Ten seconds into the fight, it was already looking pretty poor.
Losing your tank was a near-death sentence. The only reason it didn't always mean a party wipe was if you managed to heal them in time. Thankfully, Gabriel was an excellent healer. One whose spells were already doing everything they could do to keep Alfred alive.
Seeing the light beginning envelope the downed druid's body, Gary pried his eyes away from the nauseating sight of deformed metal and pooling blood and back to the Demon.
Right now, all he could do was put his trust in Gabriel, and do his own job.
"Change of plans," He shouted out, fixing his grip even tighter around the hilt of his sword. "Iron Beak!"
It was a word only they knew the meaning of, and although their formation didn't shift, the roles they played would be different.
Gary then turned to Brandus, who now filled the vacant spot of the frontline.
"Whatever comes your way, either dodge or deflect it," Gary cautioned. "Don't try to directly block it." After what he had just seen, none of them could stand a single hit.
"I gathered that," Brandus grunted in response.
"Good. Let's go."
Holding his sword to the side, Brandus began to close the distance, along with Gary who followed closely to the side. Together they charged the Demon, engaging in a bitter melee battle.
Seeing the two rush forth, the Demon unleashed a diagonal cut toward Brandus, threatening to split him in twain.
As the blade began its descent, Brandus increased his pace, as if eager to test his armor against the weapon. A test the Demon was all too willing to engage in.
Judging by the trajectory of the swing, it would be a direct hit. No, it should've been. As the blade was about to meet steel, an arrow silently shot through the room, its shaft shattering as it impacted the very tip of the greatsword.
The force of the arrow sent a vibration down the blade, slowing the speed of the sword by a fraction of a second.
But that was all Brandus needed.
Sliding down, he ducked under the strike, feeling the wind from its force brush against his hair as it struck the ground a foot to the right of him. Pouncing back up, He swung his claymore upwards at the torso and felt the sensation of the edge sinking into flesh. But he had no time to revel in his small victory.
Yanking his sword back, he threw himself to the ground as another slash came his way.
Another strike. Followed by a brisk roll and a swipe at the ankles.
Annoyed, the demon let out a guttural roar as he got ready to release another blow. This time with even greater zeal than before.
But once again he was thwarted by a third party. Not by an arrow, but by a cone of fire that gave a hot, explosive kiss to the side of his face.
The flames exploded upon impact, scattering hungry wisps of flame and ember across his visage, boiling his dark skin as he screamed in pain.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Gary dashed to his side with a speed only possible with the aid of spellcraft and dug his blade deep into his waist, twisting the hilt even further to maximize damage.
Blinded, but aware of the pain, the Demon wildly swung his hand to his side to rid himself of his attacker.
Gary avoided the hand with dexterity, sending a fountain of toxic blood squirting out as he pulled his trusty blade out of the unusually tough flesh.
Distancing himself from the random swings and punches, Gary sized up the Demon with a hint of derision.
"This guy... he really isn't all that tough."
"We aren't fighting him in his prime," Brandus remarked, eyeing the expansive number of half-healed wounds that covered his body. "A thousand years of imprisonment, combined with those untreated wounds... I would say he is doing quite well for himself in a 1 v 6."
His observation was more accurate than he knew. The surface wounds were but a small part of the injuries the Demon had sustained. His internal organs, bones, and joints were either broken or wounded as well, bringing his strength to the lowest point in centuries. But Gary wasn't going to let something like honor get in the way of survival.
That was a trait of heroes. Adventurers lived by a different creed.
Their assault resumed against their foe, with Shasa and Edwin providing suppression-- and at times --pure firepower.
Their plan was rather simple. 'Iron Beak' meant that support focuses on limiting the attacks of the enemy to the bare minimum, only going for damage when the opportunity arises. It was the best plan when fighting a superior foe with plenty of vitality, and it was even better when you didn't have a tank.
Chip away at his body, and they will eventually fall.
That is how it normally went, at least.
"Argh-- why won't this bastard die?" Gary cried out in frustration, taking another stab at the Demon's stomach. It had left a deep gash, but so had the other hundred hits he landed on him.
"I don't fucking know!" Brandus uttered, equally perplexed as he chopped his claymore into the thigh.
They had been battling for almost ten minutes, and the Demon was still as strong as they first started.
Maybe even stronger. With the rising level of exhaustion, it was hard to tell.
One thing they could tell, was that the number of wounds on the Demon's body had not increased.
Not that they weren't wounding him. For every ten swings they took, nine would land. But that statistic seemed lost on the Demon, who should be dead by now.
It was unfair. It was aggravating. And it was exhausting.
It was almost like fighting a troll, Gary observed as he delivered another attack. He despised fighting those monsters. Their healing factor made dealing with them absolutely ridiculous.
'Wait, he isn't healing-- is he?'
If so, it would explain the disappearance of wounds.
Part curious and part despondent, he cleaved yet another injury into its bloodstained skin and carefully stared at his newest handiwork. The results of which left him wanting to tear his hair out.
'This fucker really is healing.'
The wound had begun to subtly close, leaving a thin line where a gaping slit once existed.
Gary's mouth drew into a tight frown, tapping the guard of his hilt in thought.
Things were far worse than he initially believed if regeneration was on the table.
Besides... their mage was starting to run low on mana.
Shasa gasped for air as she cast [Dispersal] for the eleventh time, banishing the persistent mist yet again.
Whatever the stuff was, it was constantly released from the pores in the Demon's body. She was having to cast that spell far more often than he had thought, and it was beginning to take its toll.
Without any potions, a battle of attrition would spell eventual defeat.
"Shasa, ignore the mist!" He decisively ordered. "Just focus on the Demon, he has regeneration."
"Are you being serious?"
"I wish I wasn't."
Shasa took the revelation about as poorly as he did, but the severity of the situation forced her to switch prerogatives. Soon, the intense light of a new spell began to flicker out of her staff.
Turning back to the battle, Gary and Brandus entered a new stage of fighting.
With how the battle was looking, they had to go all in on ending the battle as soon as possible.