Luca tore his saber free before the body had even hit the ground, pivoting hard as another shadow came at him from the left — a flash of teeth, a scream that wasn't human, a rusted spear thrusting for his ribs. He stepped inside the arc, slammed his elbow into the thing's jaw, felt cartilage pop beneath the strike, drove a saber under its arm before it could crumple. The pull of the blade was harder now — sticky, dragging — but there was no time to notice.
Someone crashed into him from behind, not an enemy, one of their own, face streaked with grime and blood, shouting something he couldn't hear over the roar. The man was gone a second later, swallowed by the press of bodies, his scream fading into the crush.
