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Eleforian Elite Guard
Shayne's eyes flashed over the strange demon-that-was-Mememnik and held back a shudder. The glory of battle, the stink of blood, and the screams of the dying, he could handle; even the smell of rotting flesh was better in comparison to the sight of...this. And for one of the few times in his life, Shayne found himself with a shorter reach than his enemy. His lips lifted in snarl though. Fear was unknown. He shoved it far back into the depths of his soul where it could not come out. There was only determination, and strength. As black claws came towards his face and hip, he stepped swiftly back, bringing his sword about to bear on the lower arm. He would rather have scars on his face and torso than lose his mobility.

His dodge brought him just out of reach of the claws that went for his hip, and his claymore swung down towards the demonic muscle. But it didn't leave him out of harms way. His helm protected his head mostly, but claws sliced through part of the lion's head, scraping against the metal of the inner helm. Continuing their momentum, the black tips sheered across his torso, leaving shallow scrapes in his skin, and tearing through the leather that held his armor together. The hardened lion's hide parted like butter and all that saved him was the thick padding underneath it.

Shayne let out a roar, ignoring the sharp twinges from his shoulder and chest and focusing on putting power into his swing. Perhaps if he could just cut the arm of his opponent off.... But Mememnik moved in a way that led only to the tip of his blade slicing through a bit of the muscle, oily blood spilling from the room. The laughter that followed was as mad as any Shayne had ever let out. The man held in a shudder. This wasn't going be easy.

Mememnik stepped forward and closer, reaching to grab Shayne's leg, but the man jumped into motion, running forward and using the momentum of his charge, the quickness of it, to surprise his enemy. He could feel the distorted arms closing to get him, even as his claymore parted muscle and slid into the demon-wizard's side. The maniacal laughter increased, and the blood spilled over his sword, onto his gauntlets. Shayne grunted, tugging on the sword, but he needed to get away again, and didn't have much time. Sword scraped against bone, trapped.
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Power, Death, and Immortality · Rookwood Forest

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