[He takes no injury, adorns his outfit with no paleblood of his own. Instead, Vincent cuts them down as if they were reeds in the wind, and they crumble beneath his blade. He lifts his eyes just in time to see Mont's own power, crushing a creature's skull as it falls to her feet.

Felling the rest is easy. They're slow compared to what he's used to. And when they're dead, the last one sliced across the back and throat, it falls close to where she stands.

Vincent straightens, air expelled from his lungs seen in the cold night.]

Corpses drained dry. Not much of a threat at all. Your power, though-

[He asks, curious while hitching his blade to his back again.]

-I wonder if you even needed me to begin with?