Eric falls back, shielding his face from the light.

He hates magic.

When the accursed light is gone, he takes the next round, moving through the ranks of the undead at vampire speed, tearing them apart with his hands and mouth.

It is gruesome work.

And rather bloodless, which, truth be told, weighs heavier in his opinion.

He reaches the door and pauses, looking back. Covered in filth. Then he leans against the door post. Might as well wait. For a number of reasons.