"Y'know I got your back. A'right, ready! One, two..." He fought to ignore the dolls crawling up his legs again, the bites of razor blades and the pokes of needles, the bites of odd clacky dolly mouths. He drew the holy energy inward and spaced his stance.

Saint Cross was an outward burst, searing the haunted creations, and sending them flying backward. Those that hit something fell to pieces, too old to be anything other than fragile. Others were scrambling to rise again. He swiftly sheathed the greatsword.

"Three! Hang onta me!" Because, w-well, it did feel a lot less freaky in here before... he reached for her before he'd make his dash.