One by one the shades fall, to arrows, to Korrin's blade, crumpling in on themselves in piles of putrid ash and gouts of sulfur. Those struck by Beleth's arrows glow in bright pulses of demonic power before exploding in a cloud of sand and warped fabric. When the one that had cast it is struck down the hex flickers under Korrin's feet- fades, leaving her free of it's wasting influence. One struck with an arrow extends a hand, garbled black speech grating through the air like nails on bone, cuts like blood and a siphon swirl in horrid, dark power through the air to connect it's ashen form and The Iron Bull. The power is sapping, draining, minuscule cuts that bleed spatter their skin as blood and life are siphoned away.

Meaty fists swing down hard, slamming against the ground even as it is staggered- a gaping, spewing mouth silenced of it's bellows by the blade of Taas' ax. It stumbles too it's knees from the assault, and the air around it? Ripples. A sudden miasma of black, entrophic magic roils from it's flesh like a fog, roiling over the muddied ground. Those crows cut down in the fight before twitch and wrench unnaturally, staggering to their feet one by one. Shambling corpses, the lot of them, stagger to those yet engaged in battle, blades at the ready.