Sand impacted Salem like a wall, and the spindly human was sent toppling. The sheer force of the grainy mass knocked the wind out of him, and he dropped Solomon's grip due to how hard he'd been struck. His feet skidded across the ground as he was forced back towards the room's corner, until he was knocked over completely and buried by the stony particles. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and covered his nose and mouth, turning away from the source of impact. The surprising strength behind each grain left their marks on his exposed skin, cutting him like thousands of miniscule blades.<br/><br/>When the jet finally stopped, he forced himself out of the pile and gasped for breath, shaking sand out of his hair and off his face. The few seconds of respite from the attack were shattered when Kazarn struck again, this time with the razorlike extension of his carapace. Salem's hands went up instinctively to try and block the attack, and action that rewarded him with a violent gash across both forearms. His sleeves were torn like paper, and blood streaked through the white cloth from the new wounds.<br/><br/>Across the room, Solomon returned to his neutral state, shaken up by the force of the jet and being dropped. With an almost catlike heave, he spewed a glob of sand out from his throat, blinking harshly to regain his composure. Screams of pain coming from Salem, as well as a searing pain that manifested in his own forearms, immediately drew his attention back to the fight.<br/><br/>Beady eyes locked onto Kazarn's wounded underbelly, the gargoyle crouched low to the ground, then leapt forward and took off into flight, aiming himself for the gaping wound he'd torn into him previously. A shrill hiss announced his arrival, and on impact, his claws hardened into a stony black texture and pierced into the centipede demon's shell. His teeth likewise began to tear at other exposed soft flesh, while his wings acted as blinders of sorts, smacking around the demon's head to distract him. His tail began to dig into the pre-existing wound, thrusting into the bloody crack like a stinger.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Continuing to skirt around the illusory hollows, Mary avoided what she thought would be certain death while she searched for something to arm herself. Some thrown books caused the things to stumble about, and as one lifted its foot to step over the heavy tome she'd launched, she noticed something odd. The undead produced no shadow, even though lights were right above them. Something wasn't right, something she could not quite place. Widening her stance, he balled both fists as one approached closer. There was a hunch fueling her actions, one that could have easily gone very wrong.<br/><br/>She allowed it to come closer, until it was within arm's reach of her. A punch was thrown at the hollow's jaw, and it stumbled as she predicted. But she felt no impact, no evidence that she had actually hit something. Awaiting the beast to catch its balance, she stood up straight and took a deep breath, readying herself for either pain or a confirmation that her hunch was right as the hollow swung a clawed hand at her chest.<br/><br/>It passed right through her. An illusion. Part of her wanted to feel self-righteous about figuring it out, but the rest of her was absolutely furious. Mary began to walk forward, eyes locked on another decorative weapon rack in the library. She walked by- or rather, through- multiple hollows on her way over, and her hands roughly yanked a dull old axe off of the wall.<br/><br/>With it in hand, she then turned towards the man who had been producing these illusions. She caught sight of something on his back. A big bug, with an eye for a head. Probably another one of those goddamn demons. She rushed forward, bare feet smacking against the marble floor, and with a loud yell hefted the axe up and into the moth-beast's back. She heard a violent crack, so she pulled the weapon back and followed up with a hack to the side of the human's head. He went toppling, and one after the other, the shadow beast and the false hollows vanished.<br/><br/>Neither died, but both were clearly wounded. A mix of thick red and black dripped from the axe's bladeless head. She watched as the man scrambled away, grabbing the moth, and took off away from the library and out the gate. A sharp breath blew a lock of hair out of her face, and she huffed out a quiet curse as the metal bars fell shut.<br/><br/>"Bitch."