Of course, this isn't the first time Cade has fought his brothers-in-arms. His eyes are cold and distant, his reflexes quick as he deflects the swing of a sword and slams his shield forward again, with enough force to stagger the red Templar, even if it doesn't knock him over.
The red lyrium's influence trickles in little by little, small wordless voices echoing around in his mind, the magic in his own veins alerting him to the wrongness of it. He lunges forward to drive his sword into the nearest plated body, then whips around to slash at another, out of his mind with sheer adrenaline.
He doesn't dodge in time to avoid receiving a healthy slash across his side, but he barely seems to notice, too thoroughly overtaken by his singular drive to keep fighting until he physically can't anymore.