Gaovulte suddenly felt something hard strike his back.
He was not used to being struck. At all. Summoning the demon and fighting the giants had left him somewhat drained.
But still, in his opinion, he was powerful enough to combat any and all of the insipid beings on this battlefield.
He turned and found a huge axe lying at his feet, and an undead man on an undead horse galloping towards him. He picked up the axe and hurled it at the horse in an effort to dismount the man, and watched, somewhat impressed, as Grimm turned the horse in mid stride and caught the axe in his outstretched right hand.
Gaovulte raised an arm and whispered to himself.
Grimm seemed unchanged.
Gaovulte was, for the first time in a long time, confused. This being was dead, that much obvious. It was composed of dead flesh, long ago parted with the complications of living tissue.Yet it did not respond to Gaovulte's necromantic command.
Frustrating.
He channeled his will towards the ground beneath his attacker's feet. The dirt and mud trembled, then erupted tumultuously. Grimm's horse stumbled and neighed in frustration, then fell sideways to its right. Grimm rolled off the horse, then jumped to his feet and hurled his axe again.
Gaovulte extended an arm and grabbed its handle as it flew towards him, stopping it mere centimetres from his face.
He raised it threateningly towards Grimm. Then, unexpectedly (a pattern he was beginning to dislike), he found his ears assaulted by a scream that surely could not from from any natural source.
