Behind him, a knight in full silver-white armor gripped the sword still buried in his abdomen and twisted it, working to open a wider wound.
"A second one, damn it!"
Raphael reached for the Wraith Form and found it sluggish.
With his arcane energy suppressed, the transition crawled at a fraction of its normal spee, slow enough that he'd be dead several times over before it completed.
And even if he managed it, the duration would be seconds at best.
He scrapped the idea and moved.
His claws caught the nearby wall, used it for leverage, redirected the black knight's blundering sword strike into the stone, the blade lodged in the wall, buying a moment's restraint.
Then he grabbed the sword still piercing his abdomen with both hands, closed his fingers around the blade despite the pain of it cutting his palms open, snapped the protruding length off, and drove his elbow backward into the white knight's head.
Thud.
