Impaled

Manfred’s head went down, his chin landing on his chest. Hector turned to Ringlin and Ibal, who nodded approvingly, the queen hanging between them by her arms. As he turned back to the duke, Manfred’s head was already rising, the antlers erupting from his brow and catching the Boarlord in his chest, lifting him off the ground. Hector felt a puncturing sensation in his chest, the air escaping as the spiked tine found a lung.

Ringlin and Ibal dropped the queen into the snow and, joining the Ugri, circled the Staglord as he held the maimed magister on the antlers over his head. Hector writhed, the pain absolute and immeasurable. He couldn’t breathe, his body weight forcing the antlers deeper with every passing moment, the tine sliding between his ribs.

The Creep’s fist struck Manfred’s kidneys, sending the exhausted Staglord to his knees. That was all it took; his head fell forward and Hector slid off the antlers. The Boarlord fell into the snow, withered hand clutching the chest wound, his lips running red.
‘Kill him!’ he ordered, gurgling, the blood catching in his throat as he glared at the Staglord. Two Axes stepped forward, raising his weapons.