Caltrops came flying at his face and Dean ducked, dove, and otherwise wove his way around the flying things, using the shadowy tendrils of his power to snatch a few that would have struck away and into the bodies of a few men who were coming for him. The concentration required to do so was not insignificant, however; the one holding Aza loosed and he could see the fox wriggling away, fleeing into the distance.<br/><br/><em>*Ah, well, fuck her. She was adorable, but her attitude isn’t very conducive to this sort of thing. Plus, we have the collar*</em>Dean thought to himself, absently considering throwing a blade at the retreating hind quarters of the fox just because she was a useless coward. That was his dark side, of course; it owned him now.<br/><br/>When the female knight came forward, all impossible strength and glorious desire, Dean met her gaze just before her first strike, quirked a smirk and happily used three of his forearm-thick shadow tentacles to draw one of her own men between the two of them. Of course she adjusted and didn’t hit her own man. That didn’t keep Dean from stabbing a dagger into the struggling fellow’s kidneys and shoving him at her, however. Dean knew that he couldn’t face a skilled swordsman (or woman) in a straight up brawl – not a fair one anyway. He was an assassin, a purveyor of death from the shadows and stealth. Still, with so much power at his disposal, there wasn’t much to keep him in check.<br/><br/>Now, normally – say in a bustling city like this one – Dean would have resulted to using some pretty fucked up methods to win. Shit, once he’d skinned a man alive in order to enrage the guy’s fellow soldiers enough that they charged into an ambush. Donovan hadn’t liked that, not one bit – in fact, Dean hadn’t been allowed to use *any* of his powers for a month after – but let’s not tarry on the dark times. Unfortunately, Dean really didn’t have much to work with here – just soldiers who were now moving to avoid the fight between him and their leader.<br/><br/>Which left him with two shadow-cloaked short swords to parry the graceful onslaught of the woman in plate armor who just happened to look drop-dead gorgeous as she came at him. Fuck, her pupils were dilated like she was going to climax right here and now! Realization nearly startled Dean out of his defensive pattern; one of his shadowy tendrils barely managed to deflect the blow that would have taken his head off to his shoulder. Even then, Methuseld’s blade sliced a few inches of skin free.<br/><br/>“That sucks,” Dean said conversationally, not feeling the pain. He was a shadow, after all. Death was part of his nature, as was pain.<br/><br/>Then, grinning, Dean once again locked eyes with Methuseld and loosed his other power. Immediately, the tendrils lashing about went limp, vanished, as an explosion of raw desire swept through the immediate area – say fifteen feet. This was Dean’s incubus ability, one he’d never thought to use in combat before, but a natural part of his corruptive nature. Every line of the man’s handsome, oversized body suddenly came into stark display, the shifting of his thighs a distracting promise of animalistic, insatiable pleasure…<br/><br/>And then the motherfucking roof caved in.<br/><br/>Damn that Donovan. Damn him to heck.<br/>