Anwyll knew battling with a wretch was beyond him. The thing has skin made of armor, incredible right? What were the chances?
His scythe managed to sever it's fingers only due to pure luck. He held no illusions of killing the wretch outright. In fact, his true plan was to keep the wretch occupied until dawn, when the rising sun would agitate the beast — then, maybe, they'd find a way to finish it off.
Anwyll's gaze flickered to his comrades — Naya was lying motionless on the ground, Emiko's face was so bloodied he could hardly recognize her, and Kiah looked drained and was probably in worst shape than all of them.
He couldn't let them die here. Nobody was going to die under his leadership.
Anwyll shifted into a fighting stance and rushed forward.
The wretch didn't move, unfazed by the oncoming attack, as if certain no one could defeat it.
"Cocky bastard," Anwyll muttered.
