Tough day, will not let that stop me.
At first the two fighting-men hesitated to slay, instead hoping to avoid the crawling wretches. But Nat hissed as one flailing claw struck his foot, chilling it immediately and making him stumble. Only Maddox’s lightning-fast grab of his shoulder kept the other man from falling. He stabbed down with his sword in the next motion, skewering the frothing attacker through the back. “Gah!” Maddox muttered. “I could feel the cold through the blade.”
“It will pass,” the Monsignor told them both. He idly impaled a few crawlers himself as they picked their way to the far door, seemingly indifferent as to whether his strikes killed clean. “They have just enough will to suck up heat, but wound them once and they can think of nothing else. But killing them works well enough, too. I do not suppose you fine fellows would like to wager on who can strike the most? …No? Pity.”
It took five minutes — or an hour; Nat and Maddox found time to oddly flow, down there between the braziers — of fending off the slow-motion stalkers before the three reached the doors that marked the end of the chamber. The Monsignor made no secret of his amused contempt as he watched the other two try to strike only those that came too close. “I tell you again: these creatures are weak. Too weak to be worth consideration. They chose to be here, and this is their reward. Why not amuse yourselves?”