WMDF/ELVINA/LICH.
"Too bad I don't have any cur—" Ah, but he did, didn't he? His magicks might be weaker than other knights', but... Realisation dawning, Rictor's hand darted to his item belt and lifted a delicate green vial. Hi-Potion. He flung it with an accurate overarm throw that left the glass shattering against the Lich's skeletal face, even as the man followed it up with a bullet, a second bullet, a third, wishing he'd had time to switch his ammunition out for actual holy ammo. How often did he need those? Enfired bullets normally did the trick.
But he could see them burning now, fiery metal lodged in the monster's cheekbones, emitting a demoniac red glow as the Lich turned to glare at him. There was a wordless snarl from the creature, which obviously wasn't as weak as its brethren, their bones barely held together by magic. And it looked different.
And then the Dark came.
It was a roiling blast of what felt like cloying cold, an infectious weight that pressed in on one's chest and lungs, reminiscent of sadness and despair. It caught Darius in the forefront. Rictor had taken position behind him, shielding Lex, but enough of it still went past and Rictor could feel it sinking in, its inky tendrils grasping, buffeting him and ripping open wounds. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and reminded himself of Faram. The impact was less than he had expected—and he realised, then, that it was due to Wall pulsing in his limbs, laced in his veins.
Beyond the creature he had seen Elvira and Divina, of all fucking people, leaping into the fray. What a motley crew this made. But this gave him hope. If they were here as well, perhaps—
Readying Northswain’s Strike in his gunblade, Rictor was ready to close the distance and bring himself into the melee... but then he paused, instead, to extend a gloved hand to help Lex back to his feet. When he looked down, against all his better instincts, there was concern knitted in his brow. Wall. He wanted to chastise her for it—think of yourself first, for Faram's sake—but then there was the sinking remembrance that that was Faram's will, was it not? Think of others before oneself.
All well? he almost asked, but didn't. Instead: "Come on, let's have at it," he said, hand out. The gunblade hummed, ready.