With his back still turned to the octopus, Barrow has no opportunity to worry for the safety of his little buddy-- he does hear the scream, but it's a distant thing, flooded out by the chaos in front of himself and Rovente.

He counts to himself, one second, two seconds, and swings his hammer, knocking a combatant away with a dent in their breastplate, and likely their breast beneath it. He swings back the other way (three seconds, four seconds), clips a leg, sends someone sprawling; five seconds, and he pauses, grips the pommel of his hammer, and mutters a quiet word.

A battlemage's barrier, just now forming in the wake of the previous spell purge, dispels once again. Barrow cuts his gaze to Rovente, hefting the hammer back into position, knowing the other Templar can get to them more quickly.