At first, the conflict looked like it would go their way. They had a defensible position, both Donovan and Dean were exceptionally skilled warriors, the building wasn't cooperating at first and was slow to catch fire, and the two defenders were able to back each other up and attack the enemy at their weakest - as they came blindly in through the main door, or climbed through windows putting themselves in a vulnerable position for a few moments - and a few moments was all Donovan needed.<br/><br/>He was like a whirlwind, swinging and slashing at the exposed parts of his enemies as they climbed through windows, and upon hearing their screams, he would bounce to another window to repeat. Meanwhile, Dean seemed to have things well in-hand at the main doorway. He was literally a shadow, sowing confusion and attacking his targets from different angles and from the darkness of his own body.<br/><br/>But, their initial advantage dwindled slowly away. There were just -too many- windows, and as for Dean, despite his caltrop-trick that usually worked wonders, he was not faced with Methuseld herself, her skin reddened from the flames that now burned, as if the building itself had finally decided to surrender to the attackers, flames licking up the walls near where the torches and lanterns had fallen. Methuseld was a leader, which was obvious when Donovan heard her voice. Hell, he was half tempted to follow the same orders she was giving her own men! But he held fast, dealing with his own struggles as finally some of the men made it through the windows, stepped quickly past the corpses of their comrades, and rushed Donovan, hoping to keep him busy long enough so that more of their number could pour through the window.<br/><br/>There were just too many of them... and Methuseld herself was fighting like a demon possessed.<br/><br/>Around them, the flames spread and the wood of the old building groaned, as if irritated by the heat licking at its innards. Sweat glowed on Donovan's skin as he raised his shield to deflect another assault, his blade parrying yet another. The enemy were regrouping, forming a semi-circle in front of him that he knew would soon be organized enough to rush him all at once. These men weren't green, and they weren't inept. Under the voice of their leader, they were disciplined - and they would eventually win.<br/><br/>Donovan could feel the heat -above- them now, as the flames spread across the ceiling in several directions, moving more quickly now as if the fire itself could sense the building's demise, as if the flames were hungry beasts looking to devour its prey. Desperately, Donovan blocked another blow - but felt a simultaneous one slide between the joints of his armor just above the elbow, cutting him deeply. He grit his teeth against the pain - his hand clutching to his shield for dear life. That attack had been meant to disarm his shield, which would have left him near defenseless against the five men quickly organizing before him. Blocking another blow, he put his next plan into motion - not even sure how it would play out.<br/><br/>Two of the men attacked at once, and Donovan - expecting it - blocked one with his shield, batted the other lunge to the side with his blade - then suddenly kicked out towards the nearest - catching the man in the chest, breaking ribs, and sending him flying back into two of the other men. This gave him the briefest of respites that he needed to turn...<br/><br/>...and dash about ten paces to the massive wooden beam that stood from floor to ceiling. He caught only a glimpse of Dean's battle with Methuseld, and had the two been sparring or practicing somewhere, Donovan would have eagerly stopped to watch - but there was no time for that now.<br/><br/>Donovan collided with the beam, his shoulder ramming it hard enough to send a deep -THRUM!!!- through the floor and ceiling above. Like as not the battling warriors wouldn't notice it, and that was fine with him. Shoulder against the solid wood, he grit his teeth - and channeled his power. Had he been able to focus solely on the beam, it would have been much easier. But as it was, he knew at least a couple of the attackers would be hot on his heels - and he wouldn't be able to defend against them now. He simply couldn't - his plan wouldn't allow it.<br/><br/>Focusing, Donovan grit his teeth and planted his feet - and<em>*pushed*</em>. His strength began to increase, and his skin quickly shifted in consistency to something much harder, much closer to stone than to flesh. He felt the wood floorboards buckle beneath his feet as the pressure against the beam increased, and then he felt the sharp sting of two blades hacking into his shoulders: two of the guards had reached him seconds after he darted away. If not for his ability, both of his arms would be mangled right now. Still, the blows -did- cut, but they were akin to thin lines closer resembling scratches than anything else - at least for the moment.<br/><br/>"Come... on... you... sonofa... BITCH!" he growled, surging with the last word, the sound of a sharp -CRACK!- filling the room followed by the chorus of splintering wood as the beam began to bend and then snap where his shoulder was planted, and once it started, it only seemed to gather speed as a breath later, a louder crack echoed through the room - and the beam gave way.<br/><br/>Between the old, dilapidated wood, the flames, and the removal of the single most important support post in the entire building, it didn't take much for the ceiling above them all to start its slow death-rumble as it began to collapse.<br/><br/>Donovan turned to see the two men on him now looking upward, wide-eyed and terrified even as plaster, dust, and debris began to fall. Donovan surged forward with the beam finally gave away, sprawling onto the floor from the momentum his strength had given him, and he only had a quick second to glance about. He wasn't worried for Dean - not really, not when Dean could become a shadow and simply slither -through- the falling debris like water slipping through a sieve. Donovan saw the fox, but believed the creatures dextrous speed would see it safely away in time to avoid the collapse.<br/><br/>That left Methuseld, her men... and Donovan to catch the brunt of the collapse as the groans and cracking of breaking wood only grew louder, the ceiling above them crashing downward with increasing speed and force. At the last second, Donovan focused all of his mental power towards one goal - making his body as tough as he could, imagining in his mind that his skin was made of steel, which he knew would be his best hope of surviving as the building collapsed on them all.