[i]“That should not have happened”[/i]

Was the overriding thought running through Liaena’s mind, consuming all others and momentarily stunning her into inaction as she stared after the departing Champion. The girl had seen enough broken bodies to know that when a breastplate was opened up like that, it tended to mean that the vulnerable flesh it protected underneath was severely damaged, in all likelihood beyond repair. Instead he was up, and walking like it was nothing - which she had also seen more than enough of in her life. 

[i]“…How many of them are there!? Ten? Twenty?”[/i]

Eyes running over the amount of silent White Hand members to try and quickly count them, Liaena shrunk even further into the shadow of the building – just in time to see her doppelganger run out of the building over to the men assisting Doin. 

“[i]No[/i]! What are you doing!? Get out of there!” Liaena hissed helplessly from her vantage point on the roof. Muzzle of the gun wavering between Severian and the Champion, she opted to train it on the latter as her finger tightened on the trigger, but still hesitating to pull. 

“Please, let me help. I’ve been…trained for this” Kathlin assured the two Red Vanguard members hastily as they picked Doin off the snow between them, sounding as convincing as she felt at the dwarfs grievous injuries (i.e: not very). Bobbing along next to them, the girl gulped as she untied the wreckage of the dwarf’s shoulder plate with gentle fingers. Glancing over her shoulder to see what the white hand were doing, she froze briefly at what she saw.

Turning back quickly to face the other two Red Vanguard again, the girl leaned in towards the elder one to mutter quietly to him as she wrapped her cloak up into a sausage between her hands, using it as a pad to briefly staunch the elder dwarfs blood. “Their champion. Why isn’t he bleeding?” 

Behind them the snow was grey and smashed from the turmoil of the fight, with splatters of blood littering the ground and a congealing pool where Doin had fallen. There was none however, in the departing tracks of the Champion, or on the man himself, save on his metal greaves, gauntlets and sword blade. “He should be bleeding”