It hit the Doomwalker squarely in the breastplate, and punched through. It drove through its body and out at a very steep angle, exiting just above the buttocks, then drove fingers deep into the stone surface of the wharf beneath the undead creature's feet. The end of the staff came to a rest just outside the Doomwalker's breastplate, the rest of its length jutting out of its back and into the stone beneath. The undead creature was pinned to the wharf, bent back slightly by the force of the blow, left in a very precarious, unbalanced position where it could not stand up straight.

Tarrin landed some spans from it, coming down on all fours to absorb the shock of such a long drop, then rose up to his height. The Doomwalker had not moved, but it clearly was not dead. Or whatever it would be, considering that it was already dead. Then it cackled. "Your staff, it can't hurt Jegojah," it cackled again.

"I know it can't," Tarrin said in a deadly voice, extending his claws on both paws and laying his ears back. "But it can keep you from moving."

The Doomwalker gave him a strange look, then tried to step forward. But it couldn't. The staff was driven into the stone, deeply into the stone, and it discovered to its shock and dismay that the staff would not break. It could easily pull itself free, if it had a few extra seconds. But that was time that it did not have.

Then Tarrin was on it. The fact that it was pinned down like a seamstress's lace made it almost completely helpless, and Tarrin had little trouble swatting aside its sword almost negligently. It was bent backwards, at an awkward angle, and all Tarrin had to do to get out of the reach of the sword was stay on the creature's left. He ripped the shield off its arm, then he made an inarticulate cry as he went for its head. Claws slashed, ripped, tore bone as Tarrin felt the Cat rise up even more, smell the chance of victory, give him more strength, and he began to lose himself to its instinctive urges. Jegojah tried to fend him off with his arm, but he grabbed the limb with both hands, put a foot against the Doomwalker's breastplate, then pulled with all his might. The sound of snapping bone and twisting metal heralded the removal of its left arm, which came off in Tarrin's paws.

And then there was pain. He hunched around the sword that had been stabbed into his right side, almost a span into him, just under the ribs. When Tarrin ripped off its arm, its body had turned with the force of it, and brought the sword within reach of him. He felt the steel, the angry pain drive under and behind his ribs, up at an angle, driving up and through his lung. He staggered back with a paw against the deep wound, hunched over, then he coughed up a large amount of blood. He could feel it filling his lung. Laboring to breathe, he saw Jegojah power itself off the end of his staff, which was still embedded into the wharf solidly, pulling itself off its length with its remaining hand. Its sword was laying on the wharf where it had dropped it to grab the staff's shaft. Tarrin felt the pain, felt the blood in his lungs. He was no longer capable of fighting against that sword, and in his weakened condition, he would have absolutely no chance to control Sorcery. If Jegojah picked it back up, he was going to die.

With a blood-flecked cry of effort, Tarrin threw the skeletal arm in his paw, hunching around the deep, dreadful wound after he let go of it. The arm turned over and over in the air, flying across the space between them, and then hit the sword squarely just as the Doomwalker reached down for it. It and the sword both slid across the stone, and then both dropped over the side and into the water below. Heaving for breath, on his knees because of the blinding pain that throwing the arm had caused him, Tarrin gave the Doomwalker a vicious look, then struggled back to his feet. Blood saturated his trousers and shirt, poured streaming from the corner of his mouth every time he exhaled, and the pain burned in him like a bonfire, but he was not going to give up. He would fight to his last breath, and then spit in Jegojah's eyes just before he died.

Jegojah didn't look much better. Its breastplate was punctured and bent from its attempts to pull free of the stake which had been Tarrin's staff, and its face was mangled severely by the Were-cat's claws. The entire right side of its face below the eye socket was just gone, showing the nasal passages inside the skull and the grisly gray ichor that had once been the body's brain, ichor that oozed over the torn and ripped bone. The jawbone was torn off, laying on the wharf under it, and its left arm was ripped away, mangling the armor around the shoulder. It moved with a curious gait, as if drunk, shuffling towards him and then coming to a stop.

Left in a dreamy haze by the pain raging through the wound, along his body, Tarrin wondered what it was doing. Then he remembered its magic. It raised its remaining arm to point at him as Tarrin desperately fought to find the strength in himself to touch the Weave, to fend off the inevitable attack-

– -and then the Doomwalker crumpled to a heap when it was struck from behind. Tarrin looked at it laying still on the wharf, its skull shattered. The body began to steam, then smoke, then it simply disintegrated into dust. Tarrin looked up, and if it not for the fact that his lungs were full of his own blood, he would have gasped.

Holding his staff in her paws, Triana gave Tarrin a grim look. He staggered back and away from her. Not this, not now! He was helpless against her, completely unable to defend himself, and her vehement proclomation the last time he saw her left little doubt in his mind as to what she was going to do now. He tried to stand up straight, but it sent a blast of pain through him that nearly sent him to his knees. Arm pressed tightly against the dreadful wound in his side, he spat out a mouthful of blood, laid his ears back, and extended the claws on his left paw. Be it Jegojah or Triana, he still wouldn't go down without a fight.

She just stood there, staff leaning lightly on her shoulder, regarding him in total silence. "This would be too easy," she said conversationally as Tarrin's knees began to wobble. "Then again, after what I just saw, maybe it'd be best to deal with you now."

He could feel the blood pooling around his foot. It was a strange warmth, when the rest of him was growing colder and colder. His mind began to drift, as images of Jesmind looking at him the very same way began to merge with Triana, that same look of reluctant duty. She didn't want to kill him. She just felt it was her duty. But it wasn't Jesmind. It was Triana. And at that moment, his life was in her hands. There was no way he could stand against her. Every beat of his heart poured more of his own blood on the wharf, and he knew he wouldn't even be conscious much longer. Jegojah had dealt him a mortal wound, and if he didn't get help, he was going to die.

Tarrin began to wilt like a dying flower. His arms drooped, and his knees bent more and more, until he was hunched over on his knees, getting nothing but blood in his lungs as he tried desperately to breathe. Triana fearlessly squatted before him, looking at him with those penetrating eyes, her face an emotionless mask. He imagined that same expression on her face when she killed her parents, when she helped wipe out the elders of their kind. An expression that gave no hint as to what she was thinking. Was it how she dealt with the pain, the knowledge that she had been forced to kill her own people? It seemed a bit cold-blooded to him that she could stand there and watch him die, but it was just the same as if she had struck the killing blow herself. It was something that a part of him could understand.

Her face began to look hazy to him, and his mind drifted. He spit out enough blood to take in a partial breath, then he looked directly into her eyes. "I guess you were right," he said with a weak chuckle, then he bent over, racked with spamsic coughs. Each cough sent a shockwave through him, until it had subsided and left him enough lung to breathe. "I guess one of us won't live through this."