Twisting wildly, in pain from the heavy blows, Skandra could not shake the glare out of his eyes. Aeotha and the other bastard were trading blows now. Skandra flailed into a pile of debris, which began to slid over to his right. Where were they now? One arm was rubbing his eyes furiously, in between mad blinks intended to rid him of whatever halo followed. Grimacing and blinking was beginning to restore his sight. There was blood on his face. Whose blood, Skandra did not know. Yet the blood was hot. Aeotha said something about the legendary Skandra Tyullis blowing somebody's head off.
Skandra laughed.
Yet the bastard had a knife in his hand. Skandra shoved the Vel into the pocket of his coat as he lurched forward, off-balance and half-blind. Aeotha was good with the staff. He wasn't going to let that become an issue. From the back of his collar, just behind his back, a hand found a knife. The knife left his hand, dead-on and angry, even as Skandra dropped into a knee-leading slide. The thrown knife struck the bastard's forearm. In a screaming rage he dropped it, still plunging toward Aeotha. Skandra's slide carried him between the two. Caught the falling knife, which the Immortal had dropped.
With a snap of his arm, the blade drove into the enemy's stomach, and Skandra twisted savagely as the man gasped on the end of the knife.
A final shove sent him to the ground, huddled over and clutching his stomach.