The Ranger howled, swinging his dagger once more, then whirled around and did it again. They were all around him. Becoming too focused on the enemies immediately before him, rather than keeping his mind focused on the big picture, he'd burrowed too deep into the mass of the enemy formation, and they'd closed around him.<br/><br/>Dimly, in the back of his mind, he heard cheers from the direction he knew his own men to be in. Good. That meant the kid was successfully putting them to sleep. At first, his spirits rose. If the kid was doing so good, then any minute now, the men around him would begin collapsing.<br/><br/>...but no. They wouldn't, he realized. Because the kid woudn't be able to find him amid the teeming mass of fighting men. There was nothing to set him apart from the men that now surrounded him. As he swung and dipped and dodged and stabbed with reckless abandon, he felt his body starting to give way.<br/><br/>He's had a nearly fatal poisoning, a massive overdose of pain medications and herbs to bring him around, perhaps a half hour of sleep, and he'd been fighting nearly twelve hours. His arms felt heavy. he was covered in wounds of varying severity to the point where every movement caused him piercing pain, and he was finding it hard to get enough oxygen. His knife plunged over and over, slicing open veins, burying into skulls, and breaking bones as rapidly as he could strike, but he knew the effort was pointless...<br/><br/>He was going to die. Of that, he was certain. But he was determined to take as many of them as he could with him. It was his last service to his people.<br/><br/>*****<br/><br/>Crowley shouted over and over, his booming voice carrying easily to his men. Slowly, with the help of the healer, they'd begun to form together over the past few minutes. At first, they'd been confused as to why the men the fought were just... falling over. They all did the same thing. They'd be fighting and screaming, then suddenly they'd begin to stagger, and blink heavily. They'd look confused for a second or two, shaking their heads in a strange way, as if trying to shake off a pestering insect. Then suddenly, their eyes would roll back and they'd go limp, collapsing to the ground where they stood.<br/><br/>Crowley's men were well trained. They knew when to act first and ask questions later. They pounced on the men as they collapsed, killing them quickly each time. The success bolstered their spirits and they began to charge forward, killing many without even needing the kid to put them to sleep first. In return, the sudden impossibility of their situation began to implant fear into the attacking hoard. They quailed in the face of danger and began to pull back, fearful of the strange force that they couldn't identify. Few looked up when some began to shout about a wraith in the sky. Most simply panicked.