You recognize the threat around you, but you have to finish this foe before he'll allow you to divert a single iota of your attention. The two of you clash one final time, both hindered by the loss of your senses. Having sight gives you the upper hand now, however, and you finish the round by forcing the heel of your palm up into your foe's nose. You are triumphant, but tired, and the horde is around you. You know you can't fight them, not with any hopes of winning, but you won't give them the satisfaction of an easy victory. You plunge into the fray, taking dozens of them with you before you're torn asunder.