to her feet, and he thought he spotted the glint of Stroudâs armor to his right, but he wasnât sure exactly if any of the others were behind him or just out of his view, grouped closer to one of the sides. He was sure heâd find out eventually, but he couldnât risk looking behind him.
Everburn slid free of its sheath with a soft ring, and he brought it around in front of him, grasping with both hands. This would be better if he could keep the demon pinned as far back against the wall as possibleâthe room wasnât tiny, but it was small enough that there was a serious risk of collateral damage if the demons got too close to one another and then attacked one of his companions. If they could keep the conflicts somewhat isolated, they had a better chance of success. So, rather than wait for the demon to come to him, Lucien pressed the attack, leaning sideways to avoid something that appeared to be a lash made of fireâhe could feel the heat of it pass by his face, a little too close for comfort.
When he made it in close enough, he swung for the demonâs legâif he could hobble it, keeping it in one place would be considerably easier. The first hit jarred his arms, but proved little issue for the demon, rebounding off one of the armored plates that seemed to comprise the majority of its body. Still, heâd left a hairline fissure in the protection, which meant it could be overcome. It just might take a while.
The pride demon looked down on Lucien with either annoyance, contempt, or some mix of both, and soon prepared to bring a crushing blow down on him. In the middle of the backswing, however, two arrows struck it in the face, causing it to recoil slightly, and interrupting the attack. The arrows themselves, fired simultaneously from the bow of Ithilian, some distance behind Lucien, had not done a great deal of actual damage. They seemed to have annoyed it enough, though, for it to turn its next attack upon the elf, a second lash of fire materializing in the demon's other hand.
Roaring, it took a lurching step forward that also served as a sort of kick at Lucien, and smashed down both lashes into the ground in a straight line out in front of it. Ithilian was forced to dive to the side, the lashes causing blasts of fire to ignite all along their path. Shoving himself up quickly into a crouch, Ithilian pulled an arrow free from his quiver, taking aim at the demon, and loosing another arrow towards its face. This one found an eye, glowing magma gushing forth in the place of blood from the wound.
Ithilian readied another arrow, but for the moment, the demon was bent over and low enough to the ground from its strike for Lucien to strike something other than its legs now.
It took Lucien a second to right himself from the double-over a demonâs foot to the gut had caused him, but when he did, he saw the opportunity. It seemed to be making good use of its arms to control the lashes of fire. In fact, that seemed to be the most dangerous thing about it.
Lifting his sword over his head, Lucien swung down with the full force of both arms and a considerable amount of the rest of him, too, the resounding clang this produced audible even over the din of two other pitched confrontations. Unlike his last attempt to hit an armored plate, this one left a large crack, one that grew as the musculature shifted underneath it, forcing one plate to separate into two, and leaving a rather large, rather obvious new weak point between the nape of the demonâs neck and the end of its shoulder. Before he could hit it again, though, the demon rose, and Lucien maneuvered back in front of it, to hopefully deter it from attempting to attack Ithilian at range.
The deterrence was successful, very much so, as the pride demon roared with aggression at the chevalier, drawing back both fire lashes, and swinging them horizontally now, one coming from each side, an obvious attempt to wrap them around Lucien, to both ensnare and burn through his armor and the flesh beneath. Though the chevalier managed to duck out of the way of one of the lashes entirely, the other one caught his right forearm, wrapping around his gauntlet and biting deep, the flame hot enough to soften the metal and start to sear the skin beneath.
As it made the attack, Ithilian had darted into action around its side, bow put away, blades in hand. The weakness Lucien had exposed could be taken advantage of, but his bow simply didn't have the necessary punch to do any real damage to the demon, and merely annoying it wasn't useful at this point. As the lashes swung together towards Lucien, Ithilian reached the demon's side, passing under the left of the lashes, and leaping to sink both his blades into the thigh and hip area of the demon.
Molten blood leaked out, some dripping onto Ithilian's left thigh, but a hiss of pain was all he gave it, withdrawing a blade to move up around to the demon's back. The neck was the endpoint, but he would need a little more time to get there.
Lucien, able to guess as much from his vantage point, gritted his teeth and reached forward with his entrapped hand, wrapping it around the burning lash, mostly so as to prevent himself from being hauled around any which-way the demon pleased, and give himself a little more leverage over the way they were locked together. He was much smaller than his foe on this occasion, so leverage was imperative.
It was pointless to try and use his sword in this state, and because he could feel the heat starting to eat through the part of his gauntlet protecting his palm, he knew it was imperative to act quickly. Dropping Everburn, Lucien made a run for it, the lash still in one hand. Rather than attempting to move away from the demon, and thus triggering a tug-of-war against a creature with strength far superior to his, he instead went the other way, sprinting towards it, then dropping into a slide between its legs, the fire-lash still held in one hand, which was by this point in excruciating pain. Still, he locked his grip, standing out of the slide and running to the left, effectively pressing the burning whip up against the inside of the demonâs leg, and then hooking it around the outside of the other, in something like half a figure-eight.
The fire did not, of course, damage the demon half as much as it would have damaged him, but it wasn't immune, either, and what was more, its movement was now inhibited, which should buy Ithilian the time he needed to reach the weakest point on its body. Grimacing, Lucien switched his grip, feeling the hot weapon start to burn his other hand, but unable to tolerate more in his right without risking permanent damage.
The pride demon tried to spin to face Lucien again, but having its own weapons turned against it and its mobility hampered that way was making it incredibly difficult for it to do so. Ithilian had worked his way onto its back, ignoring burns on several parts of his body, but certainly not as bad as what Lucien was enduring with his arm. The process of striking his blades repeatedly in and out of the demon was actually beginning to heat them up to the point of melting them.
Just as he reached the shoulder area, the blade he'd been planning to strike into the throat of the demon could take no more, and only the handle and lower part of the blade came free, glowing a dull orange. The other half had remained in the demon's upper back. Still secured for a few moments by his other blade, Ithilian turned to Parshaara, pulling the dragonbone dagger free and reaching across for the throat of the demon.
He plunged the dagger in, ignoring the searing pain that covered his hand immediately after. Ithilian then pulled across the throat, cutting relatively easily, and sending a torrent of the blood-magma spilling down onto the floor. The demon wavered slightly, releasing its grip on the fire whips it was wielding to bring its hands up near its throat, either to swat at Ithilian or otherwise stem the flow of its life blood. It could not succeed in either, however, as it immediately toppled over forward, sending Ithilian into an ungraceful fall, thankfully not into any of the spilled magma.
It was quite dead, apparently the last of the three demons to fall, and Ithilian clambered back to his feet, pulling the damaged form of his other blade out of the demon's shoulder. He strongly hoped they would not have to do that again.