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Donovan cants his head slightly to Demont, biting his lip as his sapphire-hued oculars linger over the winged vampire's every feature in a quick assessment of exploitable weaknesses. Shrouding himself inside his hood and cloak, the man seemingly disappears from view, the darkness of night and the forest canopy only amplifying his completely ebon attire. Slender fingers grasp the unholy longsword sheathed upon Donovan's belt, the silence suddenly erupting into a hum as the man withdraws the cursed blade from its casing. The assassin stealthily gains distance toward Demont, casually flinging a dagger in his general direction, hoping to distract him as he makes his quiet charge. His boots seem to glide silently across the forest floor as he creeps toward Demont and slashes across the avian's torso in a counterclockwise fashion, beckoning the cold steel to taste the vampire's stolen blood.

Demont 's azure occuls adjust quickly to the dim lit area as they follow Donovan and his every move. A sparkle and glint of steel catches the avian's attention. Skillfully his right hand shoots upward, two digits grasping the tip of the projectile firmly as the tip of the weapon presses to his neck. With his attention temporarily skewed a sharp pain runs from his chest outward, a sickening coldness wrapping about Demont. His gaze turns to his chest where he eyes a rather deep cut and the cold blade of Donovan's. With a violent snap Demont's wings unfold, their majestically white toned feathers adding a certain brightness to the area. The assassins swings his right hand to his side, latching tightly to the hilt of Burning Dawn, exposing the black blade with one pull. Bringing the weapon down, to his side he calmly holds his ground before silently throwing his arm upward, along with the blade towards the abdomen of his ally..

Donovan grins sadistically as his damned sword finds a home within Demont's body. His eyes dart to Demont's right hand, the man catching the slightest motion from his peripheral vision. Blinking slightly in a moment of uncertainty, he instinctively whips himself to Demont's left as he spots the arm coming upward. Donovan cries out in pain as Burning Dawn essentially fillets the skin off his left side, precious vitae dripping onto the earthen floor below. Stumbling backward and clutching his injured area, the man speaks, his words clear but impossible to understand. Almost as if on command, Caithreim springs into the fray, quietly observing his master's plight. Donovan retreats further, conserving motion as best he can to save his crimson lifesource, whilst the leopard eyes Demont. Curiously, rather than attack the vampire head-on, the massive cat swoops around him before rearing up, slashing violently at the avian's precious wings...

Demont smiles with glee, however the expression being quickly washed away at the new threat. Demont pulls his wings in close to his back, eliminating the large surface area the created previously in an attempt to cut down on the amount of damage being sustained from the feline's sharp claws. Macabre springs forth from a tuft of bushes, pulling his dark lips back to expose a lower and upper set of hellishly sharp teeth, each designed for the side of the leopard’s neck while fathers and blood fall about Demont's form slowly, almost as if it were snowing.

Donovan retreats even further from the fracas, Demont having elected to eliminate his attack rather than unleash one on him. Wincing slightly as the wound on his side begins to have a larger effect, the man unloads his crossbow, the frame glowing a distinct black aura as he touches it. As Macabre and Caithreim's tussle drifts off to the side, Donovan beckons the cat back in his home tongue, his pet heeding the master's call. Fully focusing his azure glance on the wounded avian, the man begins to speak again, this time in a chanting tone. His runed rings begin to glow as well as a solitary arrow, the objects seemingly taken over by an unnatural force. Donovan fires the arrow as he continues his spellweaving, the missile rockets toward Demont. A matter of yards from the mark, the arrow breaks up in five distinct shards, each razor sharp and hell-bent on embedding their shadow-borne agony into the avian...

Demont realizing now the real threat, his gaze drifts quickly back to Donovan and his weapon. Lifting from the ground with a heavy flap of his white wings, deciding the only way to avoid being struck by each arrow is to attempt some acrobatics. Tucking his wings once more close to his back he spins clockwise, avoiding four of the arrows. Unfurling his wings once more to halt his spin, the fifth arrow impales his right wing cleanly, sending a sharp pain through is back and sending him to the ground. Burning Dawn clanks loudly to he ground as Demont releases it, his hands diving into the fold of his cloak. each digit grasping a dagger. The assassin skillfully throws eight blades forward at Donovan, four aimed at his knees and elbows, while the others head for areas upon his torso.

Donovan chuckles mercilessly as Demont's own pet creates the diversion he needs to complete his attack. Growing silent, he frowns suddenly upon seeing Demont's trickery. "Slight of hand," he mutters to himself, and grunts in pain as he dives instinctively to his left, and onto his left side. The four daggers aimed at his midsection miss the mark entirely, but Donovan screams in agony as two of the four daggers bury themselves in his relatively slender frame, one into each knee. Lying in a bloodied heap upon the forest floor, the man manages the slightest of movements in Demont's direction, thanking him for the duel.