Arturo had to admit he hadn’t seen either Nicyes or Mercer fight so fiercely in ages. Not since the desert raiders and the strange, reptilian warriors. No, but Mercer had the cultists well in hand, there was little he could see to do.
He turned his attention to the goat beast — he saw Nicyes strike a mighty blow, but the creature yet stood. Arturo wanted to help someone, somehow — but still felt a fool for falling down the side of the pit and injuring himself so. He cursed his poor fortune and sword an oath to Hera.
And somewhere in that moment, he received his answer.
His fall into the pit carried with it a lingering presence of misfortune, an element he could make use of. The footing in the pit was nearly as poor as the footing on the edge, he needed only draw out his bad luck and impart it on his foe of choice.
Siphoning the traces of ill fortune through the shard, he carefully braced his back and drew his focus around his shoulders, then let it fly with a snap of his wrist.
The goat creature was widening its stance, preparing to smash Nicyes to the ground again, when Arturo’s magic struck it and the rocks beneath its hooves shifted. The creature stumbled and lurched a few steps forward, into Nicyes’s waiting blade.
The thing was so surprised, it had no time to cry out as it fell, wounds in its side and on its back sapping it of all its strength.
One of the cultists — the last one standing, Artuto noted — faltered for a moment after being struck by one of Alquis’s spells, and was dashed to the ground by Mercer.
The next few moments passed with eerie stillness, and Nicyes walked over to the giant satyr, climbed on its back, and drove his sword through the back of its skull.