The grey things learned, in their dim and freezing way, that the larger of the two intruders would not be moved, and they did what cornered numbers have always done. They threw the whole of themselves at him at once.
Moses let them come. This was the work he had been forged for, and there was a look close to peace on his face as the tide closed over his head. He swept the greatsword level through the press in front of him [Demonic Warblade Art: Second Fang, Cleaving Tide], and a wide crescent of purple pressure rode off the edge and kept traveling long after the steel had stopped, shearing through a full rank of the ice-born at the waist and folding a dozen of them into the snow in one pass. The ones behind clambered over the ruin of the ones in front, and he met them coming with the return swing.
