Some are fried, and the others back off, hurling insults.
The two younger fighters dispatch a soldier, and Dreadfang bites the head of another one off. The man mutters a few long sentences from his book, and the third drops dead. The balcony is filling up with three times as many archers, and at least five phalanxes, each with twenty men, are pushing their way through the crowd.
You glance at a nearby statue, looking up at a towering monstrosity, larger than you vaguely remember him. He's wearing bulky armour, with sharp blades attached all over the place. His helmet covers his face entirely, two narrow slits allowing him to see, and a third, diamond shaped eye on the helmet, serving little purpose in the flesh, but making a decent place to stick a ruby when it's in statue form. You feel overcome by feelings of hatred. You remember what your sole purpose is. You WILL kill him, the Emperor of all demon kind.