Kryssis scrunched her face in disgust at the sight of the sand reapers. The Sidheghul had competed with them in the past over territory and prey. They made for exciting opponents. Fearless and powerful. In order to defeat them, the tribe had always resorted to shadier tactics. Laying traps or splitting the enemy up before surprising them. Here they did not have such a luxury. No wonder the DMD needed all the help they could get, she thought to herself. They were absolutely worthless. As much as they prided themselves in being more "civilized" than the Sidheghul and others like them, they did not seem to understand the nature of combat quite so well. Or, maybe it was just because it was the DMD and all their soldiers were already dead. She would have preferred to think it was the former, but the latter felt closer to the truth of the issue.
Pushing her way to the front of the party and observing the wretched beasts, the Wyvernjack drew her sabres, clutching her fingers tight around the leather-bound hilts. She
longed to feel her heart pounding, rushing adrenaline-rich blood to her brain. She would get no satisfaction out of a kill, not really. It would only be a meager pastiche of the glorious rush! Every time she remembered this fact it only served to enrich her wrath, which admittedly was psyching her up for the fight. That fuel burned brighter than a solitary torch in the desert night- a waypoint for a weary traveler. The blast of water smote the chieftain in an instant, and she assumed this was as good a time as any to start the bloodletting. She stood beside Trista and, without looking at the girl, she said, "Who do you send first? Yourself, or your inferiors?" Spitting into the sand, Kryssis dug her feet into the ground, pushed out her chest, angled her head back and sucked in a deep breath which she released in the form of a hideous scream. Had she been alive, this would have been the selling point of her adrenaline high. As it were, she had to rely on a clear head. That.. was not entirely a good thing.
With the Deadmean charging the reapers, Kryssis remained at the head and entered the clash between the two groups where it was at its most violent. She hardly paid mind to the man who had already began attacking the reapers beforehand. As long as he did not turn his ire on her, she would not strike at him. The sand reapers, obviously, were fair game. There was no point in trying to beat them out in strength, even as a Deadman she would be crushed had she attempted to meet steel with them. Instead, Kryssis tucked and rolled between two who barred her path- already forced to look out for her comrades. Uncurling from her ball, her sabres lashed out to either side and bit deep into the backs of their knees, bringing them down in screams of pain. Before even their first breaths were spent she was on her feet, blades slitting their throats.
The next few moments went by in a flurry. The Wyvernjack would remember hearing a mangled roar from behind and twirling around to both meet and dodge this foe, and then a deep gash along her waist. Numb streaks of pain arced through her body, but the wound hardly inhibited her. She'd taken just a hairsbreadth of the blade, but it was sobering nonetheless. Ducking and diving under heavy blows from the beast's weapon, she finally managed a mark of her own on a patch of unprotected skin along the reaper's stomach, spilling internal organs onto the hot sand. It screamed, and then it died. Just as soon as its soul - if it had one - took flight, she was already in another two engagements simultaneously.
Perhaps.. being a Deadman was more difficult than her pride had initially led her to believe.