21 How to deal with, or die to a mob

"Click!" something inside of Surgit pushed him to duck as the shot missed his head by a notch. He turned round to see one of the men-beasts standing behind him and aiming his gun at him. He slashed his weapon at him and turned around again. "Oh shit!" the whole mob had heard the shot and was now running towards him. He felt that he could take them on but their number was intimidating. With the corner of his eye, he saw some six more joining the others from the railings. They were all dressed in a similar fashion. It was something special to Yharnam. Black leather long coats and top hats, some even wore straw hats. They all had long beastly arms, some had one while other had the two transformed. He felt the shot before he could hear it. It tore through his left leg. He jumped behind one of the carriages to avoid the snipers' shots. The men came at him in swarms. It wasn't going to be a fair fight. He could feel his left leg becoming heavier and heavier. He looked down to see the wound closing around the bullet and the pain sore through his veins. This was no ordinary wound. He couldn't use his left leg anymore.

He clenched his teeth and, remembering the healing ability of these beasts' blood. He began his attack. The first wave that came at him was constituted of six men: some with axes while others had their forks and sickles. The saw cleaver proved to be a useful weapon to handle crowds after all. After elongating his weapon, Surgit managed to swing his weapon wider and inflict damage to four of the men-beasts in front him. The cuts he inflicted were not deep enough though. The men kept relentlessly coming at him even with blood bursting out of their bodies. He swung his saw again and managed to kill two while another came at him from the right. He saw the sickle missing his nose as he dodged backwards and pointed his pistol at the man-beast's mouth and released a shot, relieving him of his brain. He shortened his weapon and dealt with the three approaching.

While he cut the men down in three, nicely executed strikes, six more had already replaced them. His left leg hadn't healed from the splashing blood and he relied only on his right for balance. He felt overwhelmed by his enemies as he persisted on swinging his weapon at them. He had managed to kill two when he felt pain searing through his ribs. One of the peasant-looking men had stabbed him with a pitch fork.