“Storm of Scrap!” Samuel screamed, throwing the cone of razor-sharp metal shavings at the larger of the two, hoping to at the very least cripple the undead hounds.
The two-headed beast leapt at Samuel and straight into the heart of the spell, with as predictable a result as one would have when throwing in two-hundred pounds of meat into a woodchipper. Gore spattered out of the storm, bits of moldy fur and scraps of gray meat flying about as the spell reduced the undead to tattered remains.
He would have felt great about this, had he not been jumping away as the remaining Arguile pounced at the same time, twin heads ravenous as they snapped at the hems of his robes. Samuel swore as one meaty jaw bit down on his hemline and tore at his dirtied garment, slowing his escape.
“s**t!” He shout
