Altaïr strikes, and if Claude wasn't too busy trying to provide cover while keeping an eye on the remaining Acolytes. He'd feel better with a more traditional weapon in his own hands than having to rely on magic alone, but his friend is making good use of both.

Then abruptly, the air shifts in something that's too familiar to Claude. It's the same way the world seemed to narrow out in the desert after they'd been worn down before everything dimmed. But fear has no place here; alarm is the most he'll allow himself since it sharpens the senses - or so he's always said and used it to play to his strengths.

Like here, where this time rather than only bringing a gust to scatter snow Claude brings forth enough wind to form a blade. Some weapon passes by him as he dodges with his focus on Altaïr, intent on making sure the other doesn't fall. One sidestep means Claude has a clear shot towards the Acolyte, and with a hand outstretched he launches his blade.

It seems to pull in the air around them as it whizzes across the distance almost soundlessly, mostly indistinguishable from the other mountain breezes. Until it sinks into Altaïr's target who promptly drops to their knees, but there's no time to admire it when he senses someone moving behind him - someone who isn't another Summoned.