Yet to be named pt8

Nothing lasts forever, though. The undead broke the stalemate first. It  opened its mouth and shrieked.

An undead shouted at him. Shock fought over control of him with fear. He only managed
to draw his sword and stumble backwards, wincing and covering his ears.

And then he ran out of roof.

An undead shrieked him off the roof.

He grabbed the drain pipe at the last second. A moment later, he heard the cling of his sword against the cobbles below. He didn’t remember letting go of it. The creature flew away into the darkness of the night, but he saw dozens of others already coming down.

By some wild stroke of luck, the pipe fragment stretching to the street was next to him. Very carefully, he entwined the pipe with his legs and slid down.

It was a fast descent. Upon contact with the ground, he collapsed backwards, arms and legs hurting from the effort. He felt around for his sword and upon finding it got up and headed for the stables. If the undead were attacking, there was even less he could do to help. People were still shouting and running in all directions, but more were running away than towards the fire.
He disregarded the crowds and continued towards the stables.