Rictor/Siana/Ari
The artificially-enhanced strength buoyed them even as they dodged the Wendice, taking the occasional hit, getting battered even as they battered back. It was a struggle of attrition, evenly-paced and even-keeled… but the creature was outnumbered. They had that in their favour.
Rictor caught Siana’s look, and they seemed to read each others’ movements and plans at the same moment: it was time. In synchrony, they launched themselves at the Wendice with more finesse and elegance from Siana’s thin katana, more brute strength and sizzling holy magic from Rictor’s claymore, buffeting it from both sides, driving themselves through its protective magic to puncture its guarded skin, and gore its sides, turgid black blood splattering onto the pristine snow.
Without a face, there was little to read the monster’s state, no way to tell its expression. But its movements seemed to stutter and its leg shifted, balance teetering—until, finally, like a tree toppling in the woods, the Wendice creaked and creaked and tilted and fell.
It hit the ground hard, flurries of snow getting tossed up around it, forming an indentation in the white like a snow angel. Nothing at all like an angel.
Rictor breathed, staring at the fallen monster, ensuring it was truly dead.