*Blood dripped slowly from his leg wound as he slowly backed up, blades still singing. He had lost to much concentration, so all he could bring out was a weak vortex and a couple of blades.*<em>These bastards are quite endless. I must be nearing the city though. Feels like it's been days that I've been fighting.</em>*He drank a potion and felt more invigorated.*<em>And these potions are starting to become less effective. I've only two left anyway.</em>*A bullet zinged past his face and brought his attention back.*<em>At least they aren't sharpshooters...</em>