A sharp sense of pain coursed through the side of Leufred's face, jolting his head to the side. He nearly hit his own shoulder. Attempts at struggling had become futile, two other Altalar were holding him by the arms at this point. Or at least, he thought it was two Altalar. He'd been seeing red for too long to know what was what.

Another strike, another. It became almost rhythmic, to the point where Leufred could find solace at at least knowing when to tense. The primary brute took note of this, and with a sharp kick to the Witchblood's back, his face was 'politely' introduced to the dirt road below him. He writhed on the floor, eventually managing to roll onto his back, despite the throbbing sensation in his ankle. The hulking brute before him, easily nearing seven feet tall, hoisted a grand foot into the air.

Leufred glanced to his hand, and as if some primal instinct overcame him, he clawed weakly at a red sky. Maybe it was the stormy clouds, or the remaining desire to furiously punch everything with sharp ears and immeasurable pride. The sun seemed to glow brighter, angrier, and the mark on his hand echoed it. They didn't skip a beat. One, two, three-

A pillar slammed down from the sky, fast as lightning, loud like thunder and bright like the sun. His ankle began to twist back into place, bloody gashes retreating back into flesh, bruises vanishing into nothingness. He heard the struggled sound of a falling strongman, the amazed gasp of a restrained ally, and a healthy amount of screaming.

Quickly, as soon as his feet would carry him, he lunged to his feet, bashing an Est'alorn across the face, so hard it made his knuckles burn. He turned to the Witchblood and the Dressolini, and didn't even order them to run.

He just prayed that they'd follow his example.

[USER=15416]@AtomicKarate[/USER] [USER=11793]@Ailethi[/USER]