There had been the thick smell of death in Symon's nose, the dying twitch of the creature in his hands, its body spasming against the keen edge of his knife, splitting its flesh an inch or so deeper. The blood was hot against his skin, a slippery caress, and he sucked in a breath, sharp, shuddering.

But then there was a meaty thunk, the unmistakable sound of bodies colliding, and his his attention sharpened back to a hard competence. Don't get sloppy in this soft world. He was trying to shove the dying body of his former foe away when the second beast slammed into him. Razor-sharp claws sliced through his already damaged armor, this time cutting through to flesh. He snarled, keeping his grip on his knife, the blade whipping up to plunge into the creature's leg, trying to get it to pull away, so he could regroup, get his sword.

Instead, the monster responded with a snarl of its own, unyielding, its claws turning in as it pressed harder. The curved claw punched into muscle, curling up, hooking at the underside of Symon's collarbone. A scream of pain was torn from Symon's throat as he felt hard nail grate against bone, blood pouring from his shoulder. The beast started to drag him by that grisly grip, and Symon screamed again, but scrap of luck was left to him; the injured shoulder wasn't on the side that held the knife. Even through the agony the blade flashed again and again, plunging into any part of the beast that Symon could reach.