"I think I'll take my chances," James said.
Viktor scowled. "So be it," was all he said. In an instant, Viktor reached out, and a dark tendril glowing with unholy energy reached out and grabbed James by the neck. He violently shifted his arm, and sent James into a wall. The other thugs rushed Viktor, and Viktor, in a flash, drew both of his katanas and engaged. Fighting with the wolf, even in that strange, crimson splint mail armor, was like trying to grapple with a shadow; Viktor was a blur, dodging one attack after another, and deflecting blows with speed that should have been impossible. And his blades - they moved so fast, it would have been impossible for anyone to keep track of where they were. Viktor swung them so fast, it was like the blades were made of air. Either he was far stronger than his appearance let on, or those blades were not made of the standard metals. And the powers he used - they were not natural. Dark tendrils lashed out and broke necks, unidentified forces sent enemies flying every time they tried to surround Viktor, and more than one enemy was impaled on an Ice Spike that suddenly flew from nowhere. Several more went down in pieces. By the time Viktor was done, barely ten men, not including James, stood between him and the Dragon.
Viktor huffed and growled, ready to go on the attack, but James appeared behind him, and drove his sword through his heart from behind. "Not so tough now, are you?" James sneered. Viktor wailed in pain, but then fell silent. James jerked the blade out of Viktor's chest, and threw him to the ground. "I had hoped the first blood to stain my blade would have been that of a dragon, but you... you make a suitable test. A Dark Knight as yourself makes an excellent kill. Dark you may be, you are still... mortal. How sad."